The Guild of Fallen Clowns (14 page)

Lost in choices, he whispered, “Where are
you now, Peepers?”

“Excuse me.” A woman’s voice interrupted his
concentration. He turned to see if he was in her way.

“Alan. Right?” the woman said. Caught off
guard, Alan looked at her a few seconds before recognizing the
face.

“Mary,” he replied nervously. His hand
returned the product to the shelf as if he were caught
red-handed.

“I thought it was you,” Mary Krauss said.
“Hey, I loved the pizza you brought the other night.”

“Oh, yeah, the pizza. I’m glad you liked it.
Vince’s is the best in town.”

She looked at the clay he returned to the
shelf. “You’re an artist too?”

Alan looked back at the block and shook his
head. “No, no, not me. I’m not an artist.”

“Really? Then what brings you to an art
store? Are you buying a gift for someone?”

“Um, no. Not a gift. Well, I guess I was
thinking about giving sculpting a try. But who am I kidding? I
wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t let that stop you, Alan. I think it’s
great that you want to try something new.”

“But I’m not artistic. Nobody in my family
is artistic,” he said.

“Have you ever tried sculpting, Alan?”

“No—well, Play-doh, but I don’t think that’s
what you mean. I’m not talented,” he said, squirming. “It was a bad
idea. I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense. How would you know if you’ve
never tried? I’m not saying you do have a talent for sculpting, but
you’ll never know unless you give it a try.”

Alan thought about her reply for a few
seconds. “Are you a—sculptorist?” he said.

Mary laughed. “Yeah, I guess you can call me
a
sculptorist
. I’ve been sculpting since I was a teenager.
And guess what, Alan? I’m the only artist in my family.”

“Well, how did you know you had the talent?”
he asked.

“I took an art class in high school. My
first piece was a dancing girl. I didn’t think it was anything
special because it was so easy, but my teacher was really impressed
with it. She said I had a God-given talent and I should keep
working on it. While the rest of the class went on to work on other
artistic mediums, she allowed me to continue working on my
sculpting. I owe it all to Mrs. Dailey. I don’t know what I’d be
doing now if she didn’t push me.”

“You didn’t even know you could sculpt?”
Alan asked.

“I didn’t even have an interest in it,” Mary
said. She paused and looked at Alan. Her eyes squinted as she put
her hand under her chin and said, “Alan. Let me help you.”

“Oh, no, Mary. I shouldn’t even be
here—”

“Stop, Alan!” she ordered. “I want to help
you. I’m going to help you and I won’t take no for an answer.” Her
eyes scanned the shelves full of materials. “What were you thinking
of sculpting?”

“Well, I guess it’s sort of a person,” he
said.

Mary looked at him and asked, “Sort of a
person?”

“Yea, a person dressed—like a clown. It’s a
clown. I was thinking of sculpting a clown.”

Mary’s eyes returned to the shelves. “A
clown, okay, how big?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Let’s start with an armature,” she said,
reaching for one of the human-shaped wire figures on the top
shelf.

“An eight-inch armature should do,” she
said

She picked up the block of clay Alan
returned to the shelf and said, “You were on the right track with
this, but let’s get a few more.” She filled his hands with the
items.

“This stuff won’t dry,
ever
. So you
can take your time working with it.”

Looking at the blocks in his hands, he
asked, “What can I do with a soft sculpture?”

“This is how it starts. When the sculpture
is finished, I’ll show you how to make a mold and we can cast as
many solid pieces as you want.”

Mary handed Alan five shaping tools. Looking
at his hands full of supplies, she said, “There you go. This should
be enough to get you started.”

“Started how?” Alan asked.

“Are you free this afternoon?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Good! Bring these supplies to my house at
two-thirty and I’ll help you get started.”

Her house,
he thought. That would be
Krauss House. At that point all he wanted to do was prove that he
didn’t have any special skills so he wouldn’t have to face Peepers
or any other spirits again. He never considered Krauss House would
be the location of his artistic education.

