The Guild of Fallen Clowns

by Francis Xavier

  “Do you remember what Hilda did now?” he said.

  She opened her eyes and looked to her side. One of her kitchen knives was on the floor beside her. She found the power to free her arm and reach for the knife. She grasped it tight and thrust it into Peepers’ back. His heavy body went limp on top of her. Blood flowed over her body as she desperately struggled to climb out from under him. Peepers lay face down next to her as she wept on the floor beside him. She kicked his body and slid away, making as much distance from him as possible in the small room.

  Backed into a corner, she curled up with one eye locked on what she thought to be his lifeless corpse. Through tear-filled eyes, she thought she saw movement. She cleared the tears, and her suspicion was confirmed. His arm slowly rose behind his back. His hand grabbed the knife and yanked it from the wound. Exhausted, she wasn’t able to lift her body from the floor as she watched in horror as the resurrected Peepers rolled over and returned the blood-soaked knife to the drawer before sliding himself beside her.

  “Yes, you killed the Russian. Took his life. Hilda cry Milton, but never give self. Gave soldier, take his life.”

  “No!” she cried out.

  “Yes, live haunted by soldier. Reject husband, live with fear in memory. Peepers set free painful memory.”

  “No!” she screamed. “I loved Milton. He loved me!”

  Peepers made a fist and turned toward her. Her lips quivered as she cried. The look of total surrender came over her face and Peepers repeated, “Peepers will free Hilda of fear.”

  She closed her eyes. Peepers opened his fist and rammed it deep into her chest. He squeezed her heart, causing her body to relax as life drained from the tortured shell. He removed his hand from her chest, leaving no wound. The blood staining her dress faded, along with Peepers himself and all evidence of his sadistic attack.

  Chapter 13

  Music from the clock radio blasted. Alan rolled over in his bed and looked at the numbers before silencing it with a slam of his hand. It was six-thirty on his day off from the carnival. He wasn’t scheduled to begin deliveries at Vince’s until six o’clock that night.

  After his shift the previous night, he decided to get started on the second phase of his plan, which was to help Cheryl. He stayed up late, sculpting Agor. The results proved that his Peepers sculpture wasn’t a fluke. His memories of Agor’s features were perfectly replicated in his newest sculpture. He was anxious to complete the mold and cast the first piece before taking Cheryl up on her haircut offer later that afternoon.

  He stood beside the sofa bed and stretched while admiring his sculpture on the kitchen table. As he approached the kitchen to start a pot of coffee he said, “Hello, Agor, you’re looking good today.”

  A small amount of water spilled on the counter when he poured it into the coffee maker. Instinctively, he reached for the dish towel hung over the oven handle. The towel was gone.

  “Oh shit, the laundry!” He’d been so focused on the Agor sculpture the night before that it completely slipped his mind that he left a load of laundry in the washing machine in the basement of the building.

  Without hesitation, he pressed the start button on the coffee maker and rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water turned off and he reached around the shower curtain for his towel. Again, he reached for air. The bath towel was also in the machine.

  “Oh crap!” he said. He slid the curtain to the side and tiptoed his dripping wet body into the closet, where he grabbed a clean shirt from a hanger and proceeded to dry himself.

  “I gotta get another towel,” he said, hanging the wet shirt over the towel rack.

  Seconds later he was dressed. Tying his sneakers from the foot of the bed, he glanced up and noticed the Agor sculpture. One coat, he thought. One quick coat of silicone, then he would check on his clothes. He mixed the two-part solution with a few drops of thickener and brushed it over the sculpture. One final examination to be sure it was completely covered and he was off the basement.

  Rounding the corner to the laundry room, Alan immediately noticed damp clothes strewn across the floor. His basket was empty and Lyle was transferring his own load from a washing machine to a dryer. Alan stood still in the doorway as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Lyle noticed him and grinned as he continued loading the dryer.

  “What happened?” Alan asked.

  Lyle casually looked back. “Dude! You don’t own the machines.”

