Chasing Clowns: A Novel (Girl Clown Hatchet Suspense Series Book 2)

by Mav Skye

  “Hey, Tanya.”

  “Dinner is ready when you are, Chloe.”

  Chloe nodded at her Aunt, then turned back to Diana. She pointed at her house. “I better go.”

  “No problem, and hey, if you want to hear more about the clowns. Come to the book club next Tuesday at the library. We’ve got an interesting group. Might even recognize a few of ‘em.”

  Chloe raised an eyebrow at Diana, wondering what she knew that Chloe didn’t—other than her entire past. “Maybe I will. Good night, Diana.”

  “Bye, and thanks for rescuing Bubbles!”

  Chloe dashed between the two yards, her fuzzy socks mashing into the mud in the dip between the two houses.

  She paused on the front porch long enough to strip off her socks and roll up her pants. When she came in a few seconds later, Tanya was waiting for her. “What was that all about?”

  Chev said, “Oh, Mrs. Hackworthy lost her cat, and Flip Flop chased him across the road and tried to eat him! But we saved Bubbles from the jaws of death and gave him back to Mrs. Hacksworthy. Mom, can we get a cat?”

  Chloe gave him a look. “No.”

  “Aw.”

  Tanya was holding a mixing spoon against her apron, a skeptical look on her face. “Is that all you saw?”

  Chloe knew her Aunt could see right through her. “It was nothing.” She avoided her Aunt’s eyes. Chev handed her his cleaning rag, and she wiped the mud and debris off her feet.

  Tanya said, “Hmmm…” Obviously dissatisfied, and went back to the kitchen. “Dinner in five.”

  Chloe went back to her room to change, glancing out the window before she did. The tall dark shadow had fled, leaving only the branches to scatter the light.

  Had she really seen the clown or was her mind playing tricks on her again?

  Chloe changed again and was walking out of the hall—holding the wine glass that was still a quarter way full—just as Shayla burst through the front door. Her face was flushed and her hair soaking wet. “I can’t believe you did that to me!”

  Wes was covered in a thin white dust and blue paint. “All I did was pick you up early.”

  Shayla whined, “But I was supposed to stay for dinner. His Mom was really nice.”

  Exasperated, Wes spread his fingers in front of him. “I will tell you just like I told her, plans changed and I needed you home.”

  “Grrr!” Shayla stomped her foot and twirled around, her hair spraying Wes with water droplets. She smacked straight into Chloe.

  Chloe’s wine spilled on both herself and down Shayla’s light pink jacket.

  “Unbelievable! It’s like you’re both out to ruin me!”

  Chloe stood, speechless, as Shayla stomped around her to the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Chloe sighed and gave her husband a sympathetic look. She held her glass of wine to him. “I think you need that last swallow more than I do.”

  His mouth lifted at the side with that sexy, boyish grin that had first won her heart. He may have been splattered blue and as dusty as a barn floor, but that grin made him attractive no matter what color his skin was.

  “Thanks.” He took the glass from her, kissed her cheek. “I’m going to change out of these things.”

  “Painting?”

  “No, I just decided to go swimming in blue stain.”

  “And didn’t invite me?”

  “It was messy.”

  “Sometimes I like messy.” She swiped a finger on his cheek and showed him the dust. “I suppose you rolled on the floor after swimming.”

  He pulled a hammer out of his cargo pants. “Took out a few walls.”

  “Sounds manly.”

  He beat his chest with one hand, feigning Tarzan. “How are you?”

  Chloe sighed dramatically. “Chasing clowns.” It was a joke between them, referring to her job.

  Wes grinned again. “I figured as much.” His eyes traveled hungrily down her body, sending a warm flush up Chloe’s spine. When he looked up, their eyes met. Wes lowered his voice. “Care to join me in the shower? I’m blue in other places you can’t see.”

  “I might be able to help you with that.”

  “Ew!” yelled Chev from the carpet, startling both Chloe and Wes. Neither of them had realized he was by their feet, playing a game. “You guys are gross.” Chev stuck earbuds in his ears and went back to the game on Chloe’s kindle.

