by Jeff Strand
"I mean it. If they try to make me say that I'm going to cook and eat some little boy's dog, I will walk right out that door and not come back. That's a line I will not cross."
"You do get that haunted houses are meant to be entertainment, right? We're not actually torturing anybody, and we're not trying to put any children in therapy. It's fun Halloween scares. If you tell a kid you're going to eat his doggie, you'd probably get fired."
"Good," said Jaunty.
"In fact, let's make that clear right now. Nobody threatens to eat any pets. No dogs, no cats, no goldfish, nothing. That's too mean-spirited. That's not why we're there."
"What about threatening to take a bite out of a kid's arm?" asked Bluehead. "Like, are we supposed to gnaw on them with fake teeth?"
"This is a no-touch haunted house," said Guffaw. "You won't be gnawing on any arms. You can lean your head forward with your mouth wide open and act like you're going to bite their arm, but you won't actually get close."
"How close? Sixteen inches?"
"I don't have the answers to all of your questions. When we get there, we'll work out all of the action and rehearse and everybody will know what they're supposed to do. This isn't such a bad thing. Maybe we'll have a good time."
"We're clown traitors," said Wagon. "We're now part of the problem. I hope we don't have a good time. We need the money and I'm grateful to Guffaw for finding us a job, but we'll need an extra layer of greasepaint to be able to look at ourselves in the mirror."
"But you're in?" asked Guffaw.
"Yeah."
* * *
A week later, Jaunty, Guffaw, Bluehead, Wagon, and Reginald got into a car that was too small to comfortably seat five adults, but did not have enough clowns inside to generate the hilarious "clown car" effect when they all emerged. Though Bluehead was the smallest, she was prone to motion sickness when she sat in the back, so Jaunty, Wagon, and Reginald were squeezed together for eleven and a half very long hours.
When they arrived at their new trailer, they discovered that several cats were already living there. None of them had the heart to chase them away, so they added cat food and kitty litter to their shopping list. After drawing straws to determine who would go to the store and who would stay behind to unpack and clean up the trailer, Guffaw and Jaunty headed off to buy macaroni and cheese and other groceries.
Mount Tulip, which was not a mountain and did not have any tulips, was a small town with one grocery store, one hardware store, one bank, one movie theater, one library, one Laundromat, and six churches. There was a diner, a pizza place, a coffee shop, and an ice cream stand. Not much else. It didn't seem like the kind of place that would have a nationally famous haunted house attraction, but people planned whole vacations around The Mountain of Terror, which was also not a mountain.
The Mountain of Terror prided itself on using top-notch actors, and the owner was delighted to have people with two decades' of clown experience occupying the Scary Clown Room. They would not have creative control over the room, but the owner promised to take full advantage of their skills.
"This looks like a nice place to live for a few weeks," said Jaunty.
"Yep," said Guffaw. "I like small towns. The people are friendly."
"Four different people have waved to us since we left the trailer. Sincere waves."
"Too bad we can't set up a permanent clown show in a place like this. Rent a small performance space. Have thousands of people come into town for it the way they do for the haunted house."
"It would be nice," said Jaunty.
"Oh well. At this point, I'm just happy to have a job."
They bought groceries for the week and returned to the trailer. They didn't have to report to the Mountain of Terror until noon the next day, but everybody was exhausted from the drive and after finishing their macaroni and cheese they went to sleep.
* * *
"How's it going, everybody?" asked the college-age kid. "I'm Pete. My stage name is Depravo the Clown. I'm in charge of the Scary Clown Room, and it's cool to meet all of you."
"You go by Depravo?" Jaunty asked.
"Yeah."
"It's not a very clowny name."
"His backstory is that when he was a kid, maybe five or six years old, his entire family was killed by a group of feral clowns. For most of his life he sought revenge, but he grew to understand their motives and became a murderous clown himself. You'll each need a backstory, too. I'll quiz you on it when you get here tomorrow. Make it really demented. The more fucked up the better."
"Clowns don't curse," said Wagon.
"Excuse me?"
"Clowns don't use that kind of language."
"Are you messing with me?"
"No, sir."
"When I'm in makeup, I've got blood dribbling down the side of my mouth that's supposed to be from the throat of a newborn baby. However, you're right, it's against our policy to use foul language in front of customers, so don't do it next week when we have guests coming through. Until then, Depravo the Clown will use the f-word as much as he wants. Got it?"
"He gets it," said Guffaw. "I'm sorry. We come from a family-friendly environment."
"Yes, I apologize," said Wagon. "I'm still getting used to the idea of being nightmare fuel."
"Whatever," said Depravo. "Okay, you've got your backstory homework. I'm told you can do tricks and stuff. Show me what you've got. I know you're kind of old, but can any of you do cartwheels?"
"We can all do cartwheels," said Guffaw.
"Good, good. It's a small room. Can you do cartwheels without smacking into the wall or each other?"
"Absolutely."
"Awesome. Upside-down clowns are scary as shit. Let's see it."
Each of them demonstrated their ability to do a cartwheel, then all five of them demonstrated their ability to do cartwheels without colliding.
"Can you juggle?" asked Depravo.
