by Jeff Strand
Tyrannosaurus smashed into the barrel. Though Jaunty was enough of a showman to kind of wish that the barrel had shattered in a dramatic manner, all it did was fall over. Jaunty was capable of running on top of a barrel, rolling it hundreds of feet, but that trick didn't work very well on dirt and sawdust and it was best saved for times when a bull wasn't trying to murder him. Instead, Jaunty crawled out and sprinted toward one of the other barrels. Tyrannosaurus followed.
This particular rodeo was not funded well enough to employ multiple clowns, so Jaunty was on his own.
The announcer's voice blared over the loudspeaker: "Uh-oh, ladies and gents, it looks like Jaunty the Clown's in trouble!" The audience laughed and cheered. Jaunty looked forward to being out of imminent danger so he could get the audience to laugh with him rather than at him.
This time Tyrannosaurus did not smash into the barrel. He ran around it. Jaunty ran around it as well. Unfortunately, he was not as speedy as a bull. He felt the impact, hit the ground hard, and squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for approximately two thousand pounds of bovine to step on his skull. Oh, what a crunching sound it would make!
When he opened his eyes a couple of seconds later, his head remained un-squashed. Tyrannosaurus was running back to his cage.
Good. He wasn't dead. There were a lot of children in the audience and Jaunty didn't want them to be traumatized by the sight of clown brains stuck to the hoof of a bull.
He got up and tried to wave to the crowd, but his right arm wasn't working. He waved with his left hand instead. Then he danced around in a merry circle, at least for a couple of seconds, before a bolt of pain shot through his right arm and he realized that his dance moves were jiggling a broken bone. Jaunty did not scream. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep from blacking out.
"Whoooooo-weeeeee, that was a close one!" said the announcer. "Ignore the blood, ladies and gents—it looks like Jaunty was carrying around some ketchup packets. That clown sure does love his french fries!"
Jaunty glanced at his arm. Blood was soaking through the fabric. There was a bulge that he suspected might be protruding bone. It was probably time to exit the ring and seek medical attention.
* * *
"Yeah, that's pretty bad," said Harvey, the rodeo's doctor and concession stand manager. "I think we should wait for an ambulance to show up. If I did anything I'd probably just make it worse. Does it hurt?"
Jaunty nodded.
"Dumb question," Harvey admitted. "You've got a broken bone poking out of your skin. Of course it hurts. If I were in that much agony, I'd ask to be put out of my misery."
"I don't want to be put out of my misery."
"Oh, I won't. They'd let me shoot a horse with a broken leg but not a clown with a broken arm. Horses never break their legs around here, though." He let out a wistful sigh. "Someday."
"How long do you think my arm will take to heal?" Jaunty asked.
"I'd say your days of rodeo clowning are over. Unless you want to be an unfunny clown who just lets his arm dangle, upsetting people."
"I can't tell if you're being serious or messing with me."
"Well, Jaunty, I started drinking at nine this morning, and I was still drunk from last night, so to be honest I don't know either."
"I wish the paramedics would get here."
"Me too," said Harvey. "How long ago did you call them?"
"I didn't. Didn't you?"
Harvey shook his head. "I assumed you did. You're the one with the broken arm."
Jaunty stared at him for a moment, and then decided that this must be a perfectly normal dialogue exchange that he was mishearing due to blood loss. Then he passed out.
* * *
Jaunty sat up in his hospital bed, feeling miserable. His arm was wrapped in bandages and he wasn't sure if the pain or the itching was worse. He'd refused painkillers because he was a clown who did not take drugs.
Somebody knocked on the open door. A man in a black suit stood there. "May I come in?"
"Sure."
The man walked into the room and stood beside the bed. "Looks like you had some bad luck."
"Yeah. Are you from the insurance company?"
"Oh, no, no, no. My name is...well, my stage name is Guffaw the Clown. I enjoy a good rodeo, and I was in the audience today. I noticed that after your gruesome accident, you kept your focus on entertaining the crowd. I was impressed."
