Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  “Showtime!” he called. “Get in costume! Thirty minutes!”

  Telly stepped around the corner. He had his crude duct-taped shillelagh in hand, and he tapped it loudly on the floor as he approached.

  “Get up, kid,” he said. “Head upstairs and put on your make-up. Come on.”

  “Makeup? What am I supposed to look like? I’ve never put on makeup.”

  “Figure something out,” Telly said, stepping over his legs. “You gotta have a face, kid. Mess around with it a little bit and come up with a look. As long as your appearance is sort of clownish, it’s fine.”

  He walked up to the apartment door and pounded on it with the bulbous end of the shillelagh.

  “Showtime in thirty minutes,” he called and gave the door another good knock.

  There came a muffled reply, and he seemed satisfied. He turned and headed back down the hall. David had not yet gotten up, so Telly tapped the floor again, very close to his leg.

  “Get up there,” he said. “What the heck are you waiting for, kid? This is your big night. Go get ready.”

  David stood up as Telly moved past him and disappeared around the corner. His big night! The acid in his belly returned with a vengeance, and David clutched his stomach, tasting bile in the back of his throat. The idea that people would be looking up at him, watching him, expecting to be entertained, a potentially hostile crowd, gun-rubes. No, it was too much.

  “Having second thoughts?”

  David glanced up and saw Karl standing near the back door. He had removed his outer shirt and had only a sweat-stained white t-shirt on. Even in the dim light, David could see a nice big welt on his shoulder to match the black and blue and scratches on his face.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” David said. “You were right. I don’t have an act. I can’t go out there.”

  “No backing out now,” Karl said. “Just get out there and give them whatever you’ve got. The worst they’ll do is boo and hiss.”

  “They might attack me. What if they rush the stage?”

  Karl walked over to him and clapped him on the back with a hand the size of David’s entire head. “They won’t rush the stage over one bad act. Only the sick do that, and they don’t allow any sick here in Fayette. I think you’ll do fine.” He gently but insistently turned David in the direction of the apartment and scooted him down the hall.

  “I can’t do it,” David squeaked.

  Karl reached past him and grabbed the doorknob. “Let me be blunt,” he said, reeking of sweat and ale. “You’re gonna stand onstage tonight, and you’re gonna give them something, or you’ll find yourself on Telly’s bad side. So find some well of courage down in your gut tract and pull it out.”

  He opened the door and thrust David into the apartment. David ascended the stairs like a dead man walking to the gallows. When he got to the top, he saw Annabelle seated at the table, jars of makeup spread out in front of her. She gazed into a small round mirror balanced against the edge of a bowl, as she spread greasepaint on her face. She glanced up as David entered, her face cold and unhappy. David ducked his head and moved out of the way to let Karl pass.

  “Rubes are already showing up,” Karl said. “Gooty is keeping them at the door for now.”

  “How many?” Cakey was sitting cross-legged in the corner. As always, he was ready to go, with the permanent clown face and hair, in his yellow costume, wrinkled from constant wear but still bright and gaudy with its shiny fabric and large, puffy buttons.

  “I saw maybe a dozen,” Karl replied, walking over to the table and picking up a sponge. “Creepy looking folks.”

  “Creepy looking?” Cakey said. “Like, infected people type creepy?”

  “No, just blank, strange, weird. I don’t know how to put it. Like that Officer Mayes dame. All of them.”

  “Well, this should be a fun evening, gents,” Cakey said.

  David stood at the top of the stairs, not knowing what he was supposed to do. Figure something out, Telly had said. How was he supposed to do that? He had no costume to wear. He hadn’t even brought his bag of stuff into the city. It was sitting under his cot back in the trailer. He realized after a moment that Cakey was staring at him, a bemused look on his face, so he wandered over to the table.

  Annabelle was drawing the tiny crimson lips on her face with a makeup pencil. She looked up as David approached.

  “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

  David shrugged. He picked up one of the little pencils and examined it. Tiny gold letters along the shaft read, EYELINER MAROON. He set the pencil back down.