  Chloe tried not to laugh. Wes nodded his head toward the hall and reached for Chloe’s hand.

  It was that exact moment when Tanya marched to the middle of the living room and yelled as if she were a Sergeant announcing imminent battle. “Dinner!”

  8

  The First to Dance

  THE CLOWN WITH THE HATCHET CHASED her.

  He chased her out of the trailer and through the backyard. An old woman with long braided hair was weeding in the garden. She wore a thin white nightgown and resembled Chloe’s Aunt.

  Chloe cried out to her, the old woman sat back on her knees, singing in her native tongue. Her eyes were gone, and horns the color of ivy grew out of her eye sockets. As the horns grew, rivers of blood poured down her cheeks and jaw and pooled in her lap.

  Chloe screamed and screamed.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned. Mr. Jingles stood before her, hatchet raised, his grin stretching from one bunny ear to the other.

  Chloe raised her hands to protect her face from his hatchet, but Mr. Jingles began to transform. His legs coiled into one long tail. He dropped the hatchet, and his arms welded to his body, turning green and scaly.

  His serpentine body burst out of his clown clothes. His eyes turned serpentine and the beepy red nose plopped off, hitting Chloe on the head.

  She heard the old woman’s voice behind her. “Ohanzee, come to me, child.”

  Mr. Jingles, who was now a serpent, ignored Chloe and slithered past her toward the old woman. She now sat beside a sea of blood, waves of crimson rising and falling in the horizon.

  The serpent dove into the ruby sea. Chloe watched his spine twist and turn in that serpentine way as it raced away atop the sea of blood.

  There was now a full set of elk like horns sprouting from the old woman’s eye sockets. As she continued to chant, she rose and faced the sea of blood. She lifted her arms into the air, and the sea burst into flames.

  “No!” cried Chloe. She had stopped screaming. Tears poured from her eyes. She loved this woman and didn’t want her to leave, but Chloe didn’t know why.

  The old woman turned and placed her bare foot into the flames. She didn’t flinch as she stepped forward, placing the next foot in front of her. Her white gown lit up and began to burn as she stepped deeper and deeper into the waves of fire.

  Chloe raced to the sea’s edge. “Don’t leave me!”

  But the old woman didn’t hear her. Her nightgown was gone, but her skin was as untouched and smooth as a child’s. She kept walking until the crimson flames covered her head and she was no more.

  Chloe awoke, breathing hard, feeling tears on her cheeks.

  The nightmare had brought an onslaught of emotion, which was far worse than the images of the old woman with horns, or the clown serpent and fire. A thought hammered with the waves of emotion wracking through her pulse: she missed her mother.

  Beside her, Wes stirred and mumbled, “You forgot to turn the oven on.”

  Chloe turned towards him and touched his bare arm.

  By the ripple of frustration that ebbed over his features, Wes was lost in his own version of Hell’s Kitchen. His restaurant had completely taken over his mind. He was like Peter Pan and his world revolved in dreams of stainless steel appliances and organic vegetables. The vision of Wes as Peter Pan lost in Hell’s Kitchen amused her. Chloe couldn’t help but love her husband in that moment, and kissed the slight dimple below his mouth.

  “You’re fired!” Wes turned away from her, taking all the sheets with him, leaving Chloe’s legs bare.

  She sighed, and tried to wr
ap the triangle of bedding he’d left her around her waist.

  After tossing and turning and listening to Wes murmur through a selection of dinner dishes, Chloe couldn’t get back to sleep. She rose and walked sleepy-eyed to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She sat at the dining table near the giant sleeping beast who was stretched across his carpet like a stuffed toy. He watched her from where he lay, too comfortable to move, but curious enough not to sleep.

  She bent and scratched at his hips. He licked his lips and sneezed, his tail starting to beat the floor. Chloe smiled, feeling grateful for their family’s furry friend.

  She rose and picked up a memo pad and a pen from the counter and sat down with a cup of coffee.

  Chloe drew a line down the middle of the paper and wrote the word Memories at the top. On one side, she wrote down the things she knew. On the other side of the line, she wrote questions. Such as:

  Mr. Jingles—clown with bunny ears and a hatchet. Why does he chase me?