"Of course," said Guffaw.
"Maybe you could juggle severed heads or severed arms. Something severed."
They all demonstrated their juggling abilities, using beanbags rather than severed body parts.
"Can you guys ride a unicycle?"
"Yes," said Guffaw.
"Did you bring one with you?"
"No."
"Damn. I don't know where you'd even get a unicycle. Oh well. So we've got cartwheels and juggling. Now we need evil clown laughs. Let's hear you cackle." He pointed to Reginald. "What's your name again?"
"Reginald the Pleasant Clown."
"Not anymore. You're Reginald the Bloodlusty Clown."
"Will the patrons know our names?"
"No."
"I'd rather stick with Reginald the Pleasant Clown, then."
"You won't be able to get into character if you're Reginald the Pleasant Clown. You're not pleasant. You're a psycho asshole. You stab people because it amuses you. So let me hear you be amused about having stabbed somebody."
Reginald nodded, and then laughed with great dignity.
"Way more psychotic. That's a zero. I need a nine or ten."
Reginald laughed again.
"That was a two. That's the way you would laugh if you understood the joke in a Shakespeare play."
Reginald laughed once more.
"Still a two. I'm getting complete sanity out of that laugh. I want an unhinged laugh."
Reginald cleared his throat, took a moment to compose himself, then laughed.
"Nope. Still terrible. You're doing a 'ha ha ha' laugh and it should be a 'hee hee hee' laugh. Forget it." He pointed to Bluehead. "Let's hear your scary laugh."
Bluehead giggled.
"See, that almost made me shit my pants. That's what you should all aspire to."
"Is that what we really want when customers are close together in a small space?" asked Wagon. "I don't see how that would be fun for anybody."
"I meant metaphorically shitting their pants."
"Okay. Yeah, that would be better."
Dep
ravo frowned. "I'm getting this feeling like the five of you aren't really into the idea of scaring people. You understand why you're here, right?"
"Yes," said Guffaw. "We absolutely understand why we're here. I apologize. We performed in a very different environment for a long time, but I promise it won't affect our work. Every single one of us will bring our murderous clown A-game."
Jaunty nodded. "We'll get this out of our systems and come back ready to scare, scare, scare! In fact, that will be our cheer. Scare, scare, scare! Everybody now!"
"Scare, scare, scare!" chanted the clowns, with a respectable amount of enthusiasm.
"Oh, come on, you can do better than that!" said Jaunty. "This is the Scary Clown Room at the Mountain of Terror! By golly, let's hear your Scary Clown Room spirit!"
"Scare! Scare! Scare!"
CHAPTER THREE
The barricade around the entrance to Tulip Cave had been there for so long that only the "K" and the "U" were still visible in the "Keep Out" sign. Teenagers often snuck past the barricade at night to drink and hold hands, but nobody ever tried to get inside the cave itself. This was because the entrance had collapsed many decades ago, and mischief-seeking teenagers were generally not inclined to haul away several thousand pounds of rubble.
The land around the cave had recently been purchased by a pair of entrepreneurs who'd noted that if huge numbers of people poured into town for the Mountain of Terror, they might stick around to spend additional money on another nearby attraction. They hadn't yet decided what this might be. Cave tours, maybe. Depended what the cave was like inside.
In an official sense, they were less "entrepreneurs" than "brothers who'd inherited an extremely large amount of money and couldn't figure out how to spend it all." They'd donated some of it to charitable causes, but that got boring after a while, and they'd decided that they should become responsible businessmen.
The brothers were not one of the four people standing at the entrance to the cave. They were in Italy, sharing a prostitute even though they could easily afford one for each of them. One of the people in front of the cave was Timothy Kubler, who worked for the brothers and knew damn well that they would never bother to do anything with this cave. He would blast open the entrance, peer around with a flashlight, send the brothers a few pictures, and move on to the next project that would fail to hold their interest even though they weren't doing any of the work.
Technically, it wasn't necessary to blow up the cave entrance. They could use heavy machinery. But the brothers wanted an explosion, captured on video, and since they had the means to hire a pair of demolition experts and get the necessary permit, they were going to get an explosion.
Timothy took pictures as the experts set up the dynamite.
"This is very exciting," said Maxwell Gord. He was a nationally famous spelunker who would venture into the cave—not very far—and see if the brothers' plan was even remotely feasible. Timothy assumed that bringing tourists into a long-dormant cave was a completely ridiculous idea that would never happen, but he figured he should get somebody like Maxwell to sign off on that.
"It's really not," said Timothy.
"Of course it is. Who knows what could be inside this cave?"
"Rocks, probably."
"Perhaps a whole new ecosystem."
"Sure. Maybe it's filled with dinosaurs."
"It could be a letdown," Maxwell admitted. "They might blow open the entrance and find that it only goes back a few feet. But based on the location, this could also be the entrance to a massive system of underground caverns, going on for miles."
"So you think this plan could work?"
"Oh, no. Buying land with an unexplored cave with the intention of turning it into a tourist attraction is a terrible idea. It's never going to happen. The insurance alone would be a non-starter. But it's very exciting for me."
Timothy shrugged. "Fair enough, fair enough."
