They Aren't Funny pt. 5

Randy’s heart hammered in his chest, threatening to burst out. The knuckles of his right hand were bloodless and white as he clutched the tent stake in a death grip. Tents streamed by, one after another, looking so much alike he wasn’t sure if he was actually running or perhaps caught in an endless loop of film. Now he could hear the pounding of Ticket’s oversized shoes thumping down in the grass behind him and the light jingle of the small silver bells attached to the frilled collar on his billowing white jumpsuit with the fuzzy red balls.

“Come on Randy, wait up. You know I can’t run as fast as you.” It was Binks’ voice. Binks! Randy’s heart fluttered and he slowed. Binks is gone, an inner voice told him, and unless you want to join him in whatever horrible world they took him to, you have to run. You have to run now! The jingling of bells and thumping of long heavy shoes intensified. In Randy’s mind, he could see Ticket closing in on him. Ticket with his black sharks’ eyes set deep in the red triangles painted on his white face- his way too many teeth, needle sharp and clicking together- his white gloved hand reaching out for him.

Randy jumped forward in a burst of speed and felt something just touch the collar of his tee shirt. “Oh you little whelp,” Ticket cried. “Do you really think you can out run me in my world? Do you even think I have been trying to catch you?” Ticket let out a shrill, cackling laugh that made Randy’s veins clog with ice. “Once I catch you, which I will, I have some friends that will just looove to play with you, and if they get a little rough, or maybe I should say when they get rough, your new mother will be right there to comfort you in her own special way.”

Randy thought of goat woman, her rectangular pupils and four sagging breasts. The strength began to leave his legs as he watched her pull him into her embrace while snake boy and the world's fattest man looked on with greedy, hungry eyes. From behind him, almost in his ear, Ticket laughed again, and Randy knew he wasn’t going to make it. He also knew he would rather die than be trapped in this insane world with lunatic clowns and mutant freaks.

Randy gripped the sixteen inch tent stake with both hands and pointed it toward his chest. He could feel Ticket’s hot, stinking breath on the back of his neck. Squeezing his eyes shut, he planted both feet and came to a skidding stop. At the same instant, he removed the point of the stake from his chest and slipped it under his arm. Still holding onto it with both hands, he pushed it back.

Unable to stop in time, Ticket slammed into Randy and screamed as the stake drove into his body. Randy, thrown forward from the impact, hit the ground, and then rolled to his feet. He looked back at Ticket who lay writhing on the ground, pulling at the stake and snarling like an animal caught in a trap. Blood ran from his mouth in dark streams, turning his white beard the same black Randy had seen it at the ticket booth. Blood ran over the frilled collar, dripping off the small silver bells, and staining the front of his white clown’s jumpsuit. Then, Ticket let out a long gurgling howl, rolled over and went still.

A contrasting silence followed, broken only by the snap and pop of tent flaps pushed by the unnatural wind. Randy took a step back from the imminent decay he knew was coming, but it didn’t come. Ticket continued to lay face down in the grass, one blood soaked hand sprawled in front of him, the other tucked under his chest, but his body remained intact.

Randy remained motionless. He knew he had killed him; no one could have survived a sixteen inch steal stake going through their body. Could they? Randy could even see the point of the stake trying to push through the back of Ticket’s jumpsuit. But when he had killed the other clowns, they had dissolved like melting snow. Randy took a step forward. He had to know, had to be sure.

Keeping his eye on Ticket’s body, Randy went to the closest tent stake, kicked it loose, and pulled it from the ground. He walked to Ticket’s prone body and stopped. He reached down again and felt Binks’ shoe dangling from his belt loop. Tears stung his eyes and he raised the stake with both hands. “This is for Binks you son of a bit-” But before Randy could bring the stake down, Ticket’s bloody hand shot out and gripped his left ankle.

Randy watched in horror as Ticket twisted his head to look up at him. “I’ll be waiting for you Randy- waiting in your closet, waiting under your bed... waiting in your dreams.” He smiled his way too many teeth smile at Randy and began to laugh.

