The walls of the central pueblo enfolded me. They hoisted me onto the first ladder. There would be others, and eager hands, leading me to the top of the tower. There was nothing I could do or say, but I found voice to begin screaming again.
THE END
COULROPHOBIA by Betty Rocksteady
It was becoming a habit. Jack would get drunk, pick a fight with Carol, and drive off in a fit of rage. He was sick of her judgmental friends, and he was especially sick of the way Carol watched him like a hawk when he was around them.
His driving was sloppy, but the streets were quiet and he felt comfortable. Jack always said driving drunk made him more careful, it was when he was sober you had to watch out. He knew it wasn't exactly true, but he liked saying it because it usually got a laugh. He rolled his window down so the breeze would keep him alert. He knew he was driving a little faster than he should be, but it felt good to go fast sometimes.
Maybe if he were sober his reflexes would have been better, or maybe it would have happened anyway. He only saw it for an instant and it was already too late – a small figure running through his headlights. The impact jolted through him. Jack pulled over, his stomach churning in fear. Please god, an animal. Let it be an animal, not a kid. I can't go to jail. He was afraid to look but forced himself out of the car. A light rain misted his face as he stumbled back to see the damage
Jack had trouble making sense of the small broken body. He had prayed for an animal but expected to see a child. What he saw instead was a shrunken, disproportionate man. His fragile neck was tilted at an unnatural angle and his small form was lifeless. The amount of blood was shocking, coating his yellow suit and over-sized shoes. His face was painted grotesquely in greasepaint, bright white caked over wrinkles and a waxy red smile outlining his gaping mouth. A tiny clown. Jack had killed a tiny clown.
I'm fucked now, Jack thought, because this little freak was out walking the streets in the middle of the night.
The street was silent. No one had come out to investigate the crash, Jack realized. No one had even noticed. He moved quickly, not questioning his instincts. Jack always relied on his gut to guide him, and as far as he was concerned it never led him astray. He always kept a blanket in his trunk for emergencies, and he retrieved it now. This definitely counted as an emergency.
I don't have to decide now. I'll wait until the morning when I can think better. The clown's black eyes seemed to stare up at him as he wrapped the tiny body in the blanket. It was heavier than he expected and he struggled to get it into the trunk. The rain intensified and Jack was pleased to watch it wash the blood away. The neighborhood remained quiet.
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Usually he would sleep soundly after a night of heavy drinking. Sober sleep felt light and restless, but drunken sleep welcomed him with blackness and oblivion. Tonight the rain and thunder kept him awake rather than lulling him to sleep. He tossed and turned. He felt feverish, his body heavy.
He had almost drifted off when the sound of footsteps in the hall startled him. Carol? He was too groggy to do more than lift his head off the pillow. He heard giggling and struggled awake. He sat bolt upright in bed for long moments, straining his ears, but all he could hear was the rain.
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He woke again later. He didn't remember falling asleep. His head pounded a familiar rhythm. He needed water and something for his headache. A sense of dread crept into his consciousness, but he pushed it aside. There would be time to worry later. He was used to waking up with regret on his mind.
Jack struggled to the kitchen, propelling his sore body forward. He swallowed some aspirin. From the corner of his eye he spotted a pale face in the darkness of his living room. He fumbled with the light switch to reveal the intruder, but there was no one there.
He collapsed back into bed, exhausted. He was nearly asleep when a small shape appeared in his doorway. The events of the night before came rushing back as he recognized the figure. Jack tried to sit up but his body felt too heavy. Darkness shrouded the clown. His features were blurred, revealing only long sharp teeth. The small figure smiled at him and a primal terror grew in Jack's guts. Everything in his body screamed for him to run, but his limbs were numb and he was unable to move.
Slowly, the tiny clown moved closer with a palpable rage. His eyes were sunken and dark, alert with a vicious intelligence. It stared at Jack with an insane smile, gnashing its teeth. Maddening hours seemed to pass before it finally retreated. Jack felt blurry and confused, as if waking from a dream. His limbs tingled as feeling slowly returned to them.