“Oh, if you have a picture of the clown you
want to sculpt, bring it with you. And if you want to get started
before then, you can slap a bunch of the Plasteline on the
armature. It takes time bulking it up to the point where you can
start sculpting detail. Just build it up with strips until it
resembles the rough shape of a person.”

“Are you sure you want to do this,
Mary?”

Mary placed her hands on his arms below the
shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, “Are you kidding? It
will be my pleasure to help someone the way Mrs. Dailey helped
me.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he said.
“There’s a good chance I might suck at this.”

Mary grinned and said, “You’ll do fine. I’m
glad you’re letting me help you discover sculpting. It’s going to
be so much fun.”

That was it. He knew then and there that he
was physically incapable of denying this woman. That afternoon he
would be in Krauss House and if he showed any talent for sculpting,
he would be back in the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors facing Peepers
for a third time. There was no way out of this situation and he
surprised himself for not trying harder. Either Peepers was
correct, and somehow he was helping Alan get over his fears of
haunted things, or he was just worn down and too weak to fight.

Mary let go of Alan’s arms. Saying she had a
few more things to pick up, she smiled and walked away. Alan took
his arm full of supplies to the checkout.

“Did you find everything you were looking
for?” the clerk asked.

“And then some,” Alan replied.

*****

Standing at his kitchen table, Alan tipped
the bag and lifted it from the bottom, emptying the contents in a
heap. “Is this what Peepers wanted me to do?” he muttered.

He picked up the armature and examined it
before setting it aside. Next, he looked at the blocks of clay. He
rapped his knuckles on one and wondered how he was going to combine
them with the wire to create something that resembled Peepers.

“Well, I have a feeling Peepers will be
disappointed when I don’t show up—but I did tell him I wouldn’t be
back if he was wrong about me,” he said to himself.

He started by peeling the plastic wrap from
the blocks. They were too hard to squeeze off chunks so he
retrieved a steak knife from his utensil drawer and sliced off
sheets. Then he slit the sheets into thinner strips. Applying the
material was difficult at first, but as it warmed from the friction
of his hands, it became more pliable. Building layer after layer,
he instinctively trimmed off the overbuilt areas as he smeared the
layers together with his warm thumbs.

Within an hour, the rough form was complete.
He propped it upright and stepped away from the table and looked
back at his work. He did it. It didn’t look like much, but it was
much better than he ever thought possible. He still had a few hours
to kill before two-thirty so he kept at it and fixed a few of the
rough spots. He added Peepers’ top hat and decided to spend more
time working on the face. He jumped around, smoothing and shaping
all areas of the sculpture.

Forced by his bladder to take a break, he
left the table. Relieved, he turned out of the bathroom and stopped
to view his creation from a macro perspective. Up till now, his
only view was close up. He knew it was okay, but it wasn’t until he
looked at it from a slight distance that he realized Peepers was on
to something. In only a few hours, he transformed bricks of hard
clay and wire form into a near perfect replica of Peepers. How was
it possible that he never knew about this talent before now? How
did Peepers know he had this capability within him?

As he stared in awe at his first sculpture,
it took him a minute to realize what it meant. He had to return to
the Labyrinth to learn what Peepers planned for him. While the
talent was probably always inside him, Peepers was responsible for
giving him the gift of discovery. He wanted to get over his
original feelings and fears and believe Peepers would help him. He
had an obligation to learn how he could help Peepers and the guild
earn their way to heaven.

*****

With his clay figure of Peepers carefully
wrapped in a towel on his passenger seat, Alan was on his way to
Krauss House for his first sculpting lesson. Thoughts of the dark
spirit that lived in the house were temporarily displaced by the
possible implications of his newfound talent. First, it meant that
he’d have to revisit Peepers and possibly the rest of the guild in
the Labyrinth. He managed to get his fear of Peepers under control;
however, with only visions of the other characters in the mirrors,
he wasn’t sure if he could handle a full-fledged introduction to
the guild yet. He hoped Peepers would show up alone.