“No!” Randy screamed and brought down the stake with all of his strength. The point of the stake entered Ticket’s black, shark’s eye and pushed out through the other side of his head, pinning him to the ground. His mouth froze open in a silent scream, thin white lips pulled back, exposing blood stained teeth. Small tendrils of smoke began drifting up from his gaping mouth and ruined eye. The coned shaped hat finally let loose and rolled to the grass, taking a rotting flap of skin with it.

Randy felt his head start to spin and a loud buzzing filled his ears. He pulled his ankle from Ticket’s dead hand and stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing on his back. Watching the star filled sky spiraling above him, the sound of far off circus music whispered in his ear as he slid helplessly into the dark world of unconsciousness.

***

“Hey, are you all right?” Randy’s eye’s fluttered, then opened. The voice sounded distant, but familiar. He looked up into the face of a woman bending over him. His vision cleared and he recognized her as Mrs. Bitterman.

“What happened?” He heard another voice ask. He looked around and could see a crowd of people gathering around him.

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Bitterman said, “He just came running out from those tents and nearly knocked me down.” Mrs. Bitterman pointed toward the line of tents separating the midway from the open field beyond. She looked back down at Randy and put a hand on his arm. “Aren’t you Randy McCombs, Helen and Paul’s boy?” Randy nodded his head dully. He felt disoriented. Blurry images of clowns running between endless rows of tents drifted through his mind. A dream. He had had a horrible dream. Mrs. Bitterman looked around. “Weren’t you here with Mark Binkus?” Something about Binks’ shoe flickered across Randy’s vision. Suddenly the fog cleared and he sat up. He looked down at his waist and felt relief wash over him. There was nothing tied to his belt loop, which meant it really was a dream, which meant-

“Excuse me.” The pink haired lady from the cotton candy stand pushed through the crowd. “I think he may have lost a shoe.” She handed Mrs. Bitterman a red Converse All-star. Mrs. Bitterman took the shoe and looked down at Randy’s feet.

“Well, it must not be his. He’s got both his shoes on.” Then Mrs. Bitterman frowned and pulled up Randy’s left pants leg exposing a white sock soaked with blood. “Oh my. What happened to your ankle Randy?”

“Noooo,” Randy groaned. He felt his head start to spin again and grabbed Mrs. Bitterman’s arm. Startled, Mrs. Bitterman instinctively tried to pull back, but Randy’s desperation didn’t allow it. “Please don’t let me pass out Mrs. Bitterman. Please, don’t let me pass out.” Even as Randy said this, his eyes rolled back in his head and from the deep reaches of his mind, the sound of small silver bells drew closer.

The End

They Aren't Funny pt. 4

“Randy, help.” It was Binks' voice coming from outside. Randy pushed aside the flap and ran into the grass between the seemingly endless rows of tents. “Randy, hel-” Randy looked to his left and felt his throat tighten to a point of making the simple act of drawing breath almost impossible. He tried to yell for Binks, but only a small unintelligible squeak escaped his throat. Ten yards in front of him, Ticket towered over Binks' struggling form.

The red ball on top of Ticket's cone bobbed gleefully. His white braided beard hung just above Binks' head, the red ribbon perched on the end as if a mutated butterfly had landed there and then died from the poisons oozing from the course hair. His thin white lips bulged and stretched as if they fought to contain the needle sharp teeth residing behind them. He had one gloved hand covering Binks' mouth while wrenching Binks' arm behind his back with the other. Even in the fading light of the sun's final moments of the day, Randy could see with perfect clarity huge tears running down Binks' cheeks until they were absorbed in the cotton fabric of Ticket's glove. A large dark stain grew in the crotch of Binks' jeans.

“Oh oh, I think Binky just went tinky in his pants,” Ticket said, smiling his way too many teeth smile. Beside him, Butcher and Baker reared their heads back with evil laughter.

“Ah... ah,” Randy croaked. He tried to move toward Binks, but it was as if the grass had reached up and spun itself around his feet, planting him fast to the ground.

