“I have a sister there. But she escaped, and I think she’s heading here to kill me and Harry. There’s a party I’m supposed to be attending tonight, at—”
“379 Eagle Moss Av,” he said, finishing her sentence in return.
The glass slipped from her hand as she looked up at Mr. Tickles. He was holding a letter which was identical to the one she had received earlier that evening. “Holy shit,” she said. “I…I…”
“Had one as well?” he asked.
She nodded. “What does yours say?”
“Here, read it for yourself,” he said, handing it to her.
Dear Mr. Tickles,
Firstly, let me say how nice it is to see you performing after years of being out of the game. I used to be such a fan of Mr. Sugar Giggles. Well, as the saying goes, you can’t keep a good clown down!
My name is Wadsworth. You don’t know me, as we have never met. But I know all about you. I appreciate your work and I know one of my other guests this evening will appreciate you too, as she also likes to perform.
That’s right, I’m inviting you to a party – a get-together for…likeminded people. There will be some very, very interesting people here, one of which you will be most thrilled to meet!
Please do come along, as it will be in your interests to do so. Tomorrow evening at 20.00 hours. The address is 379 Eagle Moss Av, Porthcawl.
Also, bring Miss Sideshow Necrotic with you. It’ll be a blast!
Yours sincerely,
Wadsworth
“I’m assuming he means you as the other performer?” Mr. Tickles said.
“What the hell is going on here?” Crystal snapped. “Are you in on this shit? Is Sam here?”
“Whoa, whoa. I’m just as in the dark as you. But I tell you one thing: I’m definitely going to attend that party. It’s got my curiosity up, and I happen to think it has something to do with that book!” he said, pointing.
Her jaw dropped on seeing a copy of White Walls and Straitjackets on top of a box nearby. “You knew all about me, yet you quizzed me!”
He smiled. “As soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew who you were. Is it true about the murders?”
“You know what happened to the cat?” Crystal said.
“Yeah, and you know what satisfaction did! If it’s good enough for a dead moggy, then it’s good enough for Mr. Tickles.”
She let a smile play across her face. “I think we all know the murders are true, don’t we?”
“Yes, and that puts us in the same boat. Should the four of us attend this party together?”
“I’m not sure I’m going. I told you, my sister is in town, and my letter said she would be there. She’ll try to take me out. Harry too.”
Mr. Tickles arose from his crate, towering over her again. He displayed his teeth as he spoke. “Not with me around, she won’t. I’ll twist her head off like a chicken’s and feed it to Nightshade. Be back here later this evening, and the four of us shall go together.”
She laughed as she took a tumble over a few cases in the lobby, which had just been standing there. Her legs tangled with the luggage, which sent her headlong into a table holding a vase and a few other items. The objects were thrown to the air, only to smash against the ground.
Crystal was glad there was nobody about to see her stumbling around, pissed out of her head. She giggled on her way up the stairs as she bounded from wall to wall, trying desperately to dig her room key out of her jacket pocket.
Finally, she managed to free her key just as she tripped over the last step on the top flight of stairs. This caused her to crash against a door that was not hers. Rolling away from it, she staggered down the hall in search of her room, using the wall as support.
The EXIT sign, which hung from the ceiling and glowed green, emitted a slight buzzing sound. The annoying whistle scratched at her intoxicated brain. Picked at it like some sort of annoying little tic that was thirsty for blood.
Her head swam as she fumbled with the single key with a gigantic wooden fob attached to it. Three-hundred-and-thirteen was written on the oak block.
Trying to get the metal in its snug slot was a task on its own: Crystal jabbed and scuffed the door’s varnished finish in her desperate attempts. “Fuck sake,” she muttered, and tapped on the door. “Harry, are you awake? Let me in, will you!”
Putting her ear flush to the entry, she listened intently. Nothing came from the other side.
“Shit, he’s probably still passed out. Hic-hic.” She burped and collapsed against the wall.
