by R. L. Stine
I didn’t move. I stared at his thinning, short hair. The small dark eyes. Not Uncle Theo’s eyes.
“Where is he?” I managed to choke out. “Where is my uncle?”
“Ray —”
“Who are you?” I screamed.
“I’m really sorry,” the man said. He motioned for me to sit down on the tall stool next to his dressing table.
But I didn’t move. I stood stiffly, my arms crossed tightly in front of me.
“I … didn’t want to ruin your summer,” he stammered. He shook his head. “I thought maybe I could fool you. For a while, at least. I know you came here for fun, and I didn’t want to spoil that.”
His voice broke on the words. I could see he was telling the truth. I could see he was very upset. His hands trembled so hard, he gripped the edge of the makeup table.
“Where is my uncle?” I repeated.
“He’s not here, Ray,” he replied. He kept his eyes locked on me. “He wrote that letter to you. Inviting you to the circus for the summer. But … but …”
Again, his voice broke.
He took a deep breath. “Right after he wrote to you, he got in trouble with Mr. HahaFace. Bad trouble. And Mr. HahaFace sent him to Clown Street.”
A long sigh escaped my throat. Uncle Theo was at Clown Street? What did that mean?
The man drummed his fingers tensely on the tabletop. “My real name is David Ford,” he said softly. “My clown name is Monkey Face, because I can make a hundred funny faces. I was a friend of your uncle’s.”
As he spoke, I lowered my arms. I crossed the room and sat down on the tall stool beside him.
“Mr. HahaFace called me into his office,” he continued. “He told me about Theo being sent away. He said I had to be Murder the Clown from then on.”
I gasped. “He told you to take over my uncle’s clown act? But Uncle Theo told me he created that clown. He worked as Murder his whole career.”
“I know,” David said. “That’s what I told HahaFace. But he said he would send me to Clown Street, too, if I didn’t take over as Murder the Clown. And he ordered me not to tell you the truth. He knew you were coming. He ordered me to keep my makeup on around you and let you think I was your uncle.”
I stared hard at him. This whole thing was hard to believe. No. It was impossible to believe.
But I believed him.
He reached out and patted the back of my hand. “I’m so sorry, Ray,” he said. “I had no choice.”
I jumped down off the stool. “I have to find my uncle,” I said.
“No. You can’t,” he cried. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Where is Clown Street, David? How do I get to Clown Street?”
“Y-you can’t,” he stuttered. “You can’t go there. It’s too late.”
“I have to try to find him,” I insisted. “I have to try to save him — and Bingo-Bongo, too.”
“No. It’s too dangerous. Trust me. It can’t be done.”
“Well, I’m doing it!” I cried.
I spun away from him. My legs felt like rubber bands, but I forced myself to stagger out of his mobile home.
I heard him shouting behind me. But I ignored him.
I ran out into the night. Heavy, humid air. A tiny sliver of a moon low in the black sky. Lights twinkling over the circus grounds.
I ran toward the show tent. No one in sight. The tent was dark and empty inside. I nearly stumbled over a cat, prowling across the grass. Probably hunting for food.
I have my own hunting to do, I thought. I have to find Clown Street.
But how could I get there? How could I save Uncle Theo and Bingo-Bongo?
Suddenly, I figured it out.
The name Clown Street sounded like a happy place. But now I knew the truth. I knew it was a dangerous, frightening place. That’s why the clowns never wanted to talk about it. They lived in terror of being sent there.
Mr. HahaFace, the ringmaster, was the one who sent them there. If you made him angry, if you did something he didn’t like, he sent you to Clown Street. And you never returned.
Was Uncle Theo still alive? Why did David Ford say it was too late to rescue him?
I didn’t care. I had to try.
I pictured Mr. HahaFace, and my chest suddenly burned with anger. He was supposed to be a clown. How could he be so evil? Did he enjoy having the power? The power to make everyone in the circus afraid of him? The power to send clowns away forever?
