Dani is a psychic medium and witch, giving her the ability to talk to spirits and ghosts. When an eccentric new family moves to her small town of Silverwick, she finds herself caught up with their mysterious son, Neil, and she's thrown into the worl...
I quickly climb to my feet, taking a defensive stance immediately. My sister wastes no time to collect the groceries, seizing my arm and yanking me towards the car like a minnow swimming away from a crocodile. Once we're safely inside, I hear the locks click tightly in place behind us.
It's only now that I remember, the pendulum. I mentally kick myself for not snatching it before making my grand escape.
"Lock the door behind me, I have to go back for something," I announce urgently, my voice still winded from before. She gapes at me with a bewildered expression as if she has never heard of something more absurd in her life.
"Are you nuts? Dani, that psycho is probably still out there. We're leaving," she retorts, already turning the key in the ignition. I never claimed to be sane.
Before I can think twice, I'm out of the car and sprinting to the grocery bags, lying on the concrete like fallen soldiers. The clown is no where to be seen. I rummage through the smashed fruit and spilled milk that's already attracting flies and ants, searching for my pendulum. Why didn't I put it in my jacket pocket? I berate myself for being so brainless.
After what feels like ages, I find the pendulum and slip it safely into my pocket, where it should have been all along.
The parking lot is all of a sudden far too peaceful for comfort and the weirdo clown is nowhere to be seen. I allow myself to hope that he'd grown bored of tormenting two screaming girls and had simply gone home.
Upon reaching the car again, I realize my hope was entirely in vain. Bile rises up into my throat at what I'm witnessing. The clown stands at Grace's driver-side window with his hands plastered against the glass. He slides his fingers along the surface and it's only now that I realize there's a red-black liquid on each of his finger tips.
He seems to be spelling out a word, but from where I'm standing I can't quite read it. Nevertheless, what I can read is Grace's agonized face. Her pupils are dilated in terror, to the size of black olives and tears stream down her freckled face. What you're not going to do is fuck with my sister. I quietly take my left sneaker off of my foot.
"Hey asshole! Catch!" I exclaim. He turns around just in time for me to throw my shoe at his shocked, round and painted face. I aim for the spot right between his eyes and hit my target. Bullseye. The years of softball my dad had forced me to endure had finally paid off.
This seems to anger him, which I should have anticipated. His painted on smile seems to turn downward in a sinister scowl. I quickly realize that I'm his new target. He takes a step towards me, his jokester attitude replaced with something much darker, intimidating.
I try to brush aside the angst in my chest, my dad's words about self-defense echoing through my head. He'd taught me how to fight in middle school when I was being brutally bullied each day. I was always the odd kid, always making poor decisions. This very moment is a perfect example of one of those poor decisions.
For the first time I realize how absurd this whole incident is, squaring up to a clown in a parking lot. How has my life come to this moment? What has led this clown to terrorize two random women? Silverwick has always been a quiet, sleepy town, so why has there been a sudden increase in weirdos as of late?
As he steps closer to me, I decide bolting to the car to be the best course of action. I feel the adrenaline propelling me forward and a sense of relief when I manage to open the passenger side door.
This relief is short lived as I notice a white gloved hand wrap around the windowpane and jar the door open. My sister wails bloody murder as my assailant attempts to extricate me from the car.
Without thinking, I start kicking, attempting to keep him at bay just long enough to slam the door shut.
A shrill whistle cuts through the chaos and the clown stands to attention, miraculously unhanding me. I utilize this opportunity to slam the car door closed. Through the window I can see a look of shock and fear on the clown's face.
"GO, GO, GO!" I shriek, waving my hand violently towards the main road. This jolts Grace out of her stupor and she floors it to the parking lot exit.
As we drive by, I notice a car parked a few spaces away from where we had just been parked. A mix of disbelief and denial flows through me when I inspect the car closer. 1962 Pontiac Catalina sits idling, a man leaning back against it, a short brimmed hat casting a shadow over his sharp features.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