“Listen to him, he sounds like the goat bitch,” Butcher said.

“Maybe she's his mother,” Baker replied. With that, they both rolled with laughter again.

Randy wheezed as he tried to suck in air through his constricted throat. It's like a nightmare Randy thought. That's right, this is a nightmare. Right now, I'm sleeping in my bed dreaming all of this, and all I have to do is wake up and this will all be over. I will be fine, Binks will be fine, now wake up. Wake up! Only he didn't wake up. He only stood there, planted to the ground while Butcher and Baker stepped into a tent and pulled its flaps back while Ticket drug Binks into its black gaping mouth.

Randy felt his stomach roll and thought he might puke as he listened to the haunted thumping sounds Binks' feet made on the ground and the muffled cries from behind Ticket's white glove. The moment before they disappeared into the tent Ticket looked back at Randy, gave him a big wink and bowed. The red triangle around his black eye- the shark's eye- compressed, then relaxed. His cone shaped hat with the fuzzy red ball, stayed magically in place and his greasy white beard hung from his face like a dead albino snake. Randy looked on through tears of his own, while the horrible memory of Binks' red sneaker popping off one kicking foot burned into his mind forever. Then they were gone.

Randy heard a loud honk from inside the tent and whatever had been holding him in place released allowing his throat to relax. He fell to the ground, sucking in huge gulps of air. He looked up, saw Binks' sneaker resting in the grass and scrambled to his feet. He ran to the tent, ripped back the flap, and looked inside. The tent was empty. Randy put his hands on his knees and let out a stream of cotton candy colored vomit. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, and then reached down, picked up Binks' shoe and hugged it against his chest. He ran a finger over the grass stains on the white rubber toe and felt a large lump forming in his throat.

Before the lump could mature into sobs, the sound of small engine starting and backfiring erupted from behind him. Randy's eyes widened and he felt a surge of energy rush through his body. He quickly tied the shoe to a belt loop on his jeans and ran toward the twinkling lights of the midway. The light in the tent with the goat woman was gone, or at least Randy thought it was. With so many tents all looking the same, he wasn't even sure what tent it had been now. Lights flashed on his back, causing his shadow to suddenly appear, running in front of him, urging him on. He could hear laughter and yells from behind him and the incessant roar of the small engine.

Randy felt Binks' shoe slapping against his thigh, and with each stride, with each smack of the shoe, Randy's fear began to turn. Turn to a sense of loss, turn to a sense of being wronged, turn to anger... turn to rage. Sensing as well as hearing the car closing in, Randy turned between two tents on the right, turned again, and backtracked down another row. He stopped close to the edge of a tent and watched. Sweat ran down his face and back, his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. He saw the small white car with the flapping ear doors and bug eyed hood roar past. He had time to see two of the clowns were riding on the car's top, but couldn't tell who they were.

“There, there. He ran down there.” Randy recognized the voice. Listen to him, he sounds like the goat bitch. It was Butcher's voice, Randy was sure of it. He heard the car skidding in the grass, and then accelerating again. He looked down at one of the tent's long tie down ropes looped to a steel stake. He grabbed the rope with both hands, and then putting his weight into it, pulled it free. He darted behind the tent and stuck his head out in time to see the car about to go past his row.

“Help,” Randy yelled, ducking behind the tent.

“Down there. Go, go!” The Baker's voice.

The car accelerated while Butcher and Baker screamed gleefully as they raced down the row. Randy watched the lights bouncing up and down in the grass as it approached. Reaching down, he rubbed his hand over Binks' shoe and gritted his teeth. The instant before the car went past, Randy darted across the row, holding the rope as high as he could. When it pulled taunt, he spun around, leaned back, and held the rope loop with both hands. Butcher and Baker barely registered the rope's existence before it caught them both across the throat. Randy heard the satisfying sound of snapping bones just before he was jerked from the ground by the weight of their bodies being pulled off the car. They all three landed in basically the same spot. Butcher's body lay stomach down, but his face looked up at the darkening sky. Baker lay crumpled next to him with his head at an equally ridiculous angle.

