by Matt Shaw
“What were you doing here? You shouldn’t have been here....” the security guard interrupted.
“What?”
“We didn’t have any entertainment booked in.”
“What did you say to my boy?” mum said from the back of the group. The clown leaned around the security guard and I to see who was addressing him this time.
“I can’t quite recall... spoken to so many children....”
“My daughter?”
The clown shrugged, “Maybe.” He looked back to my mother, “Your son has a potty mouth....”
“Fuck you!” screamed mum.
The clown looked at me. Another over-exaggerated expression of shock. “I guess we know where he gets it from.”
The security guard addressed everyone, “Look, can you let me do my job please...” He turned to the clown, “You shouldn’t have been here. You didn’t have permission. What were you doing...”
“Every week, my troupe and I travel the country and visit places such as this...” he said, a serious voice for the first time since speaking to us, “...put on little shows for the children who don’t look as though they’re having any fun. We just want to spread a few smiles to the miserable. Spread some joy. Make children smile.” He flashed us his smile again before turning to Jackie, “So.... if your daughter was miserable... I may have spoken to her. I may have even given her a balloon....” He turned to the security guard, “If I should have had permission, I apologise...” He looked to mum, “And if your son told me to fuck off.... you should have washed his mouth out with soap!” Another flash of his smile.
“Look, you’re a potential witness... you’re going to have to come with us and have a chat with the police. You were the last seen to be speaking to this lady’s son...”
“He’s missing. How do you know he isn’t talking to someone right now... and if that is the case... surely the person he is talking to... right now.... surely they are the last person he is speaking too....”
The security guard looked flummoxed.
“...Besides.....” continued the clown, “I have a party I need to get to and my friends are waiting for me in the car park... I have a card in there - I’ll be only too happy to pass one to you...”
The security guard didn’t know what to say. Neither did anyone else. Whatever we said, the clown had an answer... and, if he did have the children... he doesn’t have them now. The guard nodded. The clown copied his nod and about turned - continuing his way down the stairs towards the car-park.
9.
The car-park was near enough empty now. Just a few cars and, against the far wall, a van which was covered in paintings of clowns. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which was the vehicle we were heading for.
As we made our way closer to the van, the engine spat into life and the lights came on - helping to illuminate the otherwise dimly-lit space. I couldn’t make out the driver but he drove the van towards us - to save the wear and tear on our shoes or because he couldn’t be bothered to wait for us to get to him, I’m not sure.
When the van was next to us - the driver wound down the tinted window, another clown. I still hate clowns.
He turned to ‘our’ clown, “You know - I’m not sure we’re going to have room for everyone.... did you have a favourite?”
‘Our’ clown didn’t say anything. He simply walked around to the passenger side, opened the door, and jumped in. The security guard walked around, with him. “Did you have a card then?” He had barely finished the sentence when the clown produced a business card from the glove compartment. I was a little disappointed when a springy-snake thing didn’t shoot out of the glove-box after the clown opened it. “Thank you. Mind if I take a look in the back of the van?”
“Knock yourself out...” said the driver - a far more serious looking clown than the one we were used to dealing with. No manic smile here. More of a stern look.
I followed the security guard around to the back of the van and heard the door-lock click open. He gave me a slightly uneasy look and whispered to me, “I hate clowns.” I couldn’t help but smile.
A nice tension breaker.
The guard took a hold of the handle and pulled the door open to reveal another four clowns - all in full make-up. Sat on the floor of the otherwise empty-van. All pulling silly faces and waving at us. One of the most surreal things I’d ever seen, yes.... but no children.... and no traces of any children. The guard smiled back and slammed the door shut.
We walked back to the front of the van. Mum was looking at us - a look of ‘hope’ on her face. I shook my head.
“My friend here says you’re missing some children....” said the driver - a stern look still on his face. “You know... children who wander off.... they’re never missing... you’re just not looking in the right places... You check the ice-cream shops.... you check the toy shops... you check the playgrounds.... you look properly, you always find them eventually. Anyway, I hope you find them... really, I do... maybe we could come and do a party for them sometime....” There was something in his insincere tone which must have annoyed the security guard as much as me.
“Do you guys ever take your make-up off?” the guard asked.
The driver simply leaned out of the window, closer to the guard, and whispered, “What make-up?”
The passenger flashed us another of his manic grins and the van wheel-span from the car-park.... just as a police car pulled in.
Jackie turned to the security guard, “We haven’t checked the play area. Did anyone check it?”
I looked at the security guard, “There’s a play area here?”
He nodded, “A soft play area just through there...” he pointed through some double doors. A sign stating the play area was on the other side. All this time, I’d never known there was a play area.
