The Guild of Fallen Clowns (11 page)

T-Pot’s clown joined the clown beside the
upside-down door. He knelt to his hands and knees, and the other
clown stepped up on his back and reached to open the door. Clowns
outside the remaining passages followed suit and opened their
doors. From all but the fake exit, creepy clowns flowed into the
room.

They quickly filled the mirrors around the
perimeter of the room. Honking sounds, buzzing, ringing bells,
laughing, and whistles mixed with the vibrantly colored continuous
motion of juggling clowns, acrobatic clowns, clowns riding bikes,
clowns riding other clowns, all dancing inside the mirrored walls
of the circular space.

It was a virtual clown sensory overload.
T-Pot’s followers responded like two-year-olds in Teletubby
hypnotic trances.

T-Pot’s reaction was a bit more dramatic.
The scene before him triggered his fight or flight instinct. With
no exits present, he resorted to fighting his way out. His
explosive response to perceived danger was what had established his
role as the gang’s leader. That same short temper also resulted in
his nickname. Once his fuse was lit, his head trembled and a low
grumbling sound from deep in his chest grew to a loud growl,
setting off a violent fit of rage.

His first target was the midget clown that
had been shadowing him since they entered the Labyrinth. He took
out his knife, flicked it open, snarled at his unrelenting
harasser, and pulled his arm back before plunging forward with all
his might. Fury clouded over the reality that the clown was just a
projected image on the hard surface of a mirror. The force of his
stab would likely result in his own broken hand. As the knife got
closer, the little clown expressed fear. His hands rose to cover
his eyes. The blade penetrated the mirror’s surface and sank into
the clown’s chest.

Mortally wounded, the dying clown lowered
his hands from his eyes and gazed up at T-Pot. Sadness filled his
eyes, as his body grew weak. T-Pot reveled in his moment of
conquest over his tormentor. He gave the knife an added shove and
twist before yanking it from his body. To his surprise, the clown’s
translucent heart came out with the knife. Stabbed through the
center, the Valentine-shaped heart continued to beat. The clown
grasped his chest and collapsed to the floor inside the mirror.

Circus music was replaced with more somber
funeral music as the remaining clowns stopped playing and gathered
around their fallen comrade. As they stood with folded hands,
quietly mourning over their friend, a voice from the back of the
crowd ordered them to step aside to let him through. The clowns
opened a path and a fat clown emerged. His clown suit was white and
covered with dozens of hearts in every possible size. He knelt down
in front of the dead clown, removed a ruler from his pocket, and
measured the chest hole. Then he searched the hearts on his
costume, plucked one from the fabric, and inserted it into the
fallen clown. The music stopped altogether and the room fell
silent.

Thump thump, thump thump. The sounds grew
louder. The midget clown’s eyes slowly opened as the thumping
intensified. His head turned toward a stunned T-Pot. The clown
smiled, then giggled and jumped to his feet. The other clowns
cheered, circus music blared from the speakers, and the clowns
returned to their frolicking and obnoxious celebration.

T-Pot was about to blow a second time. His
growling turned to an uncontrollable mixture of grunts, screams,
and howls. He ran around the room, pounding his fists on all the
mirrors. Clowns pretended to be knocked down by his jabs. One
placed his face directly in front of T-Pot’s hand. As he struck the
mirrored image of the clown’s large red nose, it let out a loud
squeaking sound. While T-Pot circled the room, a group of clowns
formed a clown pyramid. The top clown was T-Pot’s midget.

Upon seeing the unstable pile across the
room, T-Pot darted for it. Before he arrived, two clowns walked
across the mirrors carrying a metal fence to protect the pile from
him. T-Pot stopped and stood in front of the barrier, looking for a
way to topple the clown pile. His midget clown looked down at T-Pot
from the top of the wobbly pyramid. The clowns below laughed as
they covered their heads with colorful hats, mini umbrellas, and
plastic films. Then T-Pot’s clown lowered his pants and peed into
the room. His hips twisted back and forth as he showered T-Pot and
the four boys with clown piss. Before finishing, the clown focused
his stream directly at T-Pot. The intensity was that of a garden
hose, spraying him from face to toe. For a good five seconds, T-Pot
circled the room in an attempt to find shelter. He ended up hiding
behind the other four boys. The group huddled with their faces down
until the urine shower stopped.

