The Guild of Fallen Clowns

by Francis Xavier

  Alan was confused. “I’m not going to pretend I understand. Maybe because I’m the complete opposite when it comes to the hereafter.”

  “You don’t believe in heaven?” she asked.

  “That’s a good question. I’m not sure. I do know, or believe, there’s something after this, but it scares me worse than the idea of there being nothing.”

  “What?”

  “I guess I am going there,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have to respond. I didn’t intend to bring your fears into this. You don’t have to say anything more. All I wanted to do was tell you about my thing.”

  “No, it’s okay, but I still don’t understand what you said. If you’re not afraid of dying, what is it that you are afraid of?”

  “I am afraid of dying—the process of it. I feel like I’ve already suffered through it once and we humans aren’t equipped to go through it more than once. I’m not worried about what happens to me after, but I do fear going through the pain and the draining of everything I am. I love life, but during that time, I wanted to die. I really wanted to die because I didn’t have the will to live. That’s not who I am. I’m usually a fighter, but the treatment took that fighting spirit away from me. I turned into a different person. A person I never want to be again. When my time comes, I refuse to pass over to the other side as that person. I want to die as happy as I am right now. I want to be smiling when I get there. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “I suppose, but I’d go through that process a thousand times if it keeps me alive.”

  “Why are you afraid of what happens to our souls? What happened to you to make you fear it so much?” Mary caught herself and tried to retract her questions. “Oops, I’m being too intrusive. See, you’re not the only one who blurts out whatever they are thinking.”

  Alan grinned. “Ever since my father died, I’ve had dreams. Dark dreams.”

  “Nightmares?” she said.

  “Worse. I can’t even find words to explain them, but I know they are much more than nightmares. I see through death, and it’s more frightening than anything you can possibly imagine.”

  “Worse than chemo?” she said sarcastically.

  “No, I didn’t mean to compare it in any way to what you went through. I’ve never experienced chemo and I can’t pretend to know the visions in my dreams are worse. I’m sorry if it came across that way. Like I said, these dreams are impossible to put into words. The only thing that resembles anything remotely describable is that when I’m having those dreams, I always have a feeling of some sort of evil presence behind me, showing me things.”

  “Showing you what?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not something you could picture. I guess it’s more like thick dread. A depressing kind of dread and weakness unlike anything in this world.”

  “That sounds terrible,” she said. Then she grabbed his arm, hugged it tight, and leaned her head to his shoulder. She looked up to his face and smiled. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll die first. When I get there, I’ll make sure those dreams don’t come back. I’ll guide you to the light and make sure those nasty nightmares are gone forever.”

  Alan smiled, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. She squeezed his arm and snuggled her head back into his shoulder.

  *****

  The key slipped into the lock. A click sounded as the hand twisted clockwise and the car’s trunk began to open. The floor inside was lined with a half dozen partially filled trash bags. Two more bags were tossed in before the trunk closed and Geno moved to open the driver’s side door. He entered the cab, started the engine, and slowly drove through the tall grasses in the dark field; the headlights remained off until he reached the road.

  Chapter 29

  Whistling to an upbeat tune on his clock radio, Alan laid out his Boogy costume on the bed and returned to the bathroom, where he opened the cabinet below the sink and took out a tray full of clown makeup, and put it on the counter.

  The phone rang, interrupting him from beginning his transformation into Boogy.

  “Alan! Oh thank God,” Dale said.

  “Oh, hey, Dale, I’m glad you called because I’ve got a Boogy gig today, and I was thinking about stopping by after to see the kids.”

  “Sure, that’s fine. I’m working, but I’m sure Cheryl and the kids would love to see you.”

  “Working? I thought you might be calling to see if I wanted to go to church with you guys again.”

  “Church? Not me. That would be Cheryl. I’m calling to be sure you’re safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “You went to the carnival with that Krauss chick last night, right?”

  “Yeeessss…”

  “And everything was okay, right? I mean, she got home okay? You dropped her off and saw her inside?”

  “No, she drove. She dropped me off,” he said. “What’s this about, Dale? Why are you asking me who drove? My car was in the shop so she offered—”

  “No, it’s not about that,” Dale cut in. “It looks like we might have a serial killer who killed people that were at the carnival last night. That’s why I’m calling. I knew you were there last night.”

  “A serial killer?” Alan said.

  “Yes—well, maybe. To be honest…” Dale’s voice lowered. “I haven’t shared this theory with anyone yet, but last night, a guy jumped off the roof of the Sycamore Building. Then a girl drove off Wilkes Bridge into the river. Her three friends got out, but she didn’t make it. Now I’m at the scene where the body of a cab driver was cut up and put into a bunch of bags in her trunk. I just got off the phone with her dispatcher and he said her last fare was at the carnival. All three victims were there last night.”

  “Are you sure that’s not just a coincidence? It sounds like the first was a suicide. The second could have been an accident. The third, well, yeah, she was obviously murdered, but why do you think there’s a serial killer?” Alan said.

  “Because he left a calling card. They found pieces of a broken figure near the jumper. The same creepy clown figure was in the car beside the girl that drowned. And now I’m holding the same freakishly ugly figure. This one was inside the cab of the poor women cut up in the trunk.”