These questions flamed through my mind. I found myself trotting toward Mr. HahaFace’s mobile home on the other side of the lot. And each step I took made my anger grow.
My hands balled into tight fists. I swung them at my sides as I ran. My whole body burned with my anger.
I pictured myself punching HahaFace. Punching him in the face. Punching him with both fists … till he told me how to rescue my uncle.
As I passed a clump of trailers at the edge of the lot, a better plan started to come to me.
I have to get to Clown Street.
The only one who can send me there is Mr. HahaFace.
I have to do something that will make Mr. HahaFace eager to send me there. I have to do something that will anger him enough to send me to Clown Street immediately.
What could I do?
My brain was spinning as I reached the carnival area. The booths were all lighted by the white, red, and blue lights strung above them. But no one was in sight.
Three or four night birds fought over scraps of food that had been tossed on the ground. No other sign of life.
I started to walk past the carnival. But a booth caught my eyes. A bakery booth at the near end. Were those pies in the display case?
I turned and trotted over to the booth. Despite the heat of the night, my skin felt tingly and cold. I gazed into the refrigerator case at the side of the booth. Yes. The case was filled with pies. I saw fruit pies and a cream pie on the bottom shelf.
Suddenly, I knew how to get HahaFace to send me to Clown Street. No problem.
Was the glass case unlocked? Yes. I pulled open the door, stooped down, and carefully slid out the cream pie. I stuck a finger into the whipped cream top and tasted it.
Sweet.
I balanced the pie in one hand and continued my trip across the lot. Mr. HahaFace’s little mobile home stood all by itself between two tall evergreen shrubs. A yellow front-porch light sent a rectangle of light over the door.
I took a deep breath and walked closer. It was a terrifying moment, but my anger kept me moving. I held the pie steady in front of me.
I planned to knock on the door. When Mr. HahaFace opened it, I’d smash the cream pie as hard as I could into his face.
The dude already disliked me because I knocked him over in the ring. The pie would definitely make him hate me enough to send me to Clown Street.
My legs were trembling like crazy. But I forced myself to climb onto the front stoop. I held the pie high in one hand — and raised my other hand to knock on the front door.
My hand hung in the air for a few seconds. Then I lowered it to my side.
There were no lights on inside. The front window was completely black.
Mr. HahaFace must be asleep.
“Maybe that’s even better,” I murmured to myself.
If I wake him up with a cream pie in the face, he’ll be even angrier. He’ll be so furious, he’ll send me to Clown Street in less than a minute.
My hand shook as I gripped the doorknob. I turned it and pushed. No. I tried pulling. No. The front door was locked.
Under the yellow porch light, I turned my eyes to the window beside the stoop. Behind the screen, it was open about one-third of the way.
Was it big enough for me to slip inside? Yes.
I set the pie down and tiptoed to the window. It took me a few minutes to remove the screen. I tossed it onto the grass.
Then I used both hands to push the window all the way up. Cold air escaped through the opening. Mr. HahaFace must have had
the air conditioning cranked up high.
I carefully lifted the pie and carried it to the open window. Then I lowered one leg into the house. Holding the pie in two hands, I lowered my other leg over the window ledge.
I stood for a long moment in the darkness, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down and my breathing to return to normal. Pale moonlight washed into the room.
I was standing in a small living room. A couch faced a flat screen TV on one wall. A table held a stack of newspapers and magazines.
I waited for my eyes to adjust. The room smelled smoky and stale. The air was sour. Did Mr. HahaFace smoke cigars?
A back hallway came into focus. I guessed that the bedroom was at the end of that hall. Balancing the pie in front of me with one hand, I stepped into the hallway.
My foot knocked over something on the floor. A bottle? It clanked as it rolled in front of me. I held my breath and listened.
Did that wake HahaFace up?
Silence.
Still holding my breath, I crept as carefully as I could toward the end of the narrow hall. A doorway stood on the right. It had to be his bedroom door. The door was open. The room was pitch-black.
