In our last chapter, the Gypsy shared a tragic tale of our hero’s mother’s fate. Now, completely and understandably horrified, our hero attempts to digest this gruesome information…
When silence falls, it hits me like a sack of elephant feed.
If I didn't hate this place before, I do now. Everything about it horrifies me. Okay, it was almost cool at first - the bleeding clown, the creepy gypsy, the pictures, the empty tents - but now I'm done. Like an old-school haunted house, I'm ready to duck out of the emergency panic exit and get the hell out of here.
Again, as if she can hear my thoughts, the Gypsy smiles.
"Not what you expected, was it?"
I snort. My leg jiggles, some of my fear coming out in a jittery dance that shakes the table. Somehow, the cards on top don't move. "Yeah. Yep, you got me. Good one."
Her gold tooth gleams. "Don't run, little rabbit. We have so far yet to go." She nods to the clown, who steps forward and offers his hand to me. It's squishy and blood-soaked, and the gesture would be touching if he wasn't asking me to move on from my mom's fate.
"Wait, wait a minute. That's it?"
The Gypsy's eyebrows raise. "What's it?"
"The fate. That's all you’re going to tell me? No good luck or have fun or hey, here's how you're gonna die?"
She shrugs. "We don't choose our own fates, rabbit. Your mother already received hers. It is written in the stars. It is merely my curse to share it with you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Her head tilts to one side, and she looks at me as if I'm particularly stupid. The gold tooth on her naked bone jaw gleams. "You think I chose this fate?"
The clown steps between us, his squishy gloves severing our eye contact as he waves them between our faces. Then he turns to the Gypsy, his hands on his hips like a parent who's caught their child getting in trouble. He lifts one of his six fingers and shakes it at her, scolding her mutely for something I must have missed.
Unruffled, she dismisses him with a wave of her ring-coated hand. Her bracelets jangle with the movement.
The clown tilts his fluffy red head, plants both feet on the ground, and crosses his arms. Blood leaks over his sleeves as it continues pouring from his face, staining his polka dots and stripes the same color of moldy red kool-aid. His eyes harden, turning to steel as he stares her down. There's no trace of humor now, no smiling, goofy antics. Every muscle in his body seems tense, frozen in this strangely serious pose.
Immediately, the temperature around us drops several degrees. It's not much, but it's enough to make goosebumps flesh down my arms.
The Gypsy notices the chill, too, and pulls another shawl around her shoulders for warmth. For the first time, she avoids the clown's gaze, dropping her eyes to the ground. Her headscarf swishes as she shifts nervously in her chair, the trim of little gold coins tinkling as she moves. The brash bracelets are silent now, and she doesn't try to wave him off again.
My camera bumps against my arm as I shift, and I freeze, unwilling to draw the clown's gaze. There was something frightening about him before, when we were outside and just met. Almost like he was wild and careless, random as lightning and unwieldy as fire. He couldn't be trusted, not with anything, especially not my life. But over the past few - minutes? Hours? - I've grown to see him as an accomplice. My guide. Someone who's got my back in this terrifying escapade, escorting me from here to there and helping me off the floor after somebody spills guts all over my pants.
Now, I suddenly realize how little I know about him. Yeah, he helped me get up off the floor. He didn't kill me when he could've. But there's nothing normal about him. He's not even human anymore. And now that he's shattered the goofy clown facade, I'm starting to understand that there's more to this person than meets the eye.
Isn’t that how it is with clowns?
The clown's sudden turn towards my direction makes me jump. He jabs one finger at me, one at the door, and before I can say anything, I'm moving. Standing to my feet, walking through the gauzy curtains towards the party's chatter. Weaving through conversations, laughing at jokes I didn't hear, waving to strangers like they're long-lost friends, surrounded by cheering performers and adoring fans. Everything feels slightly fuzzy and unreal, like I'm on the edge of a drug-induced trip, but I didn't take anything. Every now and then, I try to glance over my shoulder to see if the Gypsy is still there, but her fortune-telling table gets swallowed up by the crowd and I can't see anything but spandex, tattooed giants, and squealing midgets.
Somehow, I reach the door. I half-expect somebody to stop me, but nobody follows as I step outside into the cool evening air. The noise of the party dims behind me, as if somebody turned the volume down, and nearby, a choir of frogs and crickets begin their nightly croaks and chirps.
Everything sharpens slightly, and I remember the look on the clown's face as he stared the Gypsy down. He threw me out. I'm sure of it. Something happened in there that he didn't like, and he got rid of me so he could punish her.
For the first time, I wonder who's in charge of this place. It's usually the ringmaster in a show like this, but I haven't seen any black top hats or scarlet coats with gold trim yet. Maybe he was in the party, but I feel he would've introduced himself. Isn't that what ringmasters do?
The tent behind me rustles, and the clown drips out of the doorway. His smile gleams in the dark as he opens his arm towards the remaining two shadows that loom in the night, stretching from the earth to the sky.
I nod. Two more tents to go.
I let him take the lead this time, as we shuffle towards the shadows. If he's really as dangerous as he seems, at least this way, he can't stab me in the back. I'm sure he'll come up with something more inventive if necessary, but if all hell breaks loose, I might have a couple seconds to run.
I can only hope it's enough.
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Hello, dear reader!
Thanks for your patience as I got this one (finally) figured out. It’s not as gory or bloody as the others, but I think it’ll make a good segue for what comes next. There are only two tents to go! Will our heroic hero make it out alive?!
What do you think? Feel free to leave a supporting dissertation in the comments if necessary:
In the meantime, if you’re a writer, have you heard of the
? The fourth season just kicked off, it’s free to enter, and if you have a short story or first chapter that meets the requirements, you should definitely consider submitting it.If you’re a reader, check it out anyway. A lot of folks already posted their stories, and there are some good ones in there!
As always, thanks for hanging out. Have a wonderful rest of your week, and I’ll see you next time!
<3 Olivia
Thanks for enjoying Wednesday Afternoon! I’m glad you stopped by. If you know somebody who'd enjoy some weekly twisted tales with the occasional happy ending, why not spread the word?
I really like this change from the previous iteration. The clown is already scary and doubling down on that by having him punish the others really heightens the tension, especially when you also make it clear there are only two tents remaining.
I didn’t get to this in time to vote in the poll, but I feel like the main character survives this story in the end. Not sure why, just my take at this stage.
Thank you for mentioning the Lunar Awards, Olivia!