  Alan started picking up his garments and growled, “But my basket is right here. Why wouldn’t you put them in the basket instead of throwing them on the floor?”

  Lyle walked over to Alan, who was still bent over picking up his damp clothes. He reached down, grabbed his shirt below the neck, and lifted Alan to his feet. Pulling his face within inches of his own, he glared into his eyes until Alan retreated and looked down to the floor. Lyle grinned and shoved him against the wall.

  Alan stood motionless. With his head tilted down in surrender, the only strength he could muster was a fist clenched so tightly that his fingernails re-opened his healing palm. Two drops of blood dripped to the floor.

  Looking at his pathetic target, Lyle muttered, “Pitiful,” before turning away to feed coins in the dryer. Before exiting completely, he stopped to challenge Alan again with a threatening expression. Alan’s eyes cautiously rose to meet the stare, but, as their eyes met, Lyle lunged toward him with arms out.

  “Boo!” Lyle shouted. Alan cringed. His arms pulled up in a protective stance. Helplessly cowering against the laundry room wall, his body started to tremble.

  With just the two of them in the room, Lyle laughed. He pointed at Alan as if a crowd of people were gathered around, all mocking and laughing in unison.

  This was the final straw for Alan. He reached the point where getting your ass kicked wasn’t as bad as the constant bullying from someone like Lyle. His head rose and his shoulders drew back. He scowled as his chest inflated. He was locked, loaded, and ready to retaliate. Then it happened. Still laughing uncontrollably, Lyle turned and left the room. He had his fill of bullying and simply walked away.

  Fuming with pent-up rage, Alan waited to hear the door at the top of the stairs shut before unleashing his anger with a punishing kick to the defenseless trashcan beside him. The can flew across the room with Alan in hot pursuit. One blow wasn’t enough. He relentlessly kicked and stomped it until its empty red detergent bottle of a heart tumbled out a dying beat across the concrete floor.

  Pausing to look at the mess he made, he realized that Lyle was responsible for his anger, not the helpless trash can. He cleaned his mess and attempted to pop out the dents from the mangled receptacle. Then he reloaded his whites for another run through the washing machine. More detergent, softener, and bleach went into the machine. With the bleach bottle still in his hand, he glanced to the dryer where Lyle’s clothes were tumbling. Vindictive visions of the effect a splash of bleach would have on his load of darks were interrupted by the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs. He tightened the lid and nodded as he passed another neighbor on his way up the stairs.

  I can’t let him get away with treating me that way, he thought as he stomped up the second set of stairs to his apartment. Adrenaline coursed through his body. This is it. That was the last straw. If I don’t take a stand now, he’ll think he can keep doing it.

  He was going to give Lyle a piece of his mind. Instead of going straight toward his own apartment, he turned toward Lyle’s. The door was closed and Alan’s hand rose to give three hard knocks. I’ll just talk to him rationally. I’m not looking for a fight. Before following through with it, he lowered his fist and huffed. But what if he doesn’t want to talk? What if he wants to fight me? His hand went up again. Okay, if that’s where he wants to take this, so be it. As long as I get in a few good hits, he might think twice the next time. He might back off for good.

  His brain said, “Go,” but his fist wasn’t able to garner enough strength to deli
ver his angry summons. He paused and then lowered his hand again. He turned away and stomped five steps toward his own apartment before spinning and returning to Lyle’s door. He took a deep breath and raised his hand a third time. Before he could knock, Peepers’ words flashed through his mind. He had offered a guild clown, Spanky, to help with his Lyle problem. Again, his hand lowered. If I confront him now, it might just piss him off. Lyle might kick my ass and feel empowered to continue bullying me. Or, maybe my size advantage will help me and I end up hurting him bad. I could go to prison, he thought.

  Maybe Peepers’ offer to use Spanky was a better way to go. I doubt I’m the only person he bullies. Even if I can stop him from messing with me, it probably wouldn’t help all those others. If these things really work, Spanky should be able to stop him from bullying me and everyone else.

