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
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