I took a step into the bedroom.
A wave of panic swept over me, making my whole body shudder.
Was this a crazy thing to do?
Of course it was. But if it worked … if it made him send me to Clown Street … it was worth being scared out of my mind.
Hazy gray light poured in from the bedroom window. I narrowed my eyes at the bed against the wall, struggling to see clearly. I could hear him snoring softly. Despite the warm night, the covers were pulled up to his chin.
He was sleeping on his back. His mouth hung open as he snored.
Again, I held my breath. I took a silent step toward the bed. Then another. Another.
Now I stood above him. I didn’t hesitate. I raised the pie in one hand, raised it high …
… and smashed it into his sleeping face.
It made a loud squish as the whipped cream and pie filling spread over his face. He uttered a long, loud groan.
I jumped back. My heart skipped a beat.
The whipped cream covered his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He sat straight up and groaned again. He shook his head hard, like a dog after a bath. Then he raised both hands and swiped at his face. He cleared the whipped cream from his nose with his fingers, then his eyes.
I stood frozen like a statue. Did I really do this?
He blew hard, sending whipped cream flying from his mouth. The pie oozed onto the front of his nightshirt. He groaned again.
Finally, he looked up and spotted me standing beside the bed. He blinked. He used the sheet to wipe more pie off his face. Pie covered the front of his nightshirt. It puddled over his covers.
“Ray?” His voice was still choked with sleep. A blob of whipped cream clung to his forehead and eyebrows.
I pressed my hands against my sides and tried to stop shaking.
“Ray? Is that you?” He kept blinking, squinting at me.
My stomach did a flip-flop. I had a sudden feeling something had gone terribly wrong. My brain was too scrambled to figure it out.
“Ray?” His hand fumbled against the wall. He found a light switch and clicked it on.
Then, wiping pie from his hair, he turned to face me. He dropped his feet to the floor and stood up.
And that’s when I realized what had gone wrong.
“Tommy Teardrops!” I cried. “Oh, wow. Oh, no. Wh-where is Mr. HahaFace?”
The wrong clown. I had just pied Tommy Teardrops.
“Did you mean to deliver this pie to HahaFace?” Tommy asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” I said. “I never meant to do it to you. I didn’t know —”
Tommy Teardrops crossed the room and picked up a towel from the dresser top. He wiped his face and head with it.
He licked some pie off his upper lip. “Not bad, kid. Is it banana cream?”
“I’m really sorry,” I repeated.
He shrugged. “Well … I usually like to eat my pie when I’m awake — not sound asleep.”
“I thought you were Mr. HahaFace,” I said. “Really.”
“He’s away tonight,” Tommy explained. He used the towel to work pie out of his ears. “HahaFace is staying in town with some friends. So I slept here because my trailer is broken. A leaky water pipe.”
“Oh, wow,” I murmured. “Oh, wow.”
Tommy’s eyes flashed. “Did Mr. HahaFace know you were coming with a pie tonight? He didn’t tell me to expect you.”
I shook my head. “No. He didn’t know. I wanted to surprise him.”
Tommy squinted at me. “And you did it because …?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to tell Tommy Teardrops my plan. I knew he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t help me get to Clown Street. He’d try to stop me.
“It … it was just a joke,” I lied.
Tommy squinted at me. “A joke? Really? Ray, that kind of joke could get you a one-way trip to Clown Street.”
“That’s what I want!” I blurted out. “Don’t you see? I have to help my uncle. I have to find Uncle Theo and get him out of wherever he is.”
Tommy shook his head sadly. “It’s too late, Ray. Don’t try it. I liked your uncle. He was a good guy. But it’s too late.”
“I have to try,” I said. I turned and started toward the door.
“No one ever returns from Clown Street!” he shouted after me.
I stopped at the front door. “I’ll be the first,” I called back. “Me and Uncle Theo. I’m going there now, Tommy.”