Somehow, he slept.
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Jack woke up slowly, the afternoon sun coaxing him back into the world. He tried to burrow further into his pillow, unwilling to face the day. His nightmares lingered. He dreaded what he had to do.
He couldn't call the police now. He had known what he was doing when he hid the body, regardless of what he told himself. He had to get rid of it. Burning it would be best. His dad owned a cabin that was empty this time of year and he could use the fire pit. It would be gruesome, but it had to be done. There was no sense in ruining his life over an accident.
He was afraid he might have to ditch his car too. He looked it over closely and was amazed to see he had gotten away clean. There wasn't even a dent, and any blood had been washed off by the rain. He couldn't count himself too lucky yet. He had to check the trunk. He had wrapped the body in the blanket, but there was a lot of gore and there's bound to be some mess. Jack had a weak stomach for blood and he braced himself.
He stared into the empty trunk for a long time, shocked. It didn't feel like a dream. He could remember every detail of the evening clearly. The blanket was folded neatly with no sign of any blood. If it was a dream, it was the most vivid one of his entire life. His good fortune took a moment to sink in.
It felt like he had been given a new chance. He never should have driven home last night, but he had made it. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it – a midget clown! He would tell Carol later, she would get a kick out of it too.
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Anna was heartbroken. She had missed the birthday party, and it was going to be really special. Suzy was one of her sister's friends and didn't even have to invite her. She had been looking forward to it forever. Suzy's party was really fun last year, she had a magician and ice cream cake.
Anna wasn't even sick, not anymore. She had a cold last week but she felt way better, even though Mom said she was still contagious. She begged and begged, but Mom wouldn't budge and Mandy got to go without her.
Mandy brought a treat bag home for Anna, but it didn't make up for missing the party. Anna was so jealous she couldn't stand it. Mandy told her all the details. This year Suzy had a clown. He told jokes, did tricks, and made balloon animals for everyone. Mandy brought Anna a balloon dog, but she still felt sour. She had never seen a clown in real life, only on TV. It would have been so cool to see him.
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Carol looked pissed when she opened the door, but she looked hot too. Jack kinda liked when she was angry. “You were supposed to be here long ago,” she said, “I thought you were going to help me clean up before the party.”
“How long before everyone gets here?” She was wearing the jeans that made her ass looked great, and Jack rubbed against her as she led him inside. She turned back, smirking a little. Her anger never lasted long.
“We have some time to ourselves first.”
He followed her into the living room. The clown was sitting on the couch, leering up at him. Jack gasped as the blood drained from his face.
“What's your problem?” Carol asked, scowling at him. “I got it at a yard sale today. I'm gonna fix it up and sell it on eBay. You afraid of clowns or something?”
It was a doll. Of course it was. He tried to convince himself that it didn't look like the clown in his dream. Don't all clowns look the same? It had to be a coincidence. “I'm not afraid of clowns, but I don't like it. It's an ugly little fucker, isn
't it?”
“I dunno, I think he's kinda cute,” she rubbed the dolls head. The sound of her fingers against the matted purple hair was perverse. She saw Jack wince and leered at him. “So are you gonna be a pussy, or are you gonna fuck me?” She unbuttoned her shirt.
“Aw man, not with that thing watching us. Put it in the closet or something.” Carol rolled her eyes. She grabbed the doll by one arm and its blank eyes seemed to stare at Jack as she carried it from the room. He heard a door slam shut as she put it away somewhere upstairs, and then the sound of the shower. It looked like they weren't going to have that time to themselves after all. He had pissed her off yet again. He sighed and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
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Jack didn't like Carol's friends much when he was sober, but they weren't so bad when he was drunk. The house was crowded and smoky. The beer went down so smooth after such a bizarre day. Jack went from crowd to crowd, feeling funny and making everyone laugh. The night had turned out all right after all.