  “Kid has no idea what he’s doing,” Karl said. He had a tiny comb and was using it to work white greasepaint into his moustache.

  “You got any idea what you want to look like?” Annabelle asked. She set her pencil down and turned to him.

  “He needs to look good and demented,” Cakey said from his corner. “Skewed, like. Remember, his name’s Disturby. The look ought to fit the name. I’ve got some ideas.”

  “He doesn’t need your ideas,” Annabelle said. She rose, took David by the wrist, and pulled him down into the chair. “Here, I’ll help you.”

  “Don’t make him look like a sweetheart,” Cakey said. “He’s not a sweetheart. He’s disturbed. Disturby Dave.”

  “He’s not disturbed,” Annabelle muttered, rifling through the various jars and pencils. “You’re disturbed.”

  “Yeah, disturbed at what you might do to this poor kid,” Cakey asked.

  Annabelle ignored him. There was a small basin of water nearby, and she pulled it close. She picked up a rag, dipped it in the water and patted David’s face. He dropped his gaze¸ feeling terribly self conscious.

  “Kid’s gonna have to learn to do his own makeup,” Karl said.

  “He will,” Annabelle said.

  “He can’t even wash his own face?”

  Another comment she chose to ignore. She patted his face dry and picked up a small glass jar, unscrewing the lid. The pungent smell of greasepaint wafted out. She picked up a small bit of sponge and began applying it to his face. The greasepaint felt thick as wax and cold against his skin. As she applied it around his eyes, it produced a strange glare at the edges of his vision that he found disconcerting.

  “Let’s go for a simple look,” she said, picking up a black eyeliner pencil. She made two quick marks on his cheeks, then picked up the mirror and held it in front of him. His face was as white as chalk from his hairline to his jaw line, broken only by two black triangles under each eye.

  And his first thought was that he wasn’t looking at himself but at a death mask of someone he’d never met. His second thought was that he liked it. He liked it very much. He reached up to touch his face, and she batted his hand away.

  “Leave it alone,” she said.

  She took him by the wrist again and helped him up, then spun him, first toward Karl, then toward Cakey.

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

  “He looks like a mime,” Karl said.

  “Not disturbed enough,” Cakey added. “And, yeah, he does look like a mime. Get that boy some black tights and a tiny beret.”

  “Oh, shut up, both of you,” Annabelle said. “David, you look fine.”

  “He’s just gonna wear his street clothes like that?” Karl asked.

  David examined his clothes. T-shirt and ratty old pants, leather shoes with frayed laces. He had never really thought about the way he dressed, but now he felt embarrassed. He looked dirty and poor.

  “It’s fine,” Annabelle said, though the look on her face said otherwise.

  “It’s not fine,” Cakey said and rose. He walked over to the trunk in the corner and rooted around inside. “If the boy’s gonna be a clown, let’s make him a damn clown.” He came up with a costume, neatly folded, of blue and black.

  “It won’t fit,” Karl said.

  Cakey grabbed the corners of the costume and unrolled it. Rhinestones rattled and glittered. Cl
early it belonged to Cakey, who stood almost six inches taller than David.

  “So what?” Cakey said. “The sleeves are too long, but the cuffs are elastic. They’ll stay in place. It’ll look baggy, it’ll be ill-fitting, but, dare I say it, it just might look disturbing.” He grinned a toothy grin and tossed the costume at David.

  David caught it, turning his head to keep the shiny cloth from touching his makeup. As he was unfastening the buttons in front, there came another loud knock at the apartment door.

  “Ten minutes,” Telly shouted. “I want you all backstage! Hurry it up, clowns! The rubes are congregating!”

  As the others headed for the stairs, David quickly pulled on the costume, tugging it on over his regular clothes. Ill-fitting indeed, it felt like a large blanket draped over his body. He pushed the sleeves up to his wrists and hurried down the stairs. Ten minutes! His mouth tasted like the burst insides of an old battery.