"That's why I'm out there. What kind of clown would I be if I paid more attention to my blood than the audience?"
"Exactly! You get it! And I can tell that you're the kind of person who follows the eight clown commandments!"
"Of course," said Jaunty. "I will keep my acts, performance and behavior in good taste while I am in costume and makeup. I will remember at all times that I—"
"No need to go through them all," said Guffaw. "There's no shame in being a rodeo clown, but I've got an opportunity for your star to shine brighter. A traveling circus! You'll see the entire Midwest! You'll join me and the other clowns in acts of dexterity and hilarity that will enchant audiences of all ages! With your passion, your dedication, your devotion to clowning—we'd love to have you become part of our team, Jaunty."
Jaunty couldn't believe what he was hearing. "A traveling circus is my dream," he said, a tear forming in his eye.
"Then let's make that dream come true."
"I'm not supposed to wobble the bone around, though. It could cause permanent damage."
"Oh, right, sure. We wouldn't bring you on board right away. What I'm saying is that I'll leave you my business card, and after your arm is usable again, give me a call."
* * *
Jaunty followed the doctor's orders and his arm healed properly. When he called Guffaw, he was worried that the clown would no longer remember him, but they reminisced about their conversation in the hospital and then Guffaw sent him a bus ticket to Fort Wayne, Indiana.
There he met Wagon the Clown, who wore sad clown makeup. He'd come from an abusive household where his only moments of happiness came from making his mother laugh. He'd tried to make her laugh as often as possible. Now he wanted to do the same for the rest of the world.
He met Bluehead the Clown. She had bright blue pigtails and big red freckles on her white makeup. She giggled a lot, but not in a creepy way. She was the most athletic of the clowns, stunning the audience with her acrobatic abilities. The actual circus acrobats resented her a bit.
He met Reginald the Pleasant Clown, an African American clown who wore white makeup around his eyes and mouth and red makeup to give himself bright rosy cheeks. His persona was based on conducting himself with great dignity at all times, as an amusing counterpoint to the rest of the silliness happening in the ring.
Jaunty, Guffaw, Wagon, Bluehead, and Reginald became the best of friends. (Guffaw, Wagon, Bluehead, and Reginald were already the best of friends, but it wasn't long before Jaunty felt like an equal part of the "best of friends" group.)
The next eighteen years were the best years of Jaunty the Clown's life.
And then it all ended.
* * *
"What can I tell you?" said the circus owner, Mr. Gristle. "People just don't like clowns."
Guffaw was not smiling, which was rare. "Clowns bring joy to—"
"No. No, they don't. When people think of clowns, they think of creepy fuckers hiding in closets. They think you've got a butcher knife behind your back. They think you're lurking in the sewer, ready to yank off some little kid's arm in the rain."
"We provide clean, wholesome entertainment."
"You don't get it. It doesn't matter what you do. Society doesn't like clowns. If you went around and did a survey and asked a hundred random people if they thought clowns were funny or scary, ninety-eight of them would say scary. That's the way of the world now. Clowns aren't known for wacky antics with seltzer water anymore. They're known for standing in the backyards of frightened children. Just standing there. Motionless. Staring. Clowns are chilling."
"We're not chilling," said Guffaw.
"I'm not getting through to you and that's fine. It doesn't matter. I'm not renewing any of your contracts. You can still be clowns, but not at my circus."
* * *
"What are we going to do?" asked Bluehead, as the five clowns sat in their dressing room for the last time.
"It's going to be okay, I promise," said Guffaw. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. We'll find another circus."
"For all of us?" asked Jaunty.
Guffaw lowered his eyes. "I don't know. We may have to split up. Just temporarily."
"We'll never find a circus that's looking for five new clowns," said Wagon. "There's no way our act will stay together."
"That's not true," said Guffaw. "Maybe we'll start our own show. An all-clown show!"
