CLOWN: A Novel of Extreme Psychological Horror

by Matt Shaw

  I leaned to the key, sticking from the ignition, and turned it counter-clockwise, killing the engine in the process. As I sat back in my seat, pulling they key out in the process, I turned my attention to the house I had come to visit.

  “Iron Man is cool,” I mumbled, “even if it is a dodgy outfit. There’s no escaping that.” I hesitated a moment, “Why couldn’t we dress up like Iron Man? Instead I get to be Bobo the fucking clown. So queer.” I jumped out of the van and walked towards the house, avoiding the street lamps as I did so. The trick about doing this is to remain in the shadows as much as possible so there’s less chance of detection. “Regardless of how we dress up though, that doesn’t detract from the fact it’s just fucking rude to cancel at the last minute - or, worse yet, pretend you’ve cancelled. What if we’d turned down other bookings just to attend this one? It doesn’t matter what I think of the job; at the end of the day it is a job and it puts food in both of our mouths.”

  I pushed my way through the bush and stomped my way up the garden to the front door.

  “If he apologises, I’ll let him off.”

  I reached up with my gloved finger and pressed the doorbell.

  “A sorry and - I don’t know - half of the fee. Yes. That would go down very well.”

  V

  As quickly as I could, I dragged him from the front porch and threw him into the bush before hiding myself. I put my hand over his mouth to stop him from shouting out - and just in time too as the front door opened.

  I recognised the man before I recognised the property. He had been the one to cancel the party he’d booked for his child. He’s the man who set me down this dark path of discovery. After all, had it not been for him I might still be none the wiser about the children rotting in various dumpsters. Mind you, I think there’s a part of me which would have preferred not to know.

  I watched, with my heart in the back of my throat, as the man looked from side to side - clearly looking for who dared pressed his doorbell in the middle of the night. Earlier he looked as though he were just arrogant but now he looked as though he were seriously angry, a face on him which suggested you’d be unwise to mess with him. He stepped back into his house and quietly closed the door so as not to wake the rest of the household (had they been fortunate enough to sleep through the initial door ringing).

  “What the hell are you doing?” I hissed.

  “What do you think? He’s in there laughing at you and you’re doing nothing about it.”

  “He’s in there laughing at me? He’s in there trying to get some fucking sleep before he has to - no doubt - get up for work in the morning!”

  I climbed from the bush and started to walk back towards the van.

  “What are you even doing here anyway?” he called after me.

  “What do you think? You think I was going to let you out by yourself after knowing what you get up to? You’re even more screwed in the head than I first believed - and, trust me, that is saying something.”

  I reached the van and pulled on the door handle only to find it was locked.

  “Give me the keys,” I told him.

  “You want people laughing at you? You want people walking all over you? If you walk away now it will never stop. They’ll continue treating you like the pathetic piece of shit that you are,” he hissed.

  “I said - give me the fucking keys.”

  “No. I’m not done here.”

  He started back towards the house. I didn’t have a choice but to follow.

  “What are you doing? You’re messing with my life!”

  He stopped a minute. “Have you ever stopped to consider you’re messing with my life? You’re the one who likes to dress like a fucking retard. You see me wanting to wear this shit when I leave the house? I don’t fucking think so. You’re making the pair of us a laughing stock and I’m not having it anymore. You understand me?” I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know what to say. Who could really tell who was right and who was wrong? In my mind, I was right but in his own mind - even though it was clearly fucked - he believed he was right. He headed towards the house again.

  “Just wait a minute,” I begged him but he didn’t listen; he just kept walking back towards the house. I physically stopped him just before he stepped onto the drive. “So what - you’re going to do what here, exactly?”

  “Actions speak louder than words. You’re here…Come and watch.”

  “You know you can’t get away with it forever, right? Whatever you’re doing and however you go about doing it - you won’t get away with it forever. They’ll catch up with you.”

  He laughed, “With me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t fucking think so,” he snarled, “they’ll catch up with you. You’re a bad, bad man.” He started to laugh and - only then - did I realise he was dressed up to look exactly like me. “I keep telling you - I’m the normal one. You’re the sick one. You need help but don’t you worry…When they catch up with you - and they will - I’ll be there for you.”

  He shrugged me off and started up the drive towards the house.

  I called out after him, “Please don’t do this.”

  “I’m not. You are.”

  8.

  I could but only watch in horror as he kicked the front door down. Two heavy kicks and it broke, allowing him the entry he desired. I looked around to see if anyone had heard the commotion. From the quick glance, it didn’t look as though they had. Lights in properties nearby remained off and there was no one on the street out for a late night walk. I hurried in after him, calling out for him.

  “Don’t do this!” I screamed.