“Excuse me, young lady, but people are trying to sleep around here, you know. We didn’t pay good money to hear your rabblerousing ways at all hours!”
Crystal homed in on the voice, which was coming from up the corridor. Not quite a neighbour, but close. The man was rather tall, and wore glasses. He had on white boxer shorts and a vest to match. He wasn’t skinny, nor was he fat.
He had a pretty face, Crystal thought. But that could have been the whiskey playing tricks on her. She stumbled over to him. The man’s partner stood behind him, instructing him to “tick” her off.
Who the fuck uses a word like that?! Crystal thought. Lordy bastards.
They stood toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye in his doorway, except she was wobbling on unsteady legs whereas he was as solid as a concrete pillar.
“I shall be forced to call the management if this absurd behaviour continues,” he said, his face getting redder and redder – speckles of sweat glistened on his upper lip and cheeks. “Do you know what bloody time it is?”
“Yes,” the woman chirped. “It’s bloody ludicrous. Harry and I pay good money to stay here every year, and not once have we had this kind of problem. Well, it’s the Hilton next year,” she huffed. “This place has lost its appeal.”
Crystal laughed in the man’s face. “Your name is Harry?” she asked, bursting with laughter.
“I don’t see how this is at all funny. Gloria,” he addressed his female companion. “Call them downstairs, this—” He gasped as Crystal’s hand cupped his bollocks and squeezed. His knees buckled.
“Listen, punk,” she maliciously whispered down his ear. “Tell that bitch of yours to get back to bed and to forget all this shit. Otherwise, I’ll tear these off!”
“G…G…Gloria,” he panted. “Just go back…aarggghhh…back to b-bed, dear.” Now the sweat was in his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly.
“Whatever is the matter…?” Gloria half shrieked when she saw what Crystal was doing. “You dreadful woman!” she spat. “Let my husband’s…husband go!”
Crystal twisted the man’s privates. “I’ll rip ‘em off!”
“Please, Gloria…” he said, now standing on tiptoes. “Gooo back to bed!” he wavered.
Crystal heard Gloria stomp off in retreat, and so she let her grip go. “I don’t want to be hearing about any of this from the manager. Or I’ll come back and finish the job,” she said, pointing at his nuts.
“No, no, you won’t have trouble, I promise,” he whined. “Please.”
“Good,” she said, giving his left cheek a couple of soft slaps before walking away. She could hear Gloria ask Harry if his “bits” were okay and then offer to ice them for him. Crystal smiled, unlocked her door with the first attempt, and fell through the doorway. She landed on the floor with a thud, and then kicked her door shut from where she lay.
“Get the fuck up, you drunken bitch!” a voice inside the room said. “Where the fucking hell have you been? Been fucking some stranger out there on the slummy streets, have you? Get some good cock, did ya?”
She could feel her Harry pull at her hair roughly. “Ahh! Harry, please. You’re hurting me!”
“I’ll give you hurt, slut,” he said, forcing his small hand into her mouth and grabbing her tongue. He repeatedly yanked, forcing tears from Crystal’s eyes as she tried to speak. “Who was it?! Who!” he demanded. He slapped her once, twice, three times across the face before pulling her hair again. This time she was forced to crawl along
the floor like a dog. “Move, tart. Move. Now!”
“Please, Harry. I lost track of time. I bumped into a friend. We had—”
Another hard slap crashed across her face – this one split her lip. Blood dribbled and dripped from her mouth and onto the carpet.
“I told you before what would happen if you ever fucked another behind my back.”
Crystal’s hands automatically went from her head and pressed against her pussy. “No, Harry, you wouldn’t! I’ve done nothing wrong! Please, just listen to me.”
She heard her butcher knife hit the floor, totally forgetting she still had the heavy weapon on her person. Harry heard it too, sending him into a deeper frenzy.
“Planning on fucking stabbing me as I slept, hey? You fucking callous slapper. I’ll dig your insides out with it.”