"Didn't you hear your own recap of the conversation?" asked Bluehead. "People don't like clowns anymore. We'll be lucky if we get to do birthday parties. I started out doing birthday parties. The kids cry."
"I don't want an office job," said Reginald. "I'll shrivel up and die in that environment."
"Nobody is getting an office job and shriveling up and dying," Guffaw insisted. "We're clowns, and we're staying clowns. We are Guffaw the Clown, and we are Wagon the Clown, and we are Bluehead the Clown, and we are Reginald the Pleasant Clown, and we are Jaunty the Clown. That is who we are. Yes, we have a challenge ahead of us, but clowns don't back down from a challenge. We're middle-aged and we have no other skills—we're clowns for life!"
Everybody cheered.
Mr. Gristle peeked his head into the dressing room. "What are you cheering for? I didn't rehire you."
"Go away," said Guffaw, politely. "This is none of your concern."
Mr. Gristle glared at him. "Hurry up and clear out. I need that dressing room for the kangaroo."
Guffaw returned his attention to the others. "We'll get through this, I promise. All I ask is for a little patience."
"I can have a little patience," said Jaunty. "In fact, I can have a lot of patience. You're all the only family I have."
"Same here," said Bluehead. "You've been my family for over twenty years, and my biological family died in that car accident when I was sixteen. That's four years longer. I have nobody else. I don't want anybody else."
"Then we will stay together," said Guffaw. "No matter what."
* * *
Two months later, Guffaw called everybody together in the living room of the trailer they all shared. "I've found something," he announced.
"For all of us?" asked Reginald.
"Yes. Now, it doesn't pay much. And it's only six weeks of work. But it will keep us in macaroni and cheese for a while longer."
"Fantastic!" said Jaunty. All of them had been actively searching for work, but there were simply no opportunities for five clowns. "Is it a circus?"
"No."
"A stage show?"
"No."
"A movie?"
"No." Guffaw sighed. "I don't expect you all to be happy about this, so I'm just going to come out and say it. We're going to be scary clowns at a haunted house."
CHAPTER TWO
"I'm sorry," said Reginald. "Could you repeat that?"
Guffaw repeated it.
"Hmmm. That's what I thought you said."
"We're not scary clowns," said Bluehead. "We're funny clowns."
"I know what we are," said Guffaw. "We're also starving clowns. How much joy will we bring to the children of the world if the news has to report about a trailer full of dead clowns? You think that won't fuel some nightmares?"
"I'd like to think that it would make children sad instead of scared," said Wagon. "But I get your point."
"It's a really popular haunted attraction in Virginia. Tens of thousands of visitors between mid-September and Halloween. They need performers for the Scary Clown Room."
"I hate this idea," said Jaunty. "We're supposed to bring a sense of wonder and delight. I juggle for kids; I don't hide under their bed."
"Right," said Reginald. "How can I be Reginald the Pleasant Clown if I'm doing unpleasant things? The name wouldn't work anymore."
"This goes against everything we stand for," said Bluehead. "I won't do it."
"Me either," said Wagon. "I vowed to make the world smile, not scream."
"Fine," said Guffaw. "I'm so glad this trailer is chock full of integrity. Because that's going to pay for food, right? If we don't work, what are we supposed to eat?"
"The souls of children?" asked Jaunty.
Everybody gave him a dirty look.
"What? I'm getting in character. If Guffaw wants to turn us into monsters, we'd better start acting like them."
"This isn't what I wanted for us," said Guffaw. "But we've all been looking for something to do. Every night we gather right here in this living room, and every night we all report back complete failure. Nothing would make me happier than if we lived in a magical fantasy land where we could survive on cream pies that grew on trees, but that's not the case. And unless one of you found something better, something that keeps us together and lets us be wholesome entertainers, we really don't have a choice. Have one of you found something better? Have you, Jaunty?"
Jaunty looked at the floor, which needed vacuumed. "No."
"Have you, Wagon?"
Wagon looked at the floor, sadly. "No."