He was talking to one of Carol's hot coworkers when he saw something small and yellow weaving through the crowd. It was difficult to focus as the beer seemed to catch up with him all at once. His head spun. The small figure was arcing its way closer, but he still couldn't get a good look at it. He saw a flash of bloodshot eyes. A pale face. Sharp teeth.
Jack pushed through the crowd. He grabbed at a yellow sleeve and missed, falling onto one of Carol's friends. She sneered at him and he staggered away, feeling nauseated.
He saw Carol, talking to some guy he didn't know. He lurched toward her. He stumbled again, knocking her drink out of her hand. “What the fuck Jack?”
“Where did you put it?”
“Where did I put what?”
“The clown! Where's the clown?” He felt panicky and strange, no longer in control.
Carol laughed, her mouth greasy with too much lipstick. “The clown? The doll? It's in the closet upstairs. What the fuck, Jack? You worried it's gonna come get you?” She turned to the guy she was with. “He's afraid of some doll I picked up at a yard sale today, can you believe it?”
They both laughed as he stomped upstairs.
Even with the light on, Carol's bedroom looked dark. Jack threw open the closet and tossed aside mounds of clothes. The clown wasn't there. Carol might be stupid, but she wasn't usually careless. Where the hell did the thing go? He heard laughter, but it could be coming from anywhere.
It wasn't there when he came upstairs. He would have seen it. But when he walked by the guest bedroom, the clown was there, sitting upright on the bed. Who the fuck put it there? Jack hated how frightened of it he felt. It was just a doll. When he picked it up it felt heavier than he would have expected, like it was filled with rocks. The yellow suit was badly stained and torn, a withered fake daisy attached to the lapel. The matted purple hair looked greasy. It stared up at Jack with beady eyes. Beneath the perfumed scent of the guest room there was a foul smell of rot. He dropped it back onto the bed, disgusted.
There was nothing to be so on edge about. Just a nightmare and another one of Carol's stupid dolls. He turned to go back to the party.
A sudden sharp pain shot up Jack's leg and he fell, banging his head against the floorboards. His scream of pain was cut off suddenly. The smell of rot intensified and the clown's malevolent eyes met his own. It smiled slowly at him, the cold porcelain mutating into doughy flesh. The odor was suffocating and as Jack choked and gagged, the clown's face distorted into a mask of rage. Liquid shot out of the dead daisy into Jack's eyes.
Blind and terrified, Jack flailed his arms in an attempt to grab the clown. He wanted to stomp it into oblivion, but it eluded his grasp. Heard tiny footsteps on the stairs as it ran off, laughing a shrill laugh.
Jack's ankle screamed in pain. He wiped his eyes as the strong smell of urine surrounded him. The fucker had shot him with piss. His vision came back as he cleared his eyes and he saw his shoes were soaked in blood. He gingerly pulled his jeans up to see the damage. The back of his ankle was bleeding profusely, sliced across the tendon. He didn't have time to deal with it now. He had to get out of here.
He hobbled down the stairs, trailing blood behind him. He didn't stop to talk to anyone as he grabbed his keys on the way out the door.
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Anna woke up slowly to a soft squeaking sound. There was a dark round shape at her window, like a face peering in. She turned on her bedside light to see better. A balloon! It squeaked again as it rubbed against her window. She got out of bed, delighted. Where did it come from?
She opened her window and pulled the balloon inside. It was red, her favorite color. She looked outside and laughed with pleasure. There was a clown standing in her yard, waving at her. The moonlight wasn't enough to get a good look at him, and he seemed very short. Was he a kid like her? She watched, enraptured, as he smiled up at her and launched into a tumbling routine. Was this the clown from Suzy's party? Maybe he heard she missed out and came to do a show just for her.