  Erin and Sharon—covered in blood. Why?

  Clowns in Spindler—Carnival Circus

  The Misty Goose—where did I live?

  Mrs. Price—nosy, pink rollers. Saw me and the Pratt twins covered in blood. More?

  Who is Joey?

  Who is the old woman from my dream? My mother?

  Chloe went through and underlined all the names, then thought about her dream and wrote:

  Ohanzee?

  Serpent? Sea of Blood and fire?

  The dream reminded her of an old Cherokee legend that she’d heard years ago, she wasn’t sure when. Chloe made a note to ask her Aunt about it.

  Then she thought about Diana, and what she said the night before and wrote:

  Pills

  And underlined it.

  Chloe sipped at her coffee, reading over her notes. She sighed and gazed at her iPad sitting on the table, and she picked it up. Usually, if Chloe woke up early, she’d read the news, but this morning she pulled up the text app and clicked on her Aunt’s name. Tanya was probably sound asleep in her comfy hotel room, but Chloe figured she’d shoot off a text anyway. Her Aunt could answer when it was convenient.

  She typed:

  I keep remembering an old tale about a serpent with horns and a sea of blood and fire. Do you know of any tales like this?

  Chloe pushed send, and then opened the safari tab to type it into the search engine when her Aunt texted her back.

  Talk?

  Sure.

  Soon, her iPad rang and Chloe clicked on the FaceTime app. Her Aunt’s face appeared pale and long. The fine lines around her eyes stretched back to her loose hair. She looked as tired as Chloe.

  Chloe said, “You’re up early.” She glanced at the time in the corner: 4:00 a.m.

  Tanya said, “What is it they say? Old habits die hard.”

  Chloe said, “You never got up at four when I lived with you.”

  She said, “You never heard me at four. I kept files by my bed, and I usually rose at four to go over them. It’s like my mind never wants to shut off.”

  Chloe said, “Mine neither.”

  Tanya chuckled. “Runs in the family. Now, what is this story you want to hear?”

  Chloe folded the iPad cover, so it leaned back on its stand on the table. “It’s about this serpent boy. He has horns, I think.”

  “Ah, yes, that one was your Etsi’s favorite.”

  Chloe said, “You never mentioned it.”

  Her Aunt scolded, “No, of course not, the doctor said I was to never mention anything about your past—she feared a relapse.”

  Chloe took a deep breath. “I think I’m ready now.”

  Her Aunt gave her a look. Chloe was unable to discern if Tanya was scowling or if she was expressing her exhaustion.

  Tanya made up her mind. “Okay. You’re a grown woman. I suppose a little story wouldn’t hurt.” She smiled. “Your mother was much more into the Cherokee lore and ways than I ever was.”

  This rang true to Chloe, and she nodded. “Why are you so different?”

  She said, “I came along much later than your mother, and—do you want to hear the story of the serpent boy or not?”

  “Yes,” said Chloe, “Please.”

  “Long ago, there lived a boy with his family. The boy loved to hunt the birds of the forest and every day he would bring the day’s catch to his grandmother and visit with her…”

  As soon as her Aunt had started, Chloe recalled the story, and she heard an elderly woman’s voice tell it just as Tanya did.

  Not only that, but she saw the face of the serpent boy very clearly in her mind. Her Aunt finished the story with, “We must always protect the heart of the beast.” Tanya gazed beyond her iPad into her apartment, thinking, remembering.

  Chloe said, “Ohanzee.”

  Her Aunt snapped back to the iPad. “Yes, that means shadow.”

  Chloe nodded. “I know.”

  Her Aunt raised her brow. “Why did you say that just now?”

  “It’s a word I remember from the past. Did my Etsi ever call me that?”

  Tanya shook her head. “No, not that I remember. You were her little Ayita. Do you know what your name means?”

  Chloe shook her head. “I’ve never thought to ask.”

  Her Aunt said, “It means, first to dance.”

  “Hmmm,” Chloe heard the elderly woman’s voice in her mind once more. Someone clapping as she chanted, Dance, dance, dance!