“How come we didn’t see video from that in the security office?” I asked.
“They have their own CCTV system - monitored by the staff... but it closed at half four.. The staff would have told us if they had any children there who hadn’t been collected...” He turned towards the police car as it pulled to a stop close by. “Excuse me a minute,” he said walking off.
I turned to the double doors - a strange uneasy feeling creeping over me... maybe left over from the sight of all those clowns. Maybe something else. I turned to mum and she too was looking at the double doors.
“Shall I?”
She nodded.
I led the way closely followed by Jackie, mum and the other lady - through the double doors and down a short corridor towards another set of double doors with tinted windows... signs on the door ‘KidZone’. I pushed the door but they didn’t want to seem to budge. It was as though something was blocking them. A harder budge and they moved a fraction more. They weren’t locked. Something was definitely blocking them or keeping them back. Using my whole body-weight, I threw myself against the door and it swung open.... something clicking on when the door was fully open.... music began to play but no lights flickered on.... pitch black.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Louis Armstrong?” said mum.
When you’re smiling ... when you’re smiling..... the whole world... smiles.... with you...... played the song.
“Who’s there?” I called out. I could see something in the darkness. Shapes. Looked like people.
“I think I’ve found the light,” said the brunette.
Click.
Keep on smiling..... and the whole world.... smiles.... with you........
The lights flickered on and the room burst into light. Mum screamed, followed by Jackie... my eyes adjusted to the sudden light. On the floor, in front of me, were the two security guards - their eyes ripped from their sockets and throats pulled out....
Don’t be sick.
Don’t scream.
Be strong...
I turned to mum... I thought she and Jackie had screamed at the sight of the guards but they hadn’t.... they had rushed deeper into th
e room.... past a load of balloons..... I ran to their side.... Oh God...
No...
I started to cry.
All of us were crying.
The door swung open again and the security guard came in with two police officers. They too looked shocked.
We had found Lewis, Lisa and the other boy... slumped against the soft wall of the play area... their faces...
Oh God...
The record had stopped. All I could hear was my own heart-beat and the sobbing of the women.... the police calling for back up.... the security guard saying he had found two more bodies in the back area - those of the staff... All I could see... All I could see was Lewis’ face... His cheeks sliced upwards, from the corner of his mouth - the shape of a massive smile.... his mouth and the fresh cuts... stitched shut into a freakish smile....
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” shouted the security guard when he noticed the faces of the children. He crouched down next to Lewis... he’s breathing... He’s alive...
The police officers felt for a pulse on the other children, they too were breathing. They were alive. All the children lived.
But what happens when they wake up?
The clown’s voice played over the speaker system - pre-recorded on the end of the song, “We just want to spread a few smiles to the miserable. Spread some joy. Make children smile.”
“Shut that thing off!” one of the police officers shouted.
~ FIN
LOVE LIFE
PROLOGUE
KIRK HAD TROUBLE SHOWING EMOTION since that night. It was as though something in his soul had perished along with Tracy. Tracy – the love of his life. Tonight was different though. For the first time since he could remember, he was concerned; albeit a feeling of concern mixed together with an ever-so slight feeling of joy that she, Kim, had called him in her hour of need – especially after the way they had parted company earlier in the day.
It was 2:30am - a cold winter’s morning with the weather undecided as to whether it wanted to rain or snow. His blue Ford Escort speeding him towards St Anne’s hospital. His blue Ford Escort speeding him towards Kim. His blue Ford Escort not speeding him to his destination fast enough. His size-eleven shoe pressed down harder against the accelerator as his mind kept playing back the telephone conversation over and over in his head.
“Hello?” he had said after picking up the ringing telephone that would have woken him from his sleep if he had ever slept. No reply. He had known someone was there. He had heard the shaky breathing. “Hello?” He remembered hearing someone breathe in. “Hello?”
“Kirk?” a faint voice had finally uttered back.
“Who is this?”
“Is that you?” said the female voice on the other end of the line between tears.
“Kim? Is that you? What’s wrong?” he’d asked. No reply came straight away and, again, he had stood there listening to her sob. “Kim, are you going to talk to me? What’s wrong?”
“Can you pick me up?”
Kirk had replied with no hesitation, “Sure, where are you?”
Again she had replied, through her tears, “St Anne’s.”
“What happened?”
“Can you pick me up?” she had repeated before the phone-line went dead.
A red traffic light ahead snapped Kirk from his thoughts. He didn’t know what was wrong with Kim. He had no idea how serious it was, or wasn’t, but the traffic light certainly wasn’t going to stop him. He pressed the accelerator down as far as it would go, ignoring the engine warning lights that flashed up on his dashboard blinking for him to get more oil. The hospital was close now; only around the next corner.