  It was decided. He would create a Spanky figure and use it to help Lyle become a better person. As he started to turn away, Lyle’s door opened, freezing Alan in mid-stride.

  “What the hell are you doing outside my door, Booger?” Lyle said.

  Alan didn’t look back or respond. He just walked slowly toward his own apartment.

  “I’m talking to you! Where do you think you’re going?”

  Alan stopped in front of his door and said, “Nothing. I was going to talk to you about what happened downstairs, but I changed my mind.”

  Lyle took a few steps into the hall. “Oh yeah? You were going to talk to me? And just what were you going to say, asshole?”

  Alan unlocked his door and replied, “Nothing, Lyle. It was a bad idea.”

  “You better believe it was a bad idea. I’m the one who does the talking—”

  Alan opened his door and Lyle sprang toward him. Alan quickly ducked inside and locked the door behind him. Lyle pounded on his door once and commanded him to open it so they could talk. From inside, Alan leaned his back against the door and waited for Lyle to give up. Lyle gave the door a final punch and yelled out a warning to Alan before leaving.

  “You’re lucky I gotta go to work. But this isn’t over. Sooner or later we’ll have our little talk, Booger.”

  Feeling secure inside his apartment, Alan decided it was time to get back to work. He touched the coating on the Agor sculpture. It was still tacky and needed more time to cure before he could apply the final coat of silicone. He looked into his box of sculpting supplies on the floor, and after a long pause he exhaled hard and reached in.

  *****

  Four o’clock arrived quickly. He carefully peeled the mold away, revealing a perfectly replicated casting of Spanky. He placed it on the table beside the completed figure of Agor.

  “Now we’ll give you a little paint and deliver both of you today,” he said.

  For the next hour he worked on the Spanky figure. After the paint dried, he gently placed it in a cardboard box and left it beside the boxed Agor before leaving the room to change.

  Lyle usually returned from work just after five. The plan was to leave the box outside his door so he would take it in with him long after Alan was gone. Placing the boxes on the floor outside his apartment, he locked the door. He picked up the boxes and heard voices coming up the steps toward him. The voices got closer and their faces appeared from the stairway. It was Lyle’s friends, the same guys who had joined Lyle in mocking him from Lyle’s balcony. One looked up and saw Alan standing outside his now locked door. He had nowhere to run and he was outnumbered. His muscles stiffened, and he stared back.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” the approaching man said. His friend looked up and followed with another “Hey!” They continued their conversation and walked past him on their way to Lyle’s door.

  Surprised that they left him alone, he realized two things. First, it wasn’t a good time to leave the Spanky figure. And second, with them going to Lyle’s apartment, there was a chance that he might be home and catch him in the hallway. He couldn’t risk getting spotted so he rushed down the steps before they could even knock. Just as quickly, he placed the boxes in his car and drove off.

  *****

  On the way to his brother’s house, he glanced down at the two boxes in the passenger seat. Since the original plan for Spanky fell through, he would have to come up with another way to discreetly deliver him to Lyle. However, the more pressing issue was how he would go about giving Agor to Cheryl.

  Ideally, he would like to hand it to her and explain how it would help with her problem. Realistically, he needed another plan because she would think he was crazy. Without any proof that the things actually worked, he wasn’t so sure that her predicted assessment would be so far off base. Also, he wasn’t ready to share his newly discovered talent for sculpting. He had a history of starting and stopping a wide assortment of wild ideas. Before he shared this one, he needed to be positive it wouldn’t turn out to be another in a series of disappointing failures. His days of believing in dreams were washed away long ago by waves of doubting faces taking pity on his naivety and apparent inability to understand the rational world around him. This would have to be accomplished discreetly.

  The house and surrounding neighborhood was quiet. Parked in the driveway, he waited a minute before taking his package to the porch. If Cheryl or the kids spotted him, the door would fling open before he could get ten feet from the house. Cheryl would spot the box under his arm and ask what was in it. He didn’t plan for that. Instead he just hoped he would get to the house unnoticed. To his good fortune, his wish was granted. Before ringing the bell, he slid the box to the side of the door. Cheryl’s name was written across the top in bold, black letters.