  She asked, “Did my mother like to dance?”

  Her Aunt’s face grew dark. “Why do you ask that?”

  A tap on the sliding glass door distracted Chloe, and she glanced up at the blinds covering the door. Flip Flop froze and was staring at the door, too. He swung his massive head around to look at Chloe. His ears alert. They made eye contact. And then it was there again: Tap, tap, tap.

  He growled and sat up.

  Tanya said, “Chloe, is something wrong? What are you looking at?”

  “Sorry, Elogi, gotta go.” Chloe closed the connection and stood. Flip Flop stood with her, glancing from her to the door. She tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed the Chinese cleaver from the sink, then tiptoed back to the door.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She put her hands on the chords of the blinds and quickly drew back the curtain.

  Its face was pressed against the glass. Its wide grin and beepy horn splatted into a distorted shape. The bunny ears were still faded and limp at the side of its face. Its eyes locked on to Chloe’s, and it tapped the hatchet on the glass.

  Flip Flop bared his fangs and let loose a ferocious bark.

  She heard the old woman’s voice in her mind. Dance, dance, dance!

  Chloe felt close to fainting. “No,” she said aloud, determined to face her fear of clowns, to beat it. She grabbed the sliding glass door handle and ripped it open.

  The clown jumped back, unsure of what to do.

  Chloe said, “Whatever or whoever you are, I’m ready to end this.”

  She lunged at the clown, expecting it to run, but instead it held its ground and lifted the hatchet in the air, preparing to swing.

  The hatchet came down just as Flip Flop pounced out the door. Chloe wasn’t sure which occurred, a hatchet slapping into her skull or the dog knocking her feet out from under her, but she went down.

  A familiar darkness tossed out its silver thread and caught her in its web, pulling her to the abyss. The last thing Chloe remembered was the sight of the hatchet rising and falling.

  9

  The Beast Within

  WES SAT IN A CHAIR ACROSS from Chloe’s bed. The hospital monitors beeped. The automatic blood pressure sleeve tightened around her upper arm.

  Chloe had woke an hour before to find Wes there, examining her with the same doubtful frown he wore now.

  She tried to explain again. “The clown was real. I saw it. Flip Flop saw it. You even said you heard him barking, and where do you think this came from?” She pointed at the bandage on her arm. It looked far
worse than it actually was, the hatchet had peeled back the skin. The doc was able to stitch her back together.

  Wes shook his head and leaned forward on his knees, rubbing his hands over his hair.

  Chloe found herself touching the scar on her forehead. “I want to file a report at the station straight away. This clown—whoever he is—is a lunatic and I think he’s stalking me. Maybe he’s stalking our whole family, Wes.”

  Wes sighed. “Nobody is stalking you, Chloe.”

  Chloe pointed at him with her pointer finger, which was currently pinched in a gadget to monitor her oxygen levels. “No, I know he’s stalking me.”

  “Chloe,” her husband sighed. “I know about the clown—about the visions you see. The nightmares. Tanya’s told me a little about your past and—”

  “And?”

  “She said the clown you described was an imaginary friend…” Wes trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Jesus, Chloe.” Wes bent over and placed his face in his hands again.

  Chloe wrapped her arms around herself. “It seems everyone knows more about my past than I do.”

  “You went through some traumatic things. We want to protect you.”

  Chloe squinted. “Who is ‘We’?”

  Wes stared at the floor.

  “Wes?” She felt like she could scream, but instead calmly said, “We as in you and my Aunt?”

  He didn’t reply.

  She said, “I moved here for you. You said you’d support me when I first started having the memories. We were going to work through them together. I’m feeling a little alone here.”

  “I want to support you, Chloe,” Wes sat up again. “But—”

  “But what?”

  He sighed and stretched his hands toward the table next to her bed. “Look, you need to eat. Have something.” Chloe looked at the lunch on the tray: cooled Salisbury steak, soggy green beans, and Jell-o.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t eat that either. I’d fire the chef.” His mouth raised in that sexy grin of his, but it failed to charm Chloe.