  Alan’s face went white. “Creepy clown?” he repeated.

  “Yes, it has a top hat and a black nose. This thing would give you nightmares, brother.”

  Alan’s heart raced as he started pacing the floor. Peepers was back, and Geno lied to him when he said he destroyed his mold. Now at least three people were dead and he was the only person who knew the identities of the killer and his accomplice.

  “Alan, hello, still there?” Dale said.

  “I—I did something really bad, Dale.”

  “What?”

  “I sculpted it. I created the mold for those figures.”

  “Wait, no, what? Are you, no way, are you telling me…” Dale’s voice turned to a whisper. “Are you telling me you did this?”

  “No, I didn’t kill those people but I am responsible for creating the—calling card. I sculpted the figure and made a mold so more could be produced.”

  “Okay, you’re starting to freak me out, Alan. You can’t sculpt. Why would you tell me something like this? You’re scaring me.”

  “I know, this doesn’t make sense, but you have to trust me because it gets worse. I’ll explain later, but right now I need you to trust me and do exactly what I tell you to do. I know who’s responsible for the killings.”

  “Who is it? I’ll have the entire force there in five minutes,” Dale insisted.

  “No, they can’t help. This is something I need to do, but I need you to do something else. The figure was supposed to help people with their fears. The problem is that there are more figures, of two other clowns. ”

  “What do you mean, more figures? Are you saying there’s more than one killer?”

  “No, I don’t think the others are as dangerous, but I’m not positive. They need to be destroy
ed.”

  “Other figures? I don’t care about the stupid figures. I want to find the killer who’s leaving them with his victims. Just tell me who you think this guy is and let the professionals handle it, Alan.”

  “They aren’t people! They’re spirits, evil spirits!” Alan stammered.

  “Look, Alan, I want to believe you, bro, but do you hear yourself? Do you know what you’re asking me? If you know anything, please tell me so we can stop this guy before anyone else gets hurt.”

  “Cheryl has one of the figures!” Alan said.

  “What, is Cheryl in danger? We weren’t at the carnival last night. What the hell are you telling me, Alan?”

  “I wanted to help her with her fear of crowds so I made a figure for her. I thought these things were harmless, but now I don’t know. You have to find the figure and destroy it. Do you know where she is now?”

  “Calm down, Alan, she’s probably at church with the kids. I’m sure she’s fine. It’s just a clown figure, right? It can’t hurt her.”

  “Go now!” Alan demanded. “I need you to trust me, Dale. Find and destroy her clown.”

  “Okay, calm down. If it will make you feel better, I’ll do that, but then I need to know who you think is killing these people and leaving these creepy things.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you everything. When you’re finished, meet me outside the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors at the carnival. I need to destroy the mold.”

  “Is that where the killer is?”

  “That’s where the evil spirit that killed those people is. If you get there before me, don’t go inside. Promise to wait for me. This is something I need to do on my own. I need you to watch for a guy named Geno. He’s a short guy who runs the thing. If you see him come out before I get there, grab him. Don’t let him go back inside. He knows where the mold is and we can’t let him cast more figures. But you have to promise me that you won’t go inside. Wait for me.”

  “Okay, I promise,” Dale said. “So, you think this Geno guy is the killer?”

  “Dale!” Alan snapped. “Go to Cheryl. Then wait for me at the carnival.”

  Alan hung up and dialed Mary’s cell phone. It went to voice mail. He hung up and dialed the number a second time. Again, it went to her voice mail.

  “C’mon, Mary, pick up your phone,” he said as he dialed her home phone.

  After three rings, Mary answered.

  “Oh, good, you’re okay,” Alan said.

  Mary laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said.

  “It’s just that I tried your cell phone twice and you didn’t answer, so I called your home phone.”

  “Okay, maybe the battery’s dead. No, that’s right, it’s in my purse, in the trunk of my car. But what’s with the drama? Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

  Alan sat on the side of his bed and sighed. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about Peepers.”

  Mary listened as he told her the entire story, including his plans to stop Peepers and the Guild from hurting more people. She just listened and never stopped to ask questions. At the end, he made her promise to stay away from the carnival. She didn’t say much but she agreed to stay away, and they hung up.

  Alan shook his head. He sensed that she hadn’t questioned his fantastic tale because she thought he lost his mind. He knew he lost her as a girlfriend, but her safety was more important than any negative impressions she might have formed about his mental state.

  He stood from the bed and walked into the closet. A few seconds later, he returned to the living room with a new figure in his hand. He held the figure out in front of him and said, “I hope I’m right about you.”

  *****

  Walking toward her car, Mary held out the remote and pressed the button. The trunk popped open. She stepped up to the rear of the car and lifted the lid. She grabbed her purse, closed the trunk, and returned inside the house. She placed the purse on the kitchen table, reached inside, and dug around in search of her cell phone. A puzzled look came over her face when she felt a long foreign object. The touch of her fingers couldn’t identify the object, so she grasped it and removed it for a visual inspection.