And as I closed the door behind me and stepped out into the hot summer night, I realized exactly how to get there. I took a deep breath. Then I took off running to the Dunk-A-Klown tank.
The Dunk-A-Klown tank had to be the way to get to Clown Street.
I suddenly felt like an idiot. Trying to make Mr. HahaFace angry was a total waste of time. What a stupid idea that had been.
I pictured the clowns who had been perched on the seat in the water tank. And I remembered their faces, so frightened. Terrified.
Bingo-Bongo was shaking in fear when he sat above the tank. And when the water flushed and sank from the tank, he frantically tried to stay afloat.
I watched as he vanished, sucked into the bottom of the tank. He must have been flushed to Clown Street. The water must have swept him to wherever that street is located.
My shoes thudded the wet grass as I ran full-speed to the carnival area. Under the sparkling lights, the booths glowed eerily. Empty. Like a ghost town.
I ran past the bakery booth with the missing cream pie in the display case. In the balloon dart game booth, the giant teddy bear prizes stared blankly at me as I passed.
A gust of wind rattled the flags over the Chicken-On-A-Stick booth. The wind made whistling sounds as it swept through the carnival. Balloons shook and booth walls creaked.
The Dunk-A-Klown tank came into view. The water looked dark and deep. The surface rolled and splashed in the sudden wind gusts.
I stared at the chair high above the water. Once again, I pictured Bingo-Bongo up there, hugging himself, his face twisted in fear, his whole body shaking.
I’m coming, I thought. I’ll save you, too.
Breathing hard, sweat pouring down my forehead, I stepped up to the tank. I pressed my face against the glass and peered down.
The glass felt cool against my hot forehead. Inside, I could see the drain. It was closed, of course. Covered by a metal lid.
But I could see the drain clearly. Square and big enough for a person to fall through. Big enough to pull a person down … down to wherever the water led.
I took a step back. So how was this going to work? I had to climb behind the tank, then jump into the water. I had to dive to the bottom and pull the lid up — and let myself be flushed down the drain.
I can do this, I told myself.
I turned and walked to the side of
the water tank. I grabbed the ladder tilted there and raised a foot to the lowest rung. That’s when I saw someone step quickly out of the deep shadows.
She ran toward me and pulled me from the ladder.
“Don’t!” Deanna shouted.
“You’re not going to stop me,” I cried. “No way!”
“You can’t do this, Ray,” she said.
Her blond hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes locked on mine. She wore a white tank top pulled down over dark straight-legged jeans.
“Get back, Ray,” she said. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s crazy.”
“Go away, Deanna,” I insisted. “I know who you are. I know you are Mr. HahaFace’s daughter. And I know you have been spying for him. But I’m not going to let you stop me. I’m serious. I —”
“Shut up,” she snapped. Her expression turned cold. “You don’t understand anything.”
“I understand that my uncle is in trouble,” I said. “And I’m going to find him. I’m going in this tank. You’re not going to stop me.” I lowered my shoulder and tried to push past her.
But she grabbed my shoulder and whirled me around. “Stop! Stop! You don’t understand. I’m on your side!” she screamed.
I was panting hard. I squinted at her. “What?”
“I’m on your side,” she repeated.
Another gust of hot wind made waves roll at the surface of the water tank. The wind howled down the wide aisle between the carnival booths.
I shook my head hard, trying to clear it. Was Deanna telling the truth?
She stood almost nose to nose with me, with her hands pressed against her waist. “I’ve been trying to warn you all along,” she said. “I’ve been trying to warn you to go home. This circus is evil.”
“But — I —” My mouth hung open. She was Mr. HahaFace’s daughter. Why was she saying that?
“I threw the knife past your head on the day you arrived,” Deanna said. “I whispered your name and made you fall into the smelly fish guts. That was me, Ray. And I cut your clown shoes in two.”
“Huh?” My mouth still hung open. “You did all that to help me? Are you crazy?!”
“I did all that to warn you,” she insisted. “And I’m warning you now —”