Circus of Crippled Laughter

Chapter One: Crimson Sweets

" The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" ~ Edgar Allan Poe 

     Held in the night sky, strung thousands of stars only hardly seen, which may have been considered a sight of faint beauty if not for the dreary tone that darkness had brought. Raging clouds had begun to stretch across the moon, screaming the warning of an upcoming storm. The trees shook with violent protest against wind that would never cease to continue beating and screeching, nature's banshee wailing the song of death that was yet to come. 

     Though despite the conditions outdoors, within the blissful warmth and protection of a home, all was shielded from such things. The household had laid to rest for the night, all expect for a small child who had convinced herself that twisted fingers were tapping against the window and the only way she would be able to keep herself safe was to retrieve the small doll she had left perched on the living room sofa earlier in the day. The girl swung her legs out of bed, shooting one terrified glance to the window before darting across the bedroom and out into the darkened hall, using all the bravery she could muster to dash into the living room to receive her protector. With a small whimper of relief she hurried towards the porcelain doll that laid on a single pillow, the pale skin and light blonde locks still shining vaguely despite the shadowed state of the room. The child hurried forward, just about to wrap her arms around the waist of the toy when a soft tapping interrupted her embrace. 

     She moved away from the sofa, curious and fearful steps lightly pacing to the front door to investigate such noise. She was certain it would be her older brother, whom always found himself in trouble with their pa. However as she barely pulled open the door, she was instantly thrilled to see the person standing before her. It was no sibling of hers, but rather the likes of a clown. He smiled brightly down at her, his painted lips stretching from ear to ear. He wore clothing that had lost it's color, in the shades of grey,white, and black, though the young child did not mind this, she was happy to see such a figure making an appearance. She instantly threw open the door more, the clown seeming to widen his smile and step inside, humming a little tune under his breath. The girl held out her palm, and the clown reached his hand down, twining her fingers with the pointed claws of his own. 

      She quickly ran down the hallway, leading him with her. She was certain her parents would be delighted at the surprise, after all, she was. The quiet patter of feet against the floor echoed down the hall, but not quite loud enough to be heard by the other occupants. The little girl swung open the door to the master bedroom, releasing her hand from the clown's and eagerly jumping up and down at the side of her father's spot on the bed. 

" Papa! I brought a clown to come play!" she squealed, clapping her hands together enthusiastically. 

     The man blinked open his eyes, squinting at his daughter and shaking his head, groggily coming to sit as he was about to lecture her on such foolishness at the late hour. However as his vision was finally restored, he looked not back into the innocent hazel eyes of his little girl. Instead he caught the gaze of a more monstrous intruder, whose eyes shone nