by Alex Jameson
“Clown thing?”
“Yeah, like on the news.”
“Aiden, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. Speak slowly and use small words.”
Sam avoided the news like the plague. He wanted nothing to do with the political shit-show that was the presidential election, or the situation in Syria, or deteriorating international relations, or ISIS… the part of him that cared about any of that kind of stuff was long gone. He liked his simple existence. Even when Lynn tried to veer the conversation toward politics or current events, he’d just shrug and remind her that he didn’t have an opinion on that sort of thing.
“Alright. So for the last couple of months, there have been these people dressing up like creepy clowns and like scaring people and stuff. It’s happening all over the country.”
Sam paused with his burger halfway to his mouth. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just fun to scare people.”
“So it’s like a Halloween prank? But before Halloween?”
“I guess. Something like that.”
Sam scoffed. “Sure, why not? Christmas season is three months long now. Mischief Night can be too, right?”
“What’s Mischief Night?”
“Never mind. So what’s this got to do with you?”
“Well... some of the guys from school are going to do it. Dress up like clowns and scare people and kids and stuff.”
“And…?”
“And, you know, I was gonna do it too.”
Sam chewed slowly, mulling it over. When he was a kid, he got into some mischief now and then, especially around Halloween—smashing pumpkins, lighting dog poop on fire, egging houses. The normal stuff. Dressing up like a clown and scaring people seemed pretty tame, by comparison. And maybe doing something like this could make Aiden a few more friends.
“No one’s getting hurt, right?” Sam asked.
“No, no. I swear.”
“You just dress like a clown to freak people out? That’s it?”
“Yeah. Totally.”
“Hmm.” It actually sounded kind of lame when Sam said it aloud, but hey, who was he to disparage what kids found fun? “Alright. Long as you’re safe about it. Don’t piss anyone off you can’t outrun.” Sam drained the last of his beer and held up a hand to motion to the waitress for another. “Oh, and don’t mess with little kids. You’ll give them nightmares.”
“Okay. I promise I’ll only give adults nightmares.” Aiden grinned fiercely.
“When’s this going down?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Sam pretended to gasp and clutched at his chest. “On a school night! Wait, your mom doesn’t let you stay out past eight on school nights. Aiden McCreary, are you going to sneak out to pull this little stunt?”
He blushed deeply. “Maybe.”
“Well alright then.” The waitress brought Sam another beer, and he lifted it in a toast to Aiden, who lifted his milkshake. “Here’s to you taking some chances.”
“Don’t tell Mom.”
“Come on, man. I’m no snitch.”
They both drank to that.
CHAPTER 4
* * *
For two days and two nights they lay on their stomachs on the second floor of a burned-out two-story building across the street from the factory. The stairs were gone, crumbled away to dust; they had to climb up the alley-facing southern wall to get to the second story, and from there take a position near a portion of missing wall that looked out over the street. Intel had gotten word that there was a significant bomb-maker in the building across the way. Shoot on sight. For two days they sat in that building, sleeping in shifts, faces streaked with soot and sweat, just waiting.
Greenburg, his spotter, gazed through a thick scope as Sam dozed. He was a young guy with a hooked nose and ruddy cheeks that always looked like he’d just run a mile.
“Finally, damn,” he said, elbowing Sam awake. “Check it out. Target at fifty…three yards north-northwest. Can you believe that shit? Waited all this time for a potshot.”
Sam peered through the scope of his rifle in the direction Greenburg indicated. All he saw was a slender figure in an all-black burqa. He looked at his spotter incredulously. “What… the woman?”
Greenburg scoffed. “No, not a woman. A cow. Look again.”
Confused, Sam looked again. Sure enough, it was not a woman at all, but a black-and-white heifer meandering casually down the road. “You want me to shoot the cow?”
“I don’t want you to shoot the cow. Command wants you to shoot the cow.”
“But… why?”
“Remember that convoy that found a roadside camel with an IED up its ass? Same deal.”
“The cow has a bomb?”
Greenburg leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially, even though there was no one around. “Look man, you do this thing and we can eat like kings for a month!”
“What is happening?”
Greenburg peered through his scope again. “I don’t know, but you better hurry up. She’s getting away.”
Sam lined the cow up in his sights again. It would be easy. It was just a cow.
“Asher, what are you waiting for?”
He squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded out of the barrel before the rifle crack sounded. It struck the woman in the forehead—a woman. Not a cow. Blood and brains spattered onto the concrete wall behind her and she slumped backward in a heap.
Greenburg whooped. “Nothing to it!”
“Jesus…” Sam crossed himself, an old habit that came back in rare instances.
“Nice shot. Now…” Greenburg grabbed the barrel and turned the rifle on himself, pressing it against his own forehead. “Do me.”
“What?”
“Come on. Do it! There’s no chance you’ll miss.”
“Alex, I can’t…”
“Do it!”
Sam rolled over and scurried away backward on his hands and feet as fast as he could. Suddenly there was nothing under him and he fell off the edge, where the stairs would be, and kept falling…
He awoke with a jolt and sat upright in bed. He was in his bedroom. His throat was sore; he’d been screaming. He looked at the clock. It wasn’t even ten p.m. yet. He’d been asleep for less than an hour. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and made a call.