She felt sick from pain and drink, and, with that thought, spewed onto the carpet as she doggie walked along it.
“Ugh, you mucky pup,” Harry said.
Finally, he let go of her hair and ordered her to get onto the bed. She did so, flopping onto it. The ceiling spun as Harry’s voice echoed inside her head – it felt like someone was playing steel drums in there, with visions of sun-kissed beaches in Jamaica coming to mind. She stifled a laugh.
“Get your fucking clothes off!” Harry commanded.
She fumbled, not really knowing what the hell she was doing or what was going on. She couldn’t remember the last time she was this out of her mind with alcohol. Her jeans were roughly tugged down; so too were her damp panties.
“And your fucking T-shirt.”
She pulled that off, with Harry aiding her. Her clothes were scattered about the room as though they had exploded off her. He tore her bra from her body with such force that she heard the bone snap. That too was flung to one side, discarded like unwanted rubbish.
“Harry, please! Don’t hurt me. I can explain what—”
“It’s okay, bitch, I ain’t going to hurt you. Why would I want to hurt such a fine creature?” he asked.
Harry’s naked form was disjointed. Fuzzy. She forced her heavy eyes open, fearing he was going to cut her, because now he was holding the knife. She felt the cool steel tip scratch its way between her large tits, then circle each nipple. They stood erect, and she had to fight the urge not to put her hand between her legs and tease her own clit with her fingers.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“Mmm,” she groaned. “Yes, I do.”
She bit her bottom lip hard as Harry continued to taunt her flesh with the butcher knife. He moved the blade from her breasts to her throat, and she felt the serrated edge sink slightly into her skin. She squealed, more with delight than fright.
Now her hand was between her legs, and her fingers eagerly stroked her G-spot. Harry laughed. His breath reeked of cigars.
Then the knife ran the length of her long, curved legs before he turned sharply and flung the knife in the door’s direction. It bounded off the wood and skidded to a halt on the floor close to Crystal’s bra.
He then pushed the hand she had buried between her legs to one side and inserted something into her. He probed her; it slipped in and out, taking her on a rollercoaster ride of sexual sensations. And then it was gone from her, whatever it had been.
Harry’s rough, wooden mouth fused with hers, and soon his little hands were all over her tits.
The room had stopped spinning, but Crystal still felt nauseous. She was too horny to care as Harry turned her onto her side and spooned with her.
Then he was in her, ramming her time and time again, bringing her to a screaming climax as she came over and over again, much to Harry’s grunting approval.
When they were finished, they both lay there, spent. Then Crystal drifted off into a dreamy, intoxicated sleep filled with knives and clowns and Harry and fucking and Samantha and dinner parties with strange butlers and her parents and dead children and alligators and circuses and candyfloss and vampires…
The slight parting in the curtains let the sun in. It was bright and stinging, bringing Crystal around in a cacophony of “ugh”s, “ooo”s and “ahhh”s. She rolled onto her back, a headache kicking in. She felt like shit – trodden in shit, which had been scraped up and dumped into a bin.
Her hair was a corkscrewed mess of knots and tangles, her make-up smudged and smeared all over her face and pillow. She kicked the covers off and let the sun massage its heat into her aching bones. She kept her eyes closed and nursed her sore head with one hand.
“How much did I bloody drink last night?” she asked aloud, before realizing Harry was in the room somewhere and that she still hadn’t explained to him what had happened last night.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes and flicked her gaze around the room. He wasn’t next to her. She thought he would have been because he’d fucked her and fallen asleep by her side. Or had he?
Then she found him, lying in one of the chairs by the window. The screech of gulls and roiling, smashing, crashing waves filtered into the room.
“Harry, are you awake?” Nothing. He didn’t answer or look in her direction. He was either still very mad with her or sound asleep. “Harry?” she tried again. Nothing.
Crystal closed her eyes and thought about her tortured sleep before moving on to Mr. Tickles. She finally settled her mind on the patchy memory of her drunken fumble with Harry. It moistened her.