Randy heard the car slide to a stop twenty yards ahead of him and he pushed himself up. His hands felt like they were on fire and he thought he may have broken the little finger on his left hand, but the pain felt... well, somehow good. Like the time he nearly broke his ankle in last year's summer little league championship when he dove to catch a fly ball that would have allowed Coates Crew to win the game. It hurt like heck, but the sweet feeling of victory dulled the pain into a sort of personal trophy. 'No pain no gain' his coach would always tell them.

He looked at the car. The back window was too dark to see in, but he could hear the snarling voice of Ticket yelling at Baldo to turn around. The corner of Randy's mouth twitched in a small yet triumphant smile. He glanced back down and took a step back, repulsed. Butcher and Baker's bodies were in the process of rotting away.

Skin melted and slid off bone in wet bubbling splats. The tall white hat fell from Baker's disintegrating skull, wobbling to a stop by the wooden rolling pin. The whole scene reminded Randy of a nature show he had seen on TV where the body of a water buffalo seemed to simply melt away because of some kind of trick photography. The foul stench of death filled Randy's nostrils and he put a hand to his nose. He was about to turn when he bumped into to something... someone.

“Got ya!” Randy felt a long cylindrical object press against his throat and smelled a rancid mix of paraffin, urine, and sour whiskey. He threw his hands up in an attempt to free himself, but the pressure of the candlestick threatened to crush his windpipe. “Oh you might as well stop struggling sweat meat. You've just earned yourself a front row ticket to your own execution. Ticket... get it?” Candlestick threw his head back and laughed, the red ball hanging from his pointed sleeping cap bouncing merrily.

Randy gasped for air, clawing at the candlestick and the gloved hands holding it. Candlestick jerked back on his two foot wax rod, forcing Randy's head up. “Maybe the ol' run down gag will get you to quit squirming,” Candlestick said, pushing Randy in front of him as far as his arms would stretch. Baldo managed to get the car turned around and pointed at Randy. The engine revved, causing the small car to rock on its equally small frame. Randy could see Ticket and Baldo grinning at him through the windshield. Ticket brought his hand down in a chopping motion, pointing at Randy as if to say 'hit it James'. Baldo stomped on the gas, sending the car lurching forward. Dirt and grass flew from the tires. Randy felt Candlestick's arms tense and he knew was preparing to throw him in front of the speeding car. The car's once comical bug eyes now resembled the same black, shark's eyes planted deep in Ticket's head.

Randy reached down, untied Binks' shoe from his belt loop, and wrapped his fingers around the strings. Using all his strength, he brought the shoe up and over his head. The toe of the shoe hit Candlestick squarely in the left eye, and even over the roar of the car's motor, Randy could hear the sickening popping sound Candlestick's eye made when it ruptured.

Candlestick screamed in pain, and Randy felt the wax rod on his neck loosen. Letting go of the shoe, he grabbed the wax rod with both hands and spun around. Candlestick, blind in one eye and reeling with pain, stumbled forward while Randy ducked under the rod and fell back. Baldo tried to swerve, but it was too late. Randy heard a loud metallic bang as Candlestick's head hit the hood of the car before he was pulled underneath in a crunching tangle of arms and legs. The car jerked in Randy's direction and he rolled to his left, barely avoiding the tires. It continued past and into the side of next tent, forcing the canvas to first billow upward in a mushroom shape before collapsing around the car.

Randy jumped to his feet and picked up Binks' shoe lying beside the dissolving body of Candlestick. He quickly tied it to his belt loop again, then as an afterthought, reached down and grabbed the tent stake that had been knocked loose by the car. He ran past the crumpled tent and saw the thrashing form of Ticket fighting his way out from under the canvas. Putting his head down and pumping his arms, Randy ran as fast as he could toward the distant midway lights. Behind him, he heard Ticket screaming.

"You come back here you little bastard! Oh you will pay for the bad things you've done, oh yes you will.”