  To make things worse, Telly intended for them use the Green Room as a waiting area. This didn’t seem to bother anyone except David. The first whiff of moldy decay made him seriously consider turning around and fleeing. He had an easy escape out the back door into the parking lot. Would they bother coming after him? Even if they did, he figured he had a pretty good chance of outrunning them. And then he could hide somewhere from wandering guards, wait until dark, sneak over the walls and be gone forever. It was a tempting thought.

  As he stood in the open door of the Green Room, seeing the mold on the walls, the glint of vile water soaking into the carpet, as he watched the others cross the room with nary a glance at the filth around them, there was a moment when he almost did it. They didn’t much like him anyway, did they? Cakey blamed him for causing trouble with Annabelle. Gooty had thought him crazy from the get-go. Annabelle—if Karl was telling the truth—was only toying with him. Telly…well, who knew what he really thought about anybody? Karl? Well, maybe Karl didn’t hate him.

  One possible friend—was that enough reason to stay? But it was more than he’d had back in Mountainburg. In the end, it was enough to make him put one foot through the door, despite the squish of wetness under his heel. And that one step became a second and a third, and soon enough he was down the little hallway and stepping into the room. Someone had covered the couch in plastic garbage bags, but he could see a pile of stuffing on the floor. He glanced in the direction of the bathroom. Just as Telly had said, the door was back in place, held there by a long X of duct tape. It didn’t matter. He could still smell it.

  The others had made it to the far side of the room and were lining up on the stairs. Telly turned back and clapped his hands at David.

  “Come on, kid! Come on! Get over here.”

  David bit his lip until it hurt. The moment to flee was past, the decision made. He crossed the room to join the others. As he approached the stairs, he heard the low din of voices from beyond the curtain. The room sounded full. He heard the clink of glasses and bottles. They were already drinking.

  Telly moved up and down the steps, nudging the performers in line, moving them about like board game pieces. Annabelle in front, then Karl, then David, then Cakey at the bottom step. Then he looked them over and nodded.

  “Where are our props?” Cakey asked.

  “Onstage,” Telly said. “Wanted the rubes to see ‘em. Figured it’d build a little excitement, especially the knives. Don’t worry, I’ll move ‘em out of the way as needed.”

  Annabelle groaned. “We’re going to bomb hard.”

  “That’s right,” Telly said. “Tell yourself you’re gonna bomb hard, so you don’t jinx it.”

  He walked up to the curtain and peeked around the edge.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “Full house.”

  “How many of them are gun-rubes?” Cakey asked.

  “I didn’t count,” Telly replied. “But I did see our old friend Officer Mayes right there in the front row.”

  “Great,” Karl said, annoyed. “Can we move her? I gotta interact with the front row. That sour dame won’t go along with it.”

  “Give her a chance,” Telly said.

  “You don’t fondle gun-rubes,” Cakey said. “Karl’s right. Move her to the back.”

  “No, we’re not moving anybody, and stop calling them gun-rubes!”

  Telly grabbed the curtain.

  “Okay, folks,” he said. “Wait until you hear me introduce you, then come out. If you mess up, just go with it. Play it for laughs.” He pulled back the curtain. “Break a leg, Klown Kroo.” And he stepped onstage.

  The curtain fell back in place behind him, but in the second that it was open, David saw faces, a sea of faces behind a veil of smoke and light. He doubled over and now the vomit came, a single gush of sour bile that landed on the steps between his shoes.

  “Oh, God, come on, kid,” Karl said. “Don’t puke on the stairs. We gotta walk here.”

  “You shoulda puked onstage,” Cakey said. “The gun-rubes would’ve loved that.”

  David gripped his stomach and rose, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  “Disturby, Disturby,” Cakey said, reaching out and placing his hands on David’s shoulders. “Your first performance. You’ll never forget this night as long as you live. I envy you.”