  He didn’t listen to me as he stormed through the house, charging up the stairs to the second level. I followed close by, always close by, and tried in vain to stop him but I knew now that there was no stopping him - not in this mood. I’d never seen him like this before and it was fair to say it scared the hell out of me.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  The father was standing by a bedroom door. I could hear his partner screaming from within the room. His earlier angry look had all but vanished from his face, replaced by a look of nervousness no doubt caused by the stranger stomping down his landing towards him.

  “Call the police!” he called out to whoever was in the bedroom.

  A boy - young - was screaming from another doorway across the other side of the landing. I felt sorry for him. No child should have to see this. This is the kind of thing which stays with you for life.

  “Let’s just go! They’re calling the police!” I screamed out to him, one last-ditch attempt to stop him from doing whatever it was he planned to do. One last-ditch attempt and then I’ll leave him to his own devices and get myself out of here.

  “Shut the fuck up!” he screamed back to me as he swung his heavy right fist towards the father. The punch connected with a ferocity I’d never seen before, one which knocked the man down to his backside. Another punch was thrown before he started stamping his foot on the man’s face. The woman in the bedroom continued to scream, frozen to the spot with fear. On the plus side, she wasn’t making any emergency phone calls but I couldn’t say the same for the neighbours. Within the blink of an eye, the flurry of kicks and punches were being aimed at the woman - knocking her off the bed and onto the floor in the process. Again, it didn’t take long until her screams and cries fell silent leaving only the sound of the sobbing boy on the landing.

  I looked to both the man and the woman - the boy’s parents, their faces covered in blood and barely recognisable as human. Meanwhile, he was turning his attention to the boy.

  “You know what they say about children?” he asked the petrified boy.

  The boy shook his head as tears flowed freely down his face.

  “Please don’t do this. Come on. Let’s just go before anyone phones the police. Come on…”

  “If you want to go, fuck off!” he hissed. There was so much venom in his voice. I knew he wasn’t going anywher
e - not without doing what he came to do, whatever that was.

  I looked at the boy, “I’m sorry.” I couldn't be a part of this and left the two of them. Whatever he wanted to do, I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stand in his way. There was no point putting myself through it too.

  II

  “I think we’re alone now,” I spat at the boy - this fucking child who’d sooner have Iron Man at his party over a clown. In truth, I didn’t give a good fuck what he had at his party. I was just using it as an excuse to hurt him. Usually I’d had to find vulnerable children to take, those who were lost or - in the case of the child at the park - abandoned as part of a ‘harsh lesson’ to them when they’re misbehaving. Picking this kid though, this little cunt-fuck, it just made the whole process so much easier. Took out a lot of wasted time hunting around for someone suitable. “I asked you a question,” I said.

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “I asked you a question. Allow me to repeat it. Do you know what they say about children?”

  He shook his head. It was hard to know whether this was the truth or whether he was too scared to answer me. I thought ‘children should be seen and not heard’ was a popular saying? I could be wrong though so I won’t hold it against him. Not that it makes a difference either way.

  “They say children should be seen and not heard. I disagree with that. Don’t think it is right. You want to know what I think the saying should be?” I asked him.

  He stood there and didn’t say anything. He just kept weeping like the annoying little shit that he is. He shrugged.

  “I think children should not be heard. That part of the saying I agree with…But you know what else?”

  “No,” he whimpered.

  Whiney, little, irritating shit.

  “I think children should not be seen either. And you know what…”

  “What?”

  “You’re never going to be seen again.”

  I dashed forward and grabbed him. He screamed a final, short scream.

  III

  Not for the first time I found myself pacing the lounge wearing nothing but my boxer shorts. Pretty sure - at this rate - I was going to wear a hole in my carpet. I felt sick. What he did to their faces. There was no remorse there. There was no control. He was like an animal. A rabid animal. I have to turn him in or else there’ll be no stopping him. Besides, even if I don’t turn him in, they’ll come for him. They’ll come and they’ll arrest him. And me. If I don’t turn him in, they’ll think I am a part of what he does. I can see it now. They’ll think I am just as responsible. And who could blame them? If I am innocent of it all, why would I sit back and just watch? I wouldn’t. No one would.

  “The washing machine would have finished by now,” he said. His voice made me jump. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t realise he was there watching me. “I only put it on for a quick wash.”

  “What do you want? A medal?”

  “I was hoping you could hang it up for us?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure - put your feet up…Tell you what - I’ll get you a pedicure whilst you’re at it. Maybe a nice neck massage? You’ve had a busy night, after all, and must be tired.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

  “Murdering people doesn’t suit me.”

  “Yet you seem to have mastered it.”

  “I haven’t killed anyone. It’s all you.”

  “No. It’s you. You’re the clown. I’m the serious one. You’re the one stalking the streets, you’re the one snatching unhappy children. It’s all you. To be fair, I hardly get out these days. Not since you keep continuing to hide me.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Which bit? Washing your outfit? Killing people?”

  “Why are you trying to ruin my life?”

