Let’s look at the facts, shall we? It’s officially dark out. All of the gates are closed, chained up and too high to scale. The makeshift parking lot in the distance is empty. Empty aside from the horde of strangers that charge the fences whenever you get close. Your group of seven is now down to one. Their group of dozens is armed and out for blood. The fact of the matter is, you’re dead meat. The screaming from the rollercoaster stopped after a horrendous, cacophonous noise of metal on metal resounded out into the night. It’s obvious your friends that had been chained to the rickety old seats are dead. The two carts collided at such a high speed that sparks illuminated the bright purple carts. It highlighted the silhouette of a body as it tumbled. A chorus of gleeful, sick laughter followed. Your girlfriend is floating in the dunk tank, possibly lifeless. The butterfly made of cheap face paint she had on her cheek washes away with a trail of glitter as she bobs up and down. Your little brother cries out for help from the strongman game as an assailant maliciously taunts him, heeled boot pressed into his back. The heavy mallet in the murderous man’s hands hangs dangerously close to his skull. You can’t do anything to save him, the makeup-caked face with the wild eyes is too overpowering, eyes full of intent. You can’t risk it. You lost sight of your cousin somewhere in Vendor Row. You both split off at the ring toss game, barely dodging the hatchet that spiraled toward you from the alleyway. You heard your cousin cry out in distress, but the sound was drowned out by the malicious cackling of clowns as they raced down the rows of shoddily crafted stalls. Their oversized shoes make squelching noises as they stomp along the muddy ground. You duck into the hall of mirrors, you can only hope the exit isn’t hard to find. You close the door quietly and groan, try to keep your weary exhales quiet. The room behind you is a maze of warped, handprint covered reflective surfaces. You wonder if you can catch your breath. You’re dizzy from the flicker of brightly colored lights and thumping carnival music outside. The space is lowly lit, eerie, and unsteady. The world spins around you as the slowly rotating green lights flicker between the seams of the mirrors. It’s too quiet. As delicately as you can, you step into the unknown. You must get out before the clowns find you. Of course it was the damn clowns. Everything happened so fast. You were so close to the gates, so close to being back in your truck, on the road back home with your loved ones. It’s too late to dwell on it. Not now. You have to move forward. Your expression in the warped mirrors looks haunted. It’s hard to see. The halls feel claustrophobic. The slow music box clang from the speakers, tinny and unstable, sounds like fingernails tapping against against the corridors around you. The choking taste of artificial fog that seeps beneath the cracks of the mirrors is horrid. You immediately feel dizzy. You have to move forward. So, you do. Walking carefully through the tight halls. You’re startled by your own reflection, the fearful face that looks back at you does not feel like your own. You wonder whose blood ended up on your shirt. You turn a corner and pick up your pace when you hear the building’s door open with a resounding crash. It hits the back wall and bounces, the snap is followed by a hellish chuckle. Demented and cruel. You see the clown’s face briefly before you duck into another corridor. He looks more mime than clown, dressed in monochromatic shades of grey. The unmistakable splotches of red are hard to dismiss. He gives chase, you can hear him coming for you down the wooden floors. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. You panic and run through the winding corridors. The building isn’t that big, you know you’re only moments from the exit, but the layout is nauseating and meant to provide extensive entertainment. You take a sharp right, nearly run face-first into yourself as you do, and scramble forward as the large mirror in front of you reflects a bloated, manic visage. The overhead speakers crackle to life, you hear screaming and you aren’t sure if the broadcast is live or if this is a common occurrence here. Judging by the accuracy and speed of the events that just unfurled around you, it wouldn’t surprise you if this was a regular pastime for the freaks. Damn these traveling carnivals. The lights around you flicker off, the green fades way to a blood red. The screams get louder, the cackling of the performers slide into the airwaves. You see the exit door. With panic in your motions you push forward, shove the door open, and brace yourself for a final sprint to the fence. Too bad they won’t let you. Too bad they knew this was coming. Too bad you just opened the door to hell and ran into the arms of a murderous crowd of clowns and circus freaks. You halt yourself, grip tight to the splintered wooden doorframe, your foot slides out from under you. Before you can brace yourself you feel a hand upon your back. Your body is forced forward as you tumble face-first into the arms of your pursuers. The monochrome clown chuckles, his eyes look demonic. “Welcome to the show, kid.” This story was originally written for Bag of Bones' open sub call for 2nd person horror flash fiction in June of 2022, but was edited for another sub call in May of 2023.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorA collection of short stories and flash fiction pieces. These original tales are the property of Alycia Davidson 2017-2023. This section of my site is rarely used now as I tend to post more short stories on my Patreon. Archives
July 2023
|