The clown pulled out a balloon and blew it up with exaggerated motions. He glanced up at her frequently as he twisted it into shapes. It was a giraffe! Anna clapped her hands together and waved down to him. She dashed from the window. She had to go out and see him, just for a minute. This was wonderful! Quietly she crept downstairs and slipped on her shoes. She didn't want to ruin her special moment by waking everyone up. She didn't want to share this.
When she got outside her giraffe was still there, the breeze blowing it softly around, but the clown was gone. Disappointed, she looked around and spotted him walking away. She hurried to catch up.
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Jack didn't tell anyone he was leaving. He didn't care what happened to those assholes. He was shaky and too drunk, but he felt better once he was on the road. He would head out to his dad's cabin after all and hide out for a while until he could make sense of all this.
He was nearing the highway when he saw it, a flash of yellow creeping through bushes. He knew exactly what to do. Whatever was going on with that clown was unnatural, and he had to make things right. This time he would make sure it stayed dead. This time he would run it over again and again until it was just a stain on the road.
It burst through the bushes and Jack sped up, swerving the car onto the sidewalk. This time there was no scream, just impact. A stream of blond hair disappeared beneath his wheels. The car crashed into a pole, sending shards of glass from the windshield into his face. His seat belt exerted a terrible pressure on his ribs. Something wasn't right. He released the belt and shoved the car door open, falling from his seat and gasping.
It was the clown it had to be the clown. I'll stomp it to pieces.
The quiet night erupted into a terrible commotion. He heard angry voices as he staggered back to see what he had hit.
Jack moaned in horror as he struggled to make sense of the small broken body. A little girl with long blond hair gleaming yellow in the moonlight. Her eyes were open wide, unblinking. A trickle of blood escaped her lips. Her fragile neck was bent at an impossible angle.
A woman was screaming and pounding her fists against his chest. A man gently cradled the young girl's head as he wept. Jack didn't see any of it. All he could see was what lay in the gutter, unscathed. It was a red balloon, twisted into the shape of a giraffe.
THE END
A BOY OF DIRT by Sara Green
The windows ached though the storm had not yet arrived, even the trees began to lift their branches trying to warn the birds who had stopped for a breather upon the power lines.
The weatherman had promised it would be at least two to three inches of rainfall in the next five hours. It was more than the crops needed. Way more than the grass could handle and would easily overfill the creek running along the roadway.
“Are all your toys inside, Alan?”
Alan answered with a shrug. He thought he had.
“I don’t want to here you crying when you can’t find them, why don’t you run outside one mor
e time before it starts storming,” Alan’s mother was not suggesting, “Check over by the swings and the sandbox then around the shed where I keep finding your little army men.”
Alan didn’t want to go outside, he wished his mother would just stop telling him what to do all the time. He could already feel something different in the air. It was gray outside but it was also kind of orange. There wasn’t a drop anywhere and the ground felt hard like it was tense. Alan ran outside without his shoes on, his mother had forgotten that line of instruction and he wasn’t about to do something she hadn’t ordered.
The grass was too dry, too. It felt like it was nipping at his heels. He could see nothing near the swings so he didn’t bother running all the way out there. Instead he ran around the sandbox, it was all clear; he’d even demolished his army’s bases and set up a canyon so a river would await him tomorrow.
But he couldn’t leave well enough alone.
He paused and decided he wanted an island in the middle of the river. He jumped in the sand box and started to work. He knew the storm was approaching so he let urgency inspire his effort. “We must fortify! The dam won’t hold, we must build a secret island where we can all plan to go to once the storm has ended!”
He wished for a little rain, just to make the sand stick faster, but since the storm was taking its time he was forced to pound the sand into form. “It’ll be stronger this way,” he told himself.
“Hurry up, Alan!” His mother called from the porch.
Alan looked up and saw the near black cloud perched on the roof. Far away thunder chuckled. Alan pressed the sand one last time and then leapt to his feat and sprinted in to his house.
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