  And then the audience was applauding, and Telly was speaking. It was time. But, no, it couldn’t be time. Not yet. David tried to back up, but Cakey had firm hold of his shoulders. When the curtain parted, and Annabelle stepped onstage into the harsh glare of the spotlight, David was propelled up the steps. One step closer to the curtain. One step closer to the awful moment that he had brought upon himself. Had living with Vern really been worse than this? For the first time since joining the Klown Kroo, the answer to that question did not seem quite so clear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Fire Inside

  It took less than a minute for the first plate to fall, shattering on the stage with a violent crash. David started, bumping into Karl, who elbowed him away. The audience beyond the curtain gasped, and a few laughed.

  “I meant to do that,” Annabelle said, her voice tight with frustration.

  This brought a few more uncomfortable laughs.

  “Man, I wish I could see her face,” Cakey said. “She’s steamed.”

  “Shut it,” Karl muttered. “Remember, I gotta follow her.”

  Over the next few minutes, they heard at least three more plates break, and each time, the audience laughed. And then her time was up.

  “Thank you, folks,” she said, to modest applause.

  Telly slipped back out onstage.

  “Let’s hear it for Bubbles,” he said, and garnered another round of uninspiring applause.

  Annabelle walked backstage, her head bowed, murder in her eyes. She stalked down the steps. When Cakey started to speak, she held a hand up in front of his face and shouldered past him. Down into the Green Room and out of sight she went. David heard her shoes squishing on the carpet all the way into the back hallway. She never said a word.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Telly continued. “Let me introduce you to the comic stylings of the one, the only, the lewd, the crude, the rude, Touches the Clown!”

  Telly stepped backstage and beckoned Karl. Karl grunted, shook his head and headed for the curtain. Cakey took hold of David’s shoulders and gently pushed him farther up the stairs.

  Karl was onstage now, and some in the audience were already laughing. There was a loud thud, a crash, an anxious gasp. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to go over well. As for David, the whole world felt like it had dropped away from him, and he was floating somewhere in the dank air above his body. Nothing seemed real. Was he really about to step through that curtain, alone, and stand in front of all of those people? This couldn’t really be happening.

  Karl’s act ramped up, the thuds and crashes coming more regularly, and the laughter and applause grew right along with it. Karl was speaking in that strange high-pitched voi
ce he used when he was in character. But David scarcely heard it. He scarcely heard anything at all. He had fallen into a kind of dead space in his head. Cakey was speaking to him, leaning in close, but the words all ran together, becoming a meaningless buzzing noise. Telly, standing just behind the curtain, periodically pulled back the coarse cloth and peeked through. At some point, he turned back and spoke to David, but the air between them had turned to syrup, and the words never made it to David’s ears.

  And then applause burst through the curtain like a sudden gust of wind, the cloth folded back and a silhouette of Karl stood in a wash of light, bowing to the crowd as he backed toward the stairs. Telly slipped past him, and the curtain fell back in place. Karl turned, grinning broadly and twirling the ends of his moustache.

  “They loved me,” he said, his voice rising from murky depths.

  He patted his own chest and strode down the steps. In passing, he gripped David by the arm briefly.

  “Good luck, kid,” he said. “Tough act to follow, but you got this.”

  And then he was gone, and Telly stood there at the curtain, beckoning David toward him, and David felt as if he had been plunged in ice. Telly went through the curtain, and David heard the words he spoke and couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “And now, folks, we’ve got a brand new act for you,” he said. “A disturbed little clown who is no respecter of gravity. He flips, he flops, he sails through the air, he twists and turns. I present to you, Disturby the Clown!”

  Applause and cheers. David turned to flee, but Cakey still had him firmly by the shoulders. He spun David back toward the curtain and propelled him up the last step. And then the curtain was parting before him, and Telly stood there, waving him through.

  “No, I can’t,” David squeaked. “I’m not ready.”

  “You’re as ready as you need to be,” Cakey said.

  “The crowd’s waiting for you, kid,” Telly said. “Get out there.”