The little clown gave himself a few good
shakes and zipped up before the pyramid fell apart and the clowns
returned to frolicking around inside the mirrors.

All five boys raised their heads and sniffed
their clothes to see if the prank used actual urine. Relieved, one
said, “It’s just water. It’s only water, T-Pot. He didn’t really
piss on us. It’s just water.”

While this news calmed the four followers,
the dousing didn’t diffuse T-Pot’s anger. To the contrary, he was
more incensed, but he knew there was nothing he could do to hurt
the images in the mirrors. As they stood and shook off the excess
water, the music stopped and the clowns started exiting through the
doors. Holding a metal bucket, T-Pot’s clown calmly approached the
gang.

“Before we let you go, we wanted to give you
a going away gift,” the clown said. He placed the bucket in front
of him, reached both hands in, and raised them above his head.
Paper money flowed from his fingers. The bucket was filled with
cash.

“Who will receive our gift?” the clown
asked.

The boys were ready to step forward when
T-Pot raised his hands to stop them.

“I’ll take it,” T-Pot said as he stepped up
to the mirror.

The clown smiled and said, “Very well, but
the bucket has to stay with us. I’ll have to pour it out to you.
Then you can leave through the door behind you.” A door panel
opened and daylight filled the room. From the darkness inside the
mirrors, two clowns carried a six-foot stepladder and set it up in
front of T-Pot. They left and T-Pot’s clown climbed up the first
four steps with the bucket in hand.

“Okay, gimme the money,” T-Pot said. He
reached his hands over his head to receive the bills.

“A little closer. My arms are short and I
can’t throw that far.”

T-Pot complied and stepped closer to the
mirror.

With both hands on the bucket, the clown
raised it high above his head.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked.

“Yes, I want it. Gimme the money.”

With a firm grip around the bottom of the
bucket, the clown tilted it forward. T-Pot reached up, but instead
of feeling paper currency flowing over his hands, warm water rushed
over him. It flowed through his fingers into his face and open
mouth. The clown jumped off the ladder and ran off laughing. He was
the last one to leave the room.

T-Pot choked on the liquid. He coughed and
bent down to catch his breath. The other boys stepped up to his
aid, but were quickly repelled by the odor.

“It’s piss!” cried one of the boys.

“It was a bucket of piss he threw at you,
T-Pot!”

Still coughing and spitting, T-Pot turned
and raced for the door. The other boys followed at a distance. This
time the door wasn’t a fake. They exited the rear of the Labyrinth.
T-Pot turned and prevented the group from walking to the front,
where crowds of people would see and smell him.

To their right was a cluster of Porta
Potties. T-Pot spotted a length of hose near them and sprinted to
it. Out of direct view of the public, he grabbed the hose and
ducked behind the toilets. He handed the hose to one of the boys
and instructed him to spray it on him until he told him to
stop.

He blasted out a contentious stream of
obscenities as he aggressively scrubbed every inch of his body.

“I don’t know what the fuck those things
were, but it’s not over. Those clowns will pay for this. Nobody
pisses on T-Pot and lives to tell about it.” His words alerted him
to an unthinkable possibility. He temporarily stopped scrubbing and
looked around at his buddies.

“Same goes for all of you. If any of you say
a word to anyone about this, I’ll fucking cut off your head and
piss down your neck. Don’t even think about it.”

“You really don’t have to worry about that,
T-Pot,” one boy said. “We believe you would kill us. Besides, who
would believe us anyway?”

Knowing that T-Pot would keep his promise,
they all agreed to take this secret to their graves.

T-Pot yanked the hose from his helper and
turned it off. Then he removed his shirt, wrung it out, and tucked
it in the back of his pants to air dry. He led the group through a
narrow alley between attractions. Before emerging into the crowded
midway, he halted the group. With foot traffic in both directions,
intermittent images of a clown flashed between the moving bodies.
It was Boogy, twisting balloons into cute animal shapes for a
little boy.

“A fucking clown,” he whispered.

The boy behind him asked why they were
stopped. T-Pot pointed. With all the people walking in both
directions between them and the clown, the boy followed T-Pot’s aim
as well as he could. A chubby girl wearing stretchy orange shorts
and a red tube top was the assumed target of T-Pot’s aim.