"Have you, Bluehead?"
Bluehead looked at the floor, her pigtails drooping. "No."
"Have you, Reginald?"
Reginald looked at everybody else looking at the floor, then looked at the far wall. "No," he said. "I have not."
"I didn't think so," said Guffaw. "Look, I'm taking the job. I hope the rest of you do, too. But nobody is forcing you to do this. You can go get a job in retail."
"I can't," said Reginald. "I'm a good clown because I love humanity. Working retail would change that."
Jaunty stood up. "None of us want this. But Guffaw has always had our best interests at heart, and if he thinks this is the way to go, I know he's right. Eighteen years ago I was sitting in a hospital bed, recovering from a broken bone that went right through my arm. I've shown you all the scar many times. If anybody wants to see it again, I'm happy to pull up my sleeve. Anyway, my plan was to sit in that bed and feel sorry for myself. But do you know who showed up? I know you do; you've all heard this story. Guffaw the Clown showed up, and he brought me into this family. I trust him with my life. We all do. We do dangerous stunts, and we have to trust each other with our lives, so why don't we trust Guffaw now? We should. I do. He's only failed us that one time."
"To be fair, that one time was a pretty big failure," said Wagon.
"I thought we weren't going to talk about that ever again," said Guffaw.
Wagon shrugged. "Jaunty brought it up."
"I actually think it has relevance to the current discussion," said Jaunty. "Everybody remembers what happened on that dark day ten years ago, right?"
"Of course we remember," said Bluehead.
"Guffaw got us a sponsorship for a new brand of greasepaint. Oh, we were so excited! I still remember all of the grins in our dressing room while we applied it before the show. And we proudly went out on stage, and all five of us had horrific allergic reactions. We were letting out grunts of pain and clawing at our faces. Reginald was foaming at the mouth and Wagon's lips were bleeding. On that day, were we not scary clowns?"
Nobody answered.
"We were straight out of a fever dream," said Jaunty. "None of us brought honor to the profession of clowning during that performance. But what did we do after that? Did we switch over to a life of lurking in the shadows, offering poisoned lollipops to unaccompanied minors? No. We waited a few days for our faces to heal, and then we went right back out there and put on a fantastic show. Smiles everywhere we looked! We made it through that, and we can make it through this."
"It's not really the same thing," said Wagon.
"It's close."
&nb
sp; "It's not that close."
"It's close enough for my speech. What I'm saying is that we've been frightening before, and we can be frightening again, and it won't change who we are at our cores. We won't be scary clowns. We'll just be acting like scary clowns."
Reginald stood up. "I would rather behave like a scary clown for six weeks than work an office job or behind a retail counter or starve to death. I will put my trust in Guffaw. Jaunty is right—aside from that one nightmarish incident, he's never done wrong by us."
Bluehead stood up. "The only relevant job offer I received was to dance erotically in front of clown fetishists. I would've been allowed to keep my pants on, but still. I agree that Guffaw has earned our trust almost every time, and I will stand behind him."
Wagon stood up. "I don't like it but I'll go with the majority."
"Then it's settled," said Guffaw. "We have a week to exercise and get back down to our optimal clowning weight, and then we're off to Virginia. I've already found a trailer we can live in. It's terrible, but so is this one. I wish there was another option, but we live in a free market economy and it's not like we can force somebody to give us work at gunpoint."
"Hmmm," said Bluehead, stroking her chin.
"Stop stroking your chin."
"It itched."
"Will we have to change our makeup?" asked Reginald.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Guffaw. "We're scary clowns. That means fangs, claws, contact lenses, blood, and maniacal cackling."
"I don't cackle," said Reginald.
"We'll work it out. Maybe Bluehead can be our designated laugher. She just needs to make her giggle sound less like 'I'm amused' and more like 'I'm going to sink my teeth into your left eyeball.' We'll all have our own duties."
"I won't threaten anybody's pets," said Jaunty.
"Nobody has to threaten any pets," said Guffaw.