  Instantly recognizing the figure, she dropped it on the table and jumped back. The cell phone slipped out as the figure landed on the soft purse unharmed. Both she and the figure remained motionless as her eyes moved between it and her cell phone. She inched closer until she was within reach of her phone. Like a fisherman setting the hook, she snapped up the phone, lurched backward, and rushed toward the front door. The door slammed shut before she got there. She grabbed the knob and pulled with all her might, but it didn’t budge. The house began to rumble and she turned to see a life-size Peepers digging through her purse. She flipped open her phone. The display was dark. She pressed the power button, but it didn’t light up.

  Peepers pulled something from her purse and turned to face her. He held out the battery to her cell phone and smiled. Mary flipped the phone in her hand and looked at the empty battery compartment. Her eyes returned to Peepers while her hands continued to turn and pull the front door.

  “Your clown cannot help,” Peepers said. Mary dropped her phone.

  “My name is Peepers. I represent th—”

  “I know who—what you are.” Her eyes never left him as she crept sideways until she was blocked into the corner of the foyer. Peepers’ focus moved to the knife block on her kitchen counter. He casually stepped up to the counter and removed the widest blade from the set, an eight-inch chef’s knife. With his back turned away from Mary, he held the knife above his head and tilted it until he could see her reflection in the adjoining foyer.

  “I’ve seen how you operate in Clown World, and Alan filled me in on the rest. You’re here to kill me, like you killed those other people.”

  Peepers laughed as he faced her. Then he moved through the kitchen to the center of the foyer. “Cancer will kill you. Peepers here to set Mary free.”

  “Cancer? I already won that battle. I don’t need your help.”

  Peepers stepped closer. His eyes gazed down to her right thigh, just above the knee. He grinned and gently touched the tip of his knife to her shirt over her right breast. The blade sent tingles as it slowly traced a line down her body, stopping when it reached the target of his stare.

  “That battle only beginning of war. Cancer return.” He looked at the tip of the blade and tilted his head left. Mary followed his eyes to her bare leg below her shorts. Peepers removed the knife. She leaned over and grabbed the skin on her leg. She twisted her foot to see behind the knee. Hidden from view she noticed a raised black mole about the size of a pea.

  “No!” she screamed. The house rumbled in response to her anguish. Tears filled her eyes as she looked back at Peepers. “You did this! I was clean a week ago. Why, why would you do this to me?” She moaned and looked back at the suspicious mole.

  Peepers stepped closer. She looked into his face and cried, “Why would you do this?”

  “Fight cancer again, Mary will lose. Remain weak, and sick, many weeks.”

  Mary sobbed. With each tear that fell to the floor, the house rumbled.

  “Disease and chemicals will feast on flesh. Misery till last gasp of breath squeeze from chest.”

  Mary’s legs shook. Her body collapsed to the floor. “I can’t go through it again,” she whimpered, wiping her sleeve across her face.

  Peepers grinned, then bent down and sat beside her. His head leaned to her ear. “Tears of memories. Dark path to despair beckon Mary’s return.”

  Her forehead pressed into her knees as she hid her face in an upright fetal position with her arms wrapped tight around her legs. “Please leave,” she said. “You did what you came here for. You made the cancer return and now I’m going to die. You’ve done it. You killed me. Now please leave me alone.”

  The dark spirit’s eyes closed. He inhaled deep, basking in the savory flavors of her grief in the way a connoisseur bathed in the complex nuances of a
fine wine.

  “Fear what will become. Mary doomed to surrender life vision. Death sucks desire and joy from soul.”

  Mary’s arms tightened around her legs as she continued sobbing uncontrollably. Peepers feasted in the second course of her torment. He looked at the knife in his hand and squeezed.

  “Peepers set Mary free. Mary’s will to live still strong. Accept death by Peepers’ hand. Die with strength.” Peepers stood and stared down at her. He held the blade out and twisted his wrist, flashing beams of reflected light from the polished steel surface over her tucked head. Her arms loosened and her head began to rise. Her eyes winced but didn’t retreat as she met his glare. He lowered the knife and nodded his approval of her decision to accept death by his hand.

  “Wise to accept swift death. Fight disease, never real choice,” he growled.

  She wiped the remaining tears from her face and paused before standing to her feet. Peepers nodded his pleasure.

  “Thank you,” she said. She smiled and closed her eyes. The muscles in her body relaxed.

  Peepers’ expression grew dim. “Mary grows weak in mind. Lose will to fight for life.”

  She opened her eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? For a brief moment there, you managed to bring me back to a place I vowed never to return. For a split second I prayed you would end my life while I sat feeling sorry for myself. Then you reminded me of my will to live. My will to live is strong. That’s true. I don’t want to die. If you killed me when I wished for it, I would have experienced my greatest fear. I would have died as someone I’m not. So thank you for giving me time to escape that darkness.”

  Peepers grew angry over his failure to recognize the moment of her greatest weakness. “Mary still die at Peepers’ hand. Why she stand eyes closed, arms at side?”

  Mary smirked. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want me to run in fear from you, don’t you? You get off on terrorizing your victims before killing them. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.”

  Peepers snarled in anger. He turned away and stomped across the room in rage. He flung the knife across the floor, where it rested at her feet. “Pick up!” he commanded.