“Aw, man! She’s gross, T-Pot. You can’t be
serious.”

T-Pot turned back to see what he was looking
at when he also spotted the girl.

“No, you idiot! I’m pointing to the clown
across the way,” T-Pot said.

“Oh, thank God. I thought that piss messed
up your head or something.”

The other boys inched closer to get a
glimpse of the clown.

“What are you thinking, T-Pot?” one
asked.

“I’m thinking it’s time to get even with
those clowns. We need to take him out.”

“But he wasn’t in the Haunted Labyrinth of
Mirrors T-Pot. Why you wanna hurt him?”

“Because he’s a clown. He’s one of them and
we hate fucking clowns.”

Muted laughter came from the boy at the rear
of the group, the same one who couldn’t hear those words without
seeing mental images of clowns having sex. Fortunately for him,
T-Pot didn’t hear him.

T-Pot turned to the group and told them to
back up. They moved out of the alleyway, behind one of the tents.
T-Pot huddled them together and started making plans for their
clown bashing.

“We need to fuck that clown up. But we can’t
do it in front of all the people. How are we going to get him away
from the people so we can kick his ass?”

The boys all looked to each other for ideas
when one blurted out, “Maybe we can wait till he leaves and get him
in the parking lot.”

T-Pot paused to consider the idea. He put
his hand on his chin to demonstrate to the others that he was deep
in thought.

“Yeah, T-Pot, we can wait till he goes to
his car,” another chimed in, hoping to somehow share in the
credit.

T-Pot started nodding his head.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t able to see any flaw in the plan.

“It won’t work!” came the voice of a hidden
eavesdropper.

“Who said that?” T-Pot said.

From the other side of the material wall,
the voice came again. “It won’t work. Your plan won’t work.”

The five boys all looked at the tent. A flap
opened and The Ringmaster stared back at the shocked teens.

“Us carnival workers stay in the trailers in
the field. He won’t go to the parking lot,” Ringmaster lied.

“Why are you telling us this?” T-Pot
asked.

“I’m telling you because I share your desire
to get rid of the clown. That job will be mine. I’ve been waiting
fifteen years for it and I won’t let him take it from me.”

T-Pot realized Ringmaster had his own
agenda.

“So, you want us to help get rid of him for
you?”

The Ringmaster scanned their surroundings to
be sure they weren’t being overheard. He leaned in and whispered,
“I want him to quit and be out of my way. I can get him back here
where nobody will see, but I don’t want you to kill him. Just scare
him—threaten him, but don’t hurt him.” He rose and turned in a
circle to be sure their discussion was still private.

“You don’t want us to hurt him? I don’t
understand.”

“I only want him to leave so he can’t take
my job.”

“Okay, pal. What if I tell him he better
fucking quit or else we will hurt him? If he refuses to quit, we’ll
have to hurt him, but it won’t be your fault. It’ll be his because
it’s his choice. If he doesn’t want us to fuck him up, all he has
to do is quit.”

The Ringmaster looked puzzled by T-Pot’s
plan. “So, if he gets hurt, it’s not my fault?”

T-Pot put his arm over The Ringmaster’s
shoulders. “That’s right. It’s his decision. We don’t want him to
take your job, but if he doesn’t quit, it’ll be like he’s telling
us he wants your job. We can’t let him do that to you. That job is
yours, right? You earned it. Anyone who can do something like that
needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to learn that you can’t do
that to people.” Behind his own back, T-Pot motioned to elicit
support from his buddies. They all chimed in at once, agreeing with
T-Pot.

“Yeah, you’re right. If he doesn’t leave,
that means he wanted my job all along. If you have to rough him up
a little, maybe he’ll learn from it and become a better
person.”

“That’s right! You’d be doing him a
favor.”

T-Pot’s distorted logic swayed The
Ringmaster into action. He shared his plan with them and returned
inside the tent.

Entertaining guests was particularly
difficult for Alan that afternoon. One minute he thought he had
control over the whole Peepers situation. Then Geno showed him that
he was never in control at all. The only thing he controlled was a
desire to avoid Peepers altogether. He was back to thinking up
excuses to avoid Geno, Peepers, and the Haunted Labyrinth of
Mirrors.