Nothing to Laugh At

by Greg Wilburn

FOUR DAYS LATER (Lancaster Park)

  Seeing Lancaster Park—situated on the far side of town—in all its beauty on this clouded day makes me hurt all the more as I realize it’s begun all over again. I wish it were sunny though; that way I could have more hope. And the clown isn’t far away either. I can hear its squeaky shoes and chattering teeth about twenty feet away. But I don’t want to look. I can’t look. I’m crying silently at this point, hoping not to alert those who pass by.

  It all happened so fast back at Franklin’s place. I woke up late in the afternoon, and the clouded sky sent a sore light in through the windows. I didn’t wake until I heard the chattering. I knew immediately that it was the clown, and I threw myself to my feet. A cold sweat broke out all over me when I called for Franklin and Stephanie and there was no answer.

  The only response was that infernal chattering of the clown’s black teeth—at least that’s the only color I can imagine them to be—and lingering stale silences in between each chatter. I ran to the darkened hallway connecting the living room to the rest of the house, but I was stopped short by the clown standing in my way, unaffected by the darkness of the small space.

  Maybe I am the crazy one, after all. No, I’m not. I can’t be. At least I hope not. Of course I’m not. Even when I think about the disappearance of those I knew in Aldenville eight years ago, I know I’m not crazy. It was all the clown. That fucking clown.

  It was standing there in the hallway, and the distance between it and me was no longer far, but had been closed by at least half. The most disturbing part of this is that even though it gets perpetually closer to me, it never budges an inch. It’s as if my wavering sanity is what allows him to drift closer, edging me closer to the brink of desolation and destruction.

  As I said, it stood there, motionless, peering into me with hollow eyes. I looked at its circus-colored body in horror, taking it in again fully to try and comprehend the nightmare that had been induced around me for a second time.

  It stood about my height, and its head housed a sharp yellow cone with a puffy blue ball atop it. The sides of its head sprouted red wires that tangled and twisted, forming a thick netting that branched off in a million directions. Its face was very thin, almost ghostly. The pale skeleton face contained a bright and bulging and perfectly rounded red nose and thick red lips that were completely disproportionate to its thinning face. And its eyes—those horribly blank eyes—were large, evil orifices of nothingness that sucked away any bravery and sanity within me.

  Its body was covered in a yellow puffed suit that was splotched over with different paints. Besides the most noticeable splatterings of green, blue, red, and black, most of the suit housed grey smodges where the colors had run together. Five giant round buttons, as white as its ghostly face, ran down the chest and ended at the crotch. And its ankles and wrists had frilled edges that were laced with white as well. Its hands were pale, just as the face, and its frail fingers were unnaturally long. They had to be at least ten inches each, and all were the same size. I can see that he has hands more resembling claws than anything else. And finally, its feet wore shoes that were a bright red and bulbous. They looked as if someone had mashed up babies and molded the pulp into shoe shapes and placed them on the clown. The laces on the shoes were hastily tied and looked as if they were choking the blood flow of the entire thing.

  Even though its lips were locked shut, I could hear its teeth chattering beneath them. It was so loud that it seemed to be shaking the very house off of its foundation. I covered my ears as its shoes started making some high-pitched squeaking sounds, like mice squealing in pain, even though the clown stood there, immobile.

  In hindsight, it kind of looks like a drug addict of some kind locked away in a clown suit. I wish it really were. That way I could know that it had some concrete form. But it’s not. It’s a clown interdimensionally existent in this present reality, an evil that pervades my senses and life. It’s really my evil, and not anyone else’s burden, which makes me all the more lonesome in my deteriorating sanity.

  I know it exists—not completely, however—but it remains unaffected by time, physical space, and light. Even though the hallway was completely dark, it shone there, bright as on a sunny day in Immangton Square. Just as when it appeared in that busy intersection six days earlier, nothing could permeate its space or touch it. Everything simply passed through, innocent to its existence in my realm.

  Upon looking at it standing there, meeting its blank gaze in the hallway, I knew at once that Franklin, Stephanie, and the baby were gone. There was no need to try to get past the clown—that unending evil—and scour the house looking for them. It was just like eight years ago when those I knew disappeared as the clown came near.

  I didn’t want to believe that they were erased as I flew out of the house, leaving all of my things behind. To verify that it wasn’t happening all over again, I found a pay phone a few blocks down, threw in the change, and called the police. I called in a burglary to the Dumaises’ place, saying that I heard breaking glass and screaming, but upon hearing the name Dumaises, the responding officer said that that house was not under that name and he’d never heard such a name as Dumaises in the town.

  I fought back instantly, telling him everything about the family that had been lost to the chattering clown. But he said that that house was under the name Portrice, and it was a father, mother, and three girls. And he topped it off by saying that they’d been living in Franklin’s house for the past eight years. I threw the phone down to the ground in hate, and the shattering of it on the cement echoed alongside the full reassurance that what was happening now was the same as eight years ago.

  The clown, just as before, was chasing me down and erasing those I held dear, isolating me in damnation and defeat.

  At that realization, I wandered around town in complete shock, staying in a few cheap motels to catch a few hours sleep. I had to keep on the move for fear that the clown would catch me and erase me too. I was already so tired, and I just wanted a little bit of sleep to give me any small escape from my reality.

  But every time I’d close me eyes in those roach-infested and sex-covered rooms, the clown would appear. In the darkness of my sleep, I would find it standing not five feet from me, glaring into me with its blank expression of hunger, squeaking and chattering louder than ever before. I found myself throwing my body and forcing myself awake, only to look at the clocks and realize not ten minutes had passed.

  Despite me knowing that I wouldn’t be able to escape that reoccurring nightmare, I fled from one motel and sped to another, hopeful that I could somehow escape the clown that was already locked in my mind and find some surety of rest. I did this probably six or eight times, working my way across town, until I ran out of money to pay with. Then I had to give up. I wandered into Lancaster Park, hoping to find at least some small bit of peace in the beautiful park I frequented with Lana on Sundays. But none has come yet. I can’t really see any beauty when such an ugly clown is searching for me, ready to kill.

  Why I still haven’t left town, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of Lana. I want to keep wandering the streets in an aimless run, hoping that I can lose that clown forever and be free. Lana’s my last hope, and I want to keep her safe at all costs. I haven’t been able to answer the calls and messages she’s most likely sent to my home by now. Hopefully she isn’t too worried about me. I hate making her worry.

  As I’m sitting in the park, trying to suck in any beautiful piece of the day around me, I can only hear the clown’s annoying chattering and squeaking that’s not far off, probably seven feet away at most. I just want to rest, to find some solace in what’s around me, hoping to somehow escape or make the clown disappear forever. It’s not really working, but it’s better than nothing. Hopefully the sun will peek its head out from behind the clouds before I get erased.