"How long do you think it's going to take them to get inside?"
"I don't know. If people are setting up dangerous explosives, I'm happy for them to work at their own pace."
"I wasn't suggesting that you should rush them. Would it offend you if I said that I see no spark of joy in you? You seem like a man who has lost his zest for life. A man who goes through the motions, who is a hollow shell of what he used to be."
"No offense taken. I think that's accurate."
A few minutes later, the demolition experts reported that they were ready. Everybody put on their earmuffs and protective eyewear, and stood far enough away that a jagged shard of rock wouldn't fly through the air and impale itself in one of their necks. Timothy held his phone and waited as the expert at the plunger counted down from three. Then he plunged.
Even with earmuffs, the explosion was louder than Timothy expected and he dropped his phone. He cursed and picked it up. The brothers were going to be very pouty about not having a good video of the demolition. Maybe he could fix it with CGI.
The four of them watched as the cloud of dust settled. It did indeed look like there was now an open entrance to the cave.
"Outstanding," said Maxwell. "I'll go get my equipment from my car."
"What equipment?" Timothy asked.
"My spelunking equipment. What else?"
"You're not spelunking. You're walking a few feet in there, taking some pictures, and walking out."
"I get what you're saying, and I remember you saying that when you hired me, and a few more times after that, but it would break my heart to just take a quick peek and leave."
"We just set off a big pile of dynamite. The cave could be unstable. It's way too dangerous. Really, we should be sending a robot in there before you."
"I'll be fine. I'm very good at this."
"No."
"I'll sign a waiver."
"You already signed a waiver. The answer is no."
"All right. You're the boss. Though I should go get all of my equipment for when I step into the cave, even if I'm not going to explore anything. You never know. I'll be right back."
Timothy wanted to argue further, then decided that he didn't really want to argue further. If the jackass went more than a few steps into the cave, he'd have one of the demolition guys chuck an unlit stick of dynamite in there to scare him back out.
Maxwell returned with far too much equipment, including one of those helmets with a light on it. He looked positively giddy.
"You're acting like you've never explored a new cave before," said Timothy.
"I haven't."
"What?"
"I haven't."
"Yes you have."
"You may be thinking of my dad. I'm Maxwell Gord, Jr."
"Shit."
"It'll be fine, I promise. I won't take any unnecessary risks."
"No risks," said Timothy. "You'll take no risks. I do not empower you to decide which risks are necessary and which ones are unnecessary. You take no risks. Understand?"
"Why are you so uptight?"
"Because I don't want you to die in a cave-in, that's why! I don't want you to plummet sixty feet and shatter your legs!"
"You don't even know me."
"So? I can point to any random person on the street and say that I don't want them to die in a cave-in."
Maxwell considered that. "That's very compassionate of you. You're a good man, Mr. Kubler. I swear that I will take no risks at all."
"Fine. Go on in."
Maxwell walked over to the cave entrance. He stepped on top of the rubble, looked back at Timothy, and gave him a thumbs-up sign that Timothy did not return. He turned on his headlamp, peered into the entrance, turned back to give Timothy another thumbs-up sign, then ducked down and stepped into the cave, disappearing from sight.
"Hey," Timothy said to one of the demolition experts. "If I walked over there, is it possible that the ground could collapse beneath my feet?"
"Well, anything's possible."
"If I walked over there, would you be inclined to shout out a w
arning?"
"Not unless I heard a rumbling."
"Thanks." Timothy cursed again, a higher-tier expletive than his last one, then carefully walked over to the cave entrance, ready to flee at the first sign that the ground might be unstable. He could see light shining inside, so Maxwell hadn't gone too far.
He made his way up the pile of rubble. Maxwell was inside the cave, kneeling down. There didn't seem to be much room to move around.
"Anything cool?" Timothy asked.
"It's a big drop. I can't even see the bottom. And it'll be hard to squeeze through. You'd have to blow up some rock and make this part bigger, or you'll lose the revenue from overweight visitors. Then you'd have to figure out how far down this goes and figure out a way to get your customers to the bottom. Probably have to install an elevator—you can't really have tourists scaling down a vertical rock wall. Not practical."
"So you're saying that the whole thing is a dumb idea?"
"Well, it's not a smart idea."
"Thanks. That's what I'll report back. I appreciate your help."
Timothy walked back down the pile of rubble. The demolition guys had finished packing up their stuff.
"I'll be in touch if I need you to blow up any more of this cave, but I think this is as far as it goes," he told them.
"Do you want us to leave you any dynamite, just in case?" one of them asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"That was a joke."
"Oh."
"It would be incredibly irresponsible of us to leave dynamite behind. This isn't a Roadrunner cartoon where TNT explodes and the victim is left covered with soot and maybe their nose is crooked. The real world results are horrific. You should look up pictures of it someday. So the joke is that I casually mentioned leaving some behind, when in fact I would never consider doing such a thing."
"I understood the joke."
"Oh. You didn't seem like you did."
"I did."
"Okay. Pleasure working with you."
The demolition guys went back to their car and drove off. Maxwell had not yet emerged from the cave.
"Maxwell!" Timothy called out.
"What?"