“Hey,” Lynn answered softly. Good, she wasn’t asleep yet. “Thought you were calling it an early night?”
“I was. Er, I did. I, uh… couldn’t sleep.”
“You okay, Sam?”
He rubbed his forehead. “No. I had a nightmare.” He felt stupid saying it.
“You want me to come over?”
“No,” he said quickly. He sighed. “Yes.”
“Be right there.” She hung up before he could change his mind again.
Eight minutes later he unbolted the door and let her in. She was in her pajamas, plaid cotton pants and an oversized t-shirt.
“Come on.” She took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom and instructed him to lie down. Then she lay beside him and gently rubbed his back. “Just relax. You want to talk about it?”
“No.” He was already beginning to feel better.
“Okay.” She settled down beside him and slowly ran her hand up to his shoulder and down to his lower back. It felt nice, comforting.
Sam cleared his throat. “Buddy of mine, from the Marines… he, uh, shot himself a couple weeks ago.”
“Oh god, Sam, I’m so sorry. Were you close?”
“He was my spotter. I’m not sure we were real close, but… we spent a lot of time together. I just didn’t think he was the type.”
“And you’ve been having these nightmares since then?”
“Not at first. I thought I was fine… mostly just thinking about him and why he would’ve done it. There wasn’t a note or anything. Maybe the last week or so they came back.”
She put an arm around him and hugged him tight. �
��You should’ve told me.”
“It’s not something that’s easy to tell.”
“I’m here, though.”
“I know.”
They didn’t say anything more. He held her hand against his chest and drifted off to sleep. There were no more nightmares after that.
***
There were six of them, total. They couldn’t risk buying the masks from a local Halloween store, so they bought them online, and then to avoid being identified they customized them with big, sharp teeth and red eyes and bloody scars. Originally they were happy clown masks, the kind anyone might see at a kid’s birthday party. By the time they were done with them, they looked like something out of a horror movie or a twisted haunted house attraction.
They met in the woods at ten o’clock that night, about a quarter-mile from the entrance to the park. The park was technically closed at sundown, but that didn’t stop people from still going there. They were especially hopeful that some other kids from school would be there; it was a popular make-out spot for teens, and scaring the crap out of some of their classmates would not only sweeten the fun, but would also ensure that everyone would know that creepy clowns had infiltrated Kingston.
“Wait, wait,” Scott Allen, a tall boy who was the running back for the Kingston High Cougars frowned, surveying the group. “There are six of us.”
“So?” one of the others responded, his voice muffled by his mask.
“There were only supposed to be five,” Scott said. He pointed to the two nearest clowns. “I know you, and I know you,” and then he pointed to the two on the other side of him. “And I know you two. But I don’t know you. Pull up the mask. Let me see your face.”
The clown looked down at his feet and kicked at the dirt. “Why?” he asked.
“Because I need to know I can trust whoever you are not to squeal on us later,” Scott said.
“I won’t squeal.”
“Then let me see your face.”
“Fine.” Aiden pulled his mask up for a brief couple of seconds so everyone could see him. He squinted in the sudden glare of five flashlights, and then lowered his mask again. A couple of the guys groaned.
“McCreary, huh?” said Scott. “That’s funny. What, do you think we’re stupid? Get the hell out of here.”
“No way. I worked hard on this costume. I want to do this.”
One of the other boys, Barry, leaned close to Scott. “Let him come. He can’t squeal if he’s with us.”
“Alright. But he goes first.”
Aiden looked from clown to clown. “Go first with what?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
Scott led the way to the entrance of the park. The woods served as the eastern border, with a street on the other side and suburbs at the far end. The six clowns crept to the last row of trees, crouching low and turning off their flashlights.
“Now we wait,” Scott said.
They didn’t have to wait long. No more than five minutes later, a couple of kids walked hurriedly toward the park. They couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve. Aiden could just barely make out their faces; a boy and a girl, and they both looked worried.
“There,” Scott said. “Those two. You’re up first, McCreary.”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t care. Just scare the hell out of them.”
“Uh… how?”
Scott Allen reached behind him and loosed something from his belt. He handed it over to Aiden. The blade gleamed in the moonlight. It was a small hatchet.
“No way!” Aiden protested.
“I’m not asking you to hit them with it, moron. Just wave it around, use it to scare them.” Scott pulled his mask up so that Aiden could see he was serious. “If you don’t do this, I’ll tell my sister you’re a total pussy. You do this, and I’ll let her know how badass you are.”
“And you can come to the Halloween party,” Barry added in a hoarse whisper.
“Shut up, Barry!” Scott hissed. Then to Aiden he said, “But yeah. Totally.”
Scott was Taylor’s older brother by a year and a half. Aiden briefly imagined himself at one of their parties… Taylor thinking he was a badass… Leading him by the hand up to her bedroom…
He took the hatchet. “Be right back. Watch this.”