He was also confused by recent events. How
could his sculpting ability possibly help ghosts get to heaven?
Peepers said something about the guild members craving acceptance.
Sure, they might get attention in the form of small sculptures, but
maybe they weren’t aware of how creepy they looked. People might
not accept them. Besides, how would sculpted replicas be connected
to the ghosts in the Labyrinth? None of it made sense.

Another thing Alan couldn’t understand was
what Peepers said about him and how they could help others like
him. What did he mean by that? As far as Alan was concerned, his
only problem was that he had to cope with some ghostly spirits,
which had only appeared within the past few days. Who wouldn’t be
freaked out by that? What did Peepers think he could do for
him?

Engrossed in those and other thoughts, Alan
drove the distance of the Krauss House driveway without hesitation.
It wasn’t until he was a hundred feet from the house that he
noticed Mary’s car wasn’t parked out front. For a split second, he
envisioned himself alone at Krauss House, just him and the dark
spirit. That thought was quickly extinguished when her car came
into view, parked in the side yard.

With his confidence restored, Alan parked
his car and carefully lifted the towel, supporting his sculpture.
He stepped out and closed the door as Mary stepped out to the
porch.

“Right on time, Alan.”

He cradled his blanketed sculpture and
smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda went farther than you
wanted me to,” he said.

“Great! C’mon in,” she said, holding the
door for Alan as he stepped inside.

“I converted two bedrooms upstairs into my
studio. It’s up on the left.”

He stopped and waited for her to lead the
way.

“Go on,” she said, waving a hand up the
stairs. “I’m going to get us some iced tea. I’ll be right up.”

She retreated into the kitchen while he
stood holding his sculpture, gazing up the narrow stairway. Looking
down at the towel-wrapped form, he couldn’t help but wonder if
Peepers understood the scope of his promise to help Alan with his
fears. “More to do, huh, Peepers,” he whispered as he cautiously
made his way up the creaky steps.

The upper level of the house was nothing
like he imagined the old haunted house would look like. There
weren’t any old portraits with following eyes. It wasn’t dark and
dreary with dim sconce lights lining a claustrophobically long
hallway with a dozen closed doors, each hiding horrific secrets and
ghostly inhabitants from another time.

The first thing that defied his expectations
was the absence of a hallway. Old farmhouses are known for low
ceilings and loads of bedrooms lining a center hall to accommodate
traditionally large families. Instead, the top of the stairs opened
to a large central hub. Ceiling joists were removed and large
skylights filled the vaulted space with daylight. Choices were
minimal, with two open doors to bedrooms, a bathroom and a wide
opening to her studio. He managed to get three steps into the
studio before stopping to take in Mary’s artistry. Looking past the
clutter, he stood in awe, viewing what to him were museum quality
masterpieces. For the first time in his life, he understood what it
meant to appreciate art.

Clinking ice cubes suspended in tall glasses
announced Mary’s approach. “What do you think?” she asked as she
slipped past him and placed the drinks on a table in the center of
the room.

Still speechless, he was only able to muster
a single word reply. “Wow!” His gaped as his eyes drifted from
masterpiece to masterpiece.

Mary followed his eyes to a half-finished
sculpture of a trout propped up with a support pole in its belly.
“Not that!” she shrieked with embarrassment as she hastily covered
the piece with a nearby cloth. “That’s not art. What I meant to say
is what do you think of the house?”

“The house?” he asked.

“Yes, the house. I completely gutted the
upstairs and modernized it.”

Alan looked around the room again, but this
time his focus was on the structure of the house. “It looks great.
Did you do it all yourself?”

“Lord, no!” she replied. “I did a lot around
here, but I had to hire some muscle for the bulk of it.”

Looking up to the cathedral ceiling, he
asked, “Got rid of the attic?”

“Sure did. Nothing up there but spiders and
ghosts,” she laughed. Quickly changing the subject she said, “Now
let’s see what you have there, Alan. Bring it over to the table and
do the unveiling for me.”

He brought his creation to the table and
asked her to turn away so he could unwrap the covering and stand
the sculpture upright. Eager to impress Mary with his raw talent,
he pulled away the cloth for a quick inspection before the
unveiling. The house began to shake as if there was a minor
earthquake.