  “You’re trying to ruin mine. You’re denying who I am. You’re denying who you are. You need professional help, my friend.”

  “You’re ruining my life!” I screamed back at him.

  “Really? You seem to be the one who does whatever he wants. I’m just the passenger. So I get to go out and play from time to time - it’s not nearly as much as I’d like to.”

  “Last night - all that screaming…”

  “Yes - there was a fair amount…”

  “Someone would have seen you.”

  “No, someone would have seen you. They’d have seen a clown running from the house. They’d have seen a clown backing the clown van up to the house and they’d have seen a clown running back into the house before coming back out, loading the clown van up and jumping into the front seat and speeding off…They’ll have seen you.”

  “So you’re trying to frame me?”

  “You’re not too bright, are you? You go down and I go down. I’m trying to survive. I’m making it so you can’t go out dressed as a fucking clown anymore. The day job - it’s over. Now we can go out as we’re supposed to be seen. Maybe a nice suit…Maybe jeans and tee shirt. I don’t know. Anything but a fucking clown outfit. Oh, and for the record if you choose to start wearing a dress to avoid me…We’re having words, you understand me?” He continued, “I’m sick of you trying to hide me all of the time. Like you’re better than me? Seriously? I’m the alpha here. You’re the one who tags along like a pathetic, friendless little cunt.”

  “I won’t let you get away with this,” I warned him.

  “You can’t stop me, just as I can’t stop you. All I can do is make it harder for you to be who you want to be. The fact you enjoy dressing up – well, that just makes my job that much easier, you know?”

  “You’re a piece of shit.”

  “Which technically means you’re a piece of shit.”

  All this time hiding him under the heavy make-up of a clown, I had forgotten what he was really like. I’d forgotten the monster waiting beneath the face paint. Would people really believe I was the one responsible for his crimes?

  “Your little hobby - have you been doing that just to stop me from hiding you?”

  “Dear God, man, no. I’ve been doing that because I enjoy it. As I keep telling you, it’s a great pastime. I’ve only just thought - these past few occasions - to use your outfit to shift the blame to you instead of me…You know - on the off-chance I do make a mistake. Like last night. I won’t lie. That was sloppy.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I didn’t know what to say to him. He was off the hinge. Completely mad. And now he was pulling me into his games but using my guise to his advantage and my disadvantage. Once again, I felt a sickness brewing within me. All this time I thought I was in control. Now I doubt I was ever in the driving seat. Was I always his passenger?

  “Come on - stop sulking,” he said. “I’ve got you a present. Something to say no hard feelings.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come with me. You’ll like this.”

  The sickness brewing within me bubbled away furiously. I followed him from the living room, into the hallway and towards the kitchen. The house was silent apart from the sound of my heartbeat pumping away furiously. We stopped in the kitchen.

  “Down there,” he said.

  The cellar door was wide open. I didn’t want to go down there. I didn’t want to see what he had supposedly done for me. Not after seeing what he’d previously done down there - something I wished I could forget but knew I couldn’t.

  “What have you done?”

  He laughed. “Come on now,” he said, “I think you already know what’s down there, don’t you?”

  He wouldn’t have. Would he? I tentatively walked towards the door. I cranked my head to one side in an effort to hear any kind of movement down there. Nothing. Silence, other than the sound of my own breathing.

  “Come on,” he said, “trust me.” He gave me a nudge towards the door and suddenly stopped me, “Wait a minute…Might want
to pop some clothes on. Probably best not to go down there dressed in just your boxers. First impressions and all that…”

  It was then I knew for definite that we weren’t alone in the house. Someone else was down there and it didn’t take a genius to know who. I hurried through the downstairs of the house, to the stairs, and up to my bedroom where I quickly threw on some jeans and a tee shirt. I returned to the kitchen nervously.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asked me as I stopped by the cellar door.

  “No.”

  “Come on, you have to admit, it’s all pretty exciting.”

  I walked through the open door and stepped down onto the first step.

  “Hello?” I called out. No one answered. I flicked the basement light on and walked down the flight of rickety stairs. At the bottom, my eyes were instantly drawn to the bed in the corner of the room. More particularly - the boy lying on it. He was stripped to his underwear with a dirty gag around his mouth. Set up just in front of him was a blank canvas on one of the easels. The boy looked petrified. I ran back up the stairs and out of the room - back into the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like your present?” he asked me.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Take him back.”

  “No can do. Doesn’t come with a receipt. No returns permitted.”

  “You have to let him go. If you don’t, I will…”

  “Not your smartest move. You let him go, he goes to the police and we both get arrested.”

  “I’ll tell them you took him.”

  “And he’ll tell them he saw a clown kill his mummy and daddy. All very heartbreaking…”

  “We can’t keep him here; we need to get rid of him.”

  “And that’s what you’re going to do. That’s why I brought him back to you.”