She wanted to play with herself, but refrained. She had lots to do before the party tonight, and she was still unsure on whether to go or not.
Rolling onto her side, Crystal kicked her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. Her headache was starting to fade. She needed a mug of tea and a hot shower. She looked at her clothes, which were scattered about the room, haphazardly tossed by Harry.
Then she cast her eyes on the sex toy that lay among the garments. It was her dildo, its black exterior soiled with stale juices. She smiled. So that’s what he was ramming in me, hey? she thought. Dirty bastard.
She stood and her head began to pound. As quickly as she could, Crystal staggered into the bathroom and locked the door. After starting the shower, she looked at herself in the mirror – her pretty face was hidden under her mucky, cabaret camouflage.
After removing the smudged make-up, she got into the shower and washed her hair and body before standing under the spray for at least five minutes. She let the warm water soak into her.
Getting out, she wrapped her long, dark hair in a towel before tying a second, larger one around her dripping body. She then stepped out of the bedroom. Harry was sat in the chair by the window.
“So, are you going to let me in on what you got up to last night, girl?” he uttered. His tone was cold. “Or am I going to have to hurt you for real this time?” And that’s when she noticed the knife in his hand, which he’d taken off the floor.
“Don’t be silly, Harry. Of course I’ll tell you.”
“Don’t get lippy with me or I’ll cut your lips off – both sets of them!”
“I just went for a walk along the front to try and clear my head – you won’t believe how ugly it is on the streets here after dark, Harry. Gypos and carnies all over the fucking place. Not to mention leering pervs.”
“Tell me more about the perverts. Did they harass you?”
“Tut, knock it off, Harry. I had the knife with me,” she said, indicating with a nod of her head. “I wouldn’t have taken much shit.”
“What the fuck were you doing carrying such hardware, you stupid bitch?”
“Calm down, Harry. I took it just in case I bumped into Samantha. I would have taken her out if I had seen her, and that’s a fact.”
“If it was only a fucking ‘walk’ you went for, why in the fuck didn’t you get in until the early hours? Why were you so pissed?!”
“Because I bumped into someone. This is what I was trying to tell you last night, before you went off on one. I met someone very, very interesting last night, and you’re going to lo
ve him and his female assistants!”
Harry’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the mention of ‘female’. “Go on.” His tone had now softened.
“His name is Mr. Tickles, and he’s a clown with the circus that rolled in to town the other day. The females, Miss Sideshow Necrotic and Miss Sideshow Nightshade, are his sidekicks. They run this dark and murderous show. They’re really fucked up, Harry!”
“Hmm, sounds interesting. What else?”
“Well, there are some very strange things going on around here, because I know this clown from years back. From when I was a little girl.” Crystal then proceeded to tell Harry about why Mr. Tickles had changed his identity.
“Sounds like our sort of man!”
“Not only that, Harry, but he too has received a letter from this Wadsworth fella, telling him that he has also been invited to the ‘party’, along with his partner, Miss Sideshow Necrotic. I told him all about my fears of going and about Samantha, blah, blah, blah, and he offered for us all to go together.”
“What in the fuck is going on?” Harry mused, seemingly talking to himself and not Crystal.
“I think we need to go, Harry.”
“We’ll possibly have to kill your sister, and maybe others!” Harry said.
“Then so be it, Harry.”
“That’s what I like to hear, slut.”
“I told Mr. Tickles we’d be at his tent by seven.”
“Good.”
“There’s one other thing, too…” she said.
“What?”
“He’s the clown from the book, Harry. That White Walls book…”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
Crystal nodded. “We need to find out what the fuck is going on, Harry.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll get all the answers we’re looking for tonight.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Being as we are not working today, why don’t we have a bit of what we had last night this morning?” she asked, letting her towel drop to the floor before giving him a cheeky wink.
Escapees and Fevered Minds Page 5