He took off along the tree line, trying hard not to crunch leaves under his feet. He had to run to get ahead of the two kids. He hid behind a tree with the hatchet gripped in his fist and waited.
“Oh my god, Mom is going to kill us!” said the girl. “We’re so late. I never should have waited for you.”
“I just wanted to beat one more level,” the boy said. “You didn’t have to wait.”
“Yeah, right. I’d get in more trouble letting you walk home alone. God! We’re so grounded.”
Aiden’s heart pounded in his chest. He held the hatchet behind his back as he peered out from behind the tree. He realized he had no idea what to say, or how to say it, but he knew he had to act fast. Clearing his throat a little, he made both of them jump and turn suddenly in his direction.
“Hey kids,” he said, trying to make his voice raspy and harsh. “Want some candy?” He brought the hatchet out from behind his back, turning it so that it gleamed in the moonlight.
The girl shrieked. The boy grabbed his sister by the sleeve and pulled her, running. “Run!” he screamed. “Run, Carolyn!”
Well, that was easy, Aiden thought. Should I chase them? Nah. I think that kid peed a little. I hope Scott and the guys saw all that.
He heard whoops and cheers from further down the tree line; they had seen it. He felt a surge of excitement. Scaring those kids wasn’t actually all that thrilling, but knowing he had an audience—which included Scott Allen—made him downright giddy. He went back into the woods and started back toward where the other guys were waiting. He really hoped they’d find some other people out tonight. This clown thing was actually kind of cool—
Something hit him hard from behind, flat in the middle of his back. “Oomph!”
He sprawled forward onto his stomach in the leaves, the air knocked from his lungs. He struggled to take a breath inward, but before he could, something hard and heavy leaned against his spine. Someone’s knee.
“I see n-now,” a hoarse male voice said. “Th-that’s what you like. K-kids.”
Aiden tried to shout for help, to scream out, but he had trouble bringing air back into his lungs.
“Well, I’ll t-tell you something,” the man said. “I’m n-not a kid any… anymore.”
A hand gripped the back of his mask roughly and forced his head to turn to the side. Aiden felt a surge of dread as he saw the serrated knife being waved in his vision.
“You see th-this?” The knife disappeared. The hand holding his head forced his face back into the wet leaves and dirt.
Please… no…
He felt a sharp poke in his abdomen, and then the knife slipped between two ribs. He tried to scream, but it was barely a high-pitched whimper muffled by the leaves.
“Th-that’s about a half… half-inch. Every t-time you squirm I’m g-gonna push this knife f-further.” The weight on his back shifted; he smelled the man’s rancid breath even behind the latex clown mask. “And m-my hands ain’t as steady as th-they used to be.”
The knife slipped further in faster than Aiden could suck in a breath. The serrated edges of the bread knife scraped a rib. He tried again to cry out, but he couldn’t. He let out a whimpering moan. When he tried to suck in a breath again, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“That’s a p-punctured lung,” the man said. “So you c-c-can’t scream. And we’re just getting star-started.”
The hand came off the back of his head. Aiden looked up, his vision bleary with tears. The pain in his ribs was unbearable. He couldn’t breathe. He felt cold; his body trembled. Oh, God.
He was dying.
He was going to die.
Somewhere in the muddied, meddled confusio
n that his mind was right now, he recognized that he was going into shock.
In the distance, between the trees, he could see flashlight beams bouncing. A voice called out, “McCreary?”
Someone else shouted, “Where’d you go, man?”
Aiden opened his mouth to call out to them, but he could barely choke out a whisper. The weight lifted from his back. Two hands clasped firmly around his ankle, and then he was being dragged, away from the flashlight beams and voices, away from safety, further into the woods. He tried to grab onto something, anything—a root, a tree trunk—but he was too weak. The edges of his vision darkened. He couldn’t hold his head up anymore. He let it fall to the forest floor, bumping roughly over dirt and brush. He was about to die.
Near the park, the other five boys gave up on their search.
“Where do you think he went?” Barry asked.
“Who knows. Who cares? Probably got freaked out and ran home,” Scott Allen said. “C’mon, let’s go find someone else to spook.”
CHAPTER 5
* * *
It had been a wonderful night. Lynn stayed the whole time, lying beside him and just holding him. There were no more nightmares; his slumber was deep and dreamless. At five fifteen the next morning his alarm woke him. He felt good, invigorated, for the first time in almost two weeks.
As he rose, Lynn rolled over and opened her eyes slightly. “Sleep well?”
“Very,” he said.
He expected a follow-up—something like, “We could do this every night” or, “If we lived together…” but instead she rolled over and went back to sleep, a smile on her lips.
He took a quick shower and shaved. A few years back he’d let the beard grow out, and liked it, but there was no way he was going to wear one of those ridiculous beard nets. The one butcher, Travis, adored his beard enough to suffer the indignity of a beard net, and the guy looked absurd. “Price of a great beard,” he’d say jovially. No thanks.
He dressed for work and gently shook Lynn. It was only five forty-five; she didn’t have to be at the school for another two hours.
“Lock up when you leave, Miss Hunter,” he teased.