Creepypasta & Slasher Oneshots

4. Laughing Jack (L.J.)

WARNINGS

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Mentions of blood, Dead Children, Rotting Children, Extremely Psychopathic Killer Clown, Shit Ton of Description.

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It starts out quietly and progressively gets louder. The music that always announces your arrival to the horrid carnival. It begins in the usual tune, one you can bop your head to and will whistle during tomorrow's walk to work. Then it sounds like multiple voices, first two, then three, and eventually you can't count them because of how many there are. Then the voices morph into that of childrens, happy and singing like they are skipping rope to the tune.

But then it turns sour, one voice is slightly distorted and the rest follow in a matter of seconds. It takes just half that time for the giggling and laughter to become screams of pain and terror. Only when the song starts up again does the raspy voice chime in, first he sings, then laughs maniacally, and by the time the song gets to the word ‘pop’ you can barely hear the children's disembodied singing.

All quiet for the last line as the thickly accented voice is right next to you, “pop goes the weasel!” 

Immediately afterwards are you able to open your eyes as this laughter begins to be drowned out by the usual carnival sounds. Yet the ‘normal’ for this limbo is far from normal; childrens laughter is replaced with crying, squeals of joy are replaced by screams of terror, the bright colors are drowned with the depressing black and white view. There was no sun and there was no moon either.

You realize a bit too late that you were resting on the cold ground. You weren't worried for anyone stepping on you though, you know all too well that the children are ghosts and lack physical form. You were worried about him finding you. A time too many had you been brought to the carnies twisted world to play his twisted games. 

You stand from the ground and take a quick look around, it is best to stay as far from the big-top tent as you possibly could. Towards the end of the night you would be forced in whether you liked it or not but, hopefully you woke up by then. You take off at a slow jog, trying to match your pace to the loudest parts of the carnival music (which was distorted). How long could you run?

A couple hours in and you could hear the clown giggling in the distance, speaking to the dead children as if they were alive. Sometimes you would see him walk by, his long arms nearly drag on the ground and his unnatural stature was nothing short of terrifying. Once you caught a glimpse of his wicked smile, his painted lips were drawn out to show the slightly yellowed and jagged teeth. The sight caused shivers to trace your spine.

You were around the outskirts of the carnival, the border between this alternate pocket dimension and limbo was a few meters ahead. As long as you moved with the wall then you had at least a small chance of survival. A distant clock sounded from the center of the carnival, three bongs. The wall started moving towards you.

Without hesitating you move with the wall, staying as close to it as humanly possible. It doesn't take long before you see the rusted, out of commission, ferris wheel that has been decorated with entrails and corpses. The wall moves steadily but never takes over the big-top tent. It comes to the time that the music has stopped and the children are quiet, everyone waiting in anticipation for the big show.

You also become aware that you're not waking up anytime soon when a mere 5 meters is between you and the tent. With a deep breath you enter the tent and immediately gag. The stench is overwhelming to say the least, it makes your nose burn and your eyes water. Yet the smiling clown in the center pit seems unbothered by it. 

His messed hair only adds to the crazed look in his eye, the dangerous threat of his clawed hands, his hunched posture, and the bloody outfit cause you to stick frozen in fear. He analyzes your expression for a moment before, as his name implies, laughing. 

You make an attempt to walk backwards out of the tent only to realize there is no longer an opening behind you. You don't dare turn around for fear of getting your skull split. You instead pat your side to reach for a small knife you thought you could keep on your person when taken to this dream-land. You felt nothing.

Jack lifts one arm and waves his fingers before reaching his other hand into his sleeve and pulling out your knife, “looking for this?”

You grit your teeth and clench your fist, was there any way to outdo this guy? You squint and refuse to reply. He has no visible reaction to this but begins to climb up the stairs. Your face gives away that you are beginning to panic, his smile gets impossibly wider.

You go to speak but the words get caught in your throat. He enjoyed having that effect on you. He brought you here to play with, not to kill. Although you were unaware of that. He loved to see the terror and feel the raw fear from the mere sight of him. A sadistic pleasure it was to scare you over and over again. The way your sweat was soaking through your shirt, your lips chapped and dry from the lack of moisture in the air and lack of drinkable water in this carnival.

Your widened eyes and trembling lips caused him to practically squeal with excitement for the next trick. Faster than you had expected he reached you, just an arms-length away. You wanted to look away, but then you wouldn't be able to see what he was up to. You hardly seen him move when the black claws clutched your arm, the tips sunk into your flesh and drew dribbles of blood.

He pulled you closer to him, he towered over you with his seven-foot stature. You stumble forward and try to grab anything to prevent the movement. Try to. He brings his face close to yours and revels in the delicious scream that came from you.

“Where ya going Bunny?” The rasp was now almost completely gone from his voice. However the thick and distinct British accent remained. Had the circumstances been a little different you would have thought it to be hot. He breaks into another grin as you're left struggling for an answer. 

Little time is left for that though as he quickly interjects your whispered mummbling, “it's not like i'm going to kill you! Perhaps torture your mind and scare you a bit, but kill?” he takes a break for a moment to giggle, “no, not kill. Your still fun.” his voice lowers an octave at the last word. 

Your left trying to understand why only able to call him ‘cruel’ and ‘awful’. He goes stone-faced for a moment before suddenly going back to smiling and laughing. You sweatdrop and hope whatever you said hadnt made him angry. He tears the coller of your shirt so he can see your shoulder. You immediately go to fight him back but your attempts are failed as not only is he much stronger but this reality bends to his liking.

Both of your hands are grabbed by smaller cold hands, out of the corner of your eye you notice it's a child, slightly less rotten but still torn apart with the signiture missing organs. You quickly turn your gaze anywhere but the child, immediately feeling naseus. Then you hear the clatter of metal, your knife. You look to your feet and notice the dirty blade.

Before you could formulate any plan though a sharp pain is struck upon your tricept. You try to turn your head but a much larger one keeps your head down as you begin to ball your fists and try to hold in the screams. Jack is obviously unsatisfied by this and presses his claws deeper into your skin, blood now begining to seep past it and trickle down your arm slightly. 

You finally scream, the sounds are heavenly to Jack as he savors every single one. Soon he finishes the first letter. He waits before continuing with the second letter and carresses your head, offering false reasurance to your sobs. Then he begins the second letter. In all it takes half an hour for him to slowly cut each centimeter of flesh and enjoy your screams and cries to the fullest. 

In the morning when you awoke you would be greeted by a pool of your own blood and the initials of a dream demon carved into the back of your arm. When you get up to check it out in the mirror you find it reads LJ. 

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Words: 1489

I actually forgot this man was a British boy.