  The door opened and the twins excitedly yelled out, “Uncle Boogy,” as they jumped him and dragged him inside. Cheryl stood beside a stool in the kitchen, laying out her tools of the trade on the table beside her. Still being dragged by the twins, he entered the kitchen as she looked up and smiled.

  “I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my offer, Alan. What made you finally come around?”

  H smiled back and said, “I have a date.”

  Cheryl screeched as she jumped up and down with joy over his news.

  “Oh my god, Alan, I’m so happy for you!”

  “It’s just a first date, Cheryl. Don’t get all excited. I’ll probably blow it and there won’t be a second.”

  “No, Alan! I refuse to believe that. You have to stop thinking that way. Sure, it’s a possibility, but it’s also possible you’ll marry this girl and live happily ever after.”

  Her words prompted the girls into song. “Uncle Boogy’s getting married. Uncle Boogy’s getting married.”

  “Girls!” Cheryl said with a snap of her finger. “Go wait for Grandma in the other room. I need to talk to your Uncle Boogy.” The twins continued chanting as they danced into the family room.

  “So tell me, Alan. Who is she?”

  “Well, you won’t believe it, but it’s the girl Dale and I were talking about the other day.”

  “The one he told you to ask out?” she asked.

  “Yes. Can you believe it? Dale might have called that one—”

  Cheryl broke in, “The girl from the haunted house?”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s the one. Her name is Mary Krauss,” he said.

  “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Dale is a matchmaker. Did you see any pigs flying on the way here?”

  Alan chuckled and said he didn’t notice any, but he wasn’t looking up. Cheryl couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. She maneuvered him onto the stool, draped a sheet around his neck, and stood facing him with a huge smile.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, sorry, Alan, I’m just so happy for you.” She picked up a spritz bottle and a pair of scissors and got to work.

  “I’m going to totally transform you. The next time Mary sees you, she’s going to think she hit the jackpot.”

  “You’re scaring me, Cheryl. Please don’t do anything too radical.”

  “I know what I’m doing, brother-in-law. I u
sed to do this for a living. Trust me.”

  “Oh, I trust you. I’m just not sure I’m ready for a big change. Maybe we should get there in stages.”

  Cheryl backed away and scowled. He knew he wasn’t going to win this argument, so he backed down and let her continue. She worked with confidence and great precision, her comb and snipping scissors bobbing around his head. Stage one was finished. Next she flipped on the hair dryer and started by blowing the clipping to the floor. She dried and combed at the same time. For her finale, she squeezed a gob of gel into her palm, rubbed it between her hands, and ran her fingers through his hair, plucking and primping in preparation for his inspection. She stepped back for one final look before holding a hand mirror out in front of him.

  “Well, what do you think?” she said.

  Alan examined his new do, turning his head to each side then back to the center.

  “Is that really me?” he asked.

  “You like it?” she said.

  “It’s different, but yeah, I like it.” He continued studying his new look in the mirror. “Cheryl, you’re really good. Have you ever considered getting back into it when the kids get older?”

  Her smile vanished. She pulled the mirror away and turned to clean up the mess.

  “What? What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong? You did a great job. I love my new look. Did you think I didn’t like it…?”

  “No, Alan. I know you like the haircut. It’s nothing.”

  “Really? Are you sure I didn’t say something wrong? Oh god, this isn’t going to work. I’m so rusty I don’t even know when I say the wrong things. I’m bound to say something stupid on this date.”

  “No! I said it’s nothing,” she insisted.

  He didn’t believe her, but before he could say anything else, Cheryl’s mother came in the front door.

  “I’m here. Where are my babies?” she called out. The twins rushed past, yelling for their grandma.

  With each holding tightly to a leg, she tromped into the kitchen.

  “Is that you, Alan? Oh my, it is. I didn’t recognize you, sweetie. You’re looking good.”

  “It’s the new do. Cheryl just gave me a haircut. What do you think?”