* * * * *
The car’s interior light came on, as Kim opened the door. When Kirk had seen Kim earlier she had looked beautiful. Her blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail with a few strands of hair covering her left eye, her make-up applied with almost perfect precision; red lipstick, a light blue eye shadow - a complete contrast to how she looked now with her make-up smeared across her pale face, bloodshot eyes from where she’d been crying, a deep purple bruise starting to show through on her right cheek and, as she winced as she sat in the passenger seat of Kirk’s car, he realised these were just the injuries that he could see. There were more.
“Thank you for coming,” she said avoiding direct eye contact, hoping that he wouldn’t ask any questions. She didn’t need to hide. It had been so long that Kirk had found himself in this situation that he didn’t know how to respond to what had obviously happened to her. He didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know what to do. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head, disappointed in his lack of compassion, and turned the car key in the ignition – spluttering the dying engine back into life.
“Where did you want me to take you?” asked Kirk, finally, when it was obvious that Kim wasn’t going to offer the information. “Where do you live?”
“I can’t go home,” sobbed Kim.
“What about friends or family?” continued Kirk.
There’s another brief spell of silence before, “Can I stay at yours?” Kirk turned to her. He didn’t know what to say. No one has stayed at his since Tracy. Even though she was no longer with him he felt as though it was disrespectful to her memory for people to stay over. Kim didn’t notice Kirk looking at her as she looked out of the window, hiding her obvious tears from him. She continued, “If it’s a problem…”
“No,” said Kirk, “it’s no problem.”
“I’m sorry for how I treated you earlier. You just caught me by surprise,” said Kim, turning to face Kirk. He can’t help but look at her bruised face.
‘What had happened to her?’
“It’s already forgotten,” replied Kirk. She smiled at him with red-raw, watery eyes.
“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“Look, did you want to talk about what happened?” he asked. She turned away from him and looked out of the window again. The familiar sounds of her sobs fill the car once more. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “You don’t have to talk about it,” finishing the conversation so she didn’t feel as though she needed to.
He nodded to himself, happy with his progress of being compassionate, and turned his attention back to the road – pressing down gently on the accelerator; the car slowly pulling away from the hospital car park with the clicking of the indicator helping to disguise her sobs. As they pulled out of the car park Kirk leant down and turned the radio on to help break the uncomfortable silence – “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. Kirk smiled to himself.
Love Life
1
ANOTHER HOTEL BATHROOM like all the other hotel bathrooms Kim had found herself in before tonight; white marble-tiled floor with a non-slip rubber mat placed by the foot of the white, pristine bath – still full of water from where he had bathed himself prior to her visit. A silver sink, built into the white worktop, with a selection of over-priced toiletries, for clients to purchase from the hotel having forgotten to pack them from their own homes. A glass, upside down, placed on a small, circular white mat. White. Nearly everything white. Everything so clinical.
Kim stood in front of the large bathroom mirror, which hung on the wall behind the sink, and stood for a moment looking at her reflection; a look of both disgust and pity. She hated the way she looked now with her bleached hair, which Leon had insisted upon, and what she perceived to be a stereotypical ‘tart’ outfit; short, black leather skirt, red crop top, revealing her toned stomach and hiding the bra that worked wonders at pushing her breasts close together giving the impression they were larger than they actually were, no panties. Her panties were in the other room with him. Where he was lying on the bed, naked with a now-flaccid penis from where she had successfully fulfilled her ‘girlfriend’ role; her panties were on the floor next to her black jacket; where he had instructed her to leave them. She didn’t know his real name. He had called himself ‘John�
�� but she wasn’t born yesterday. They never gave their real names. She didn’t care.
Kim took the glass, from the sink, and filled it with water before taking a large swig. She tilted her head back and quietly swished the water around her mouth for a minute - anything to get rid of the taste; his taste. She stopped and dropped her head forward, catching her reflection in the mirror once more before spitting the water at it. Kim always found it hard to decide who was more disgusting – the men that paid to bed her or her for allowing herself to be in the situation.
‘Last time,’ she thought to herself as she reached for her bag that hung from the back of the door on a small, gold hanger that looked out of place against the predominantly white and silver room. From her bag she pulled a silver wrapper – its contents being a small amount of cocaine; a habit that was a parting gift from Leon. At the time she had never thanked Leon for it but, now, she was truly thankful, for she found it helped to give her the confidence and strength to do what she knew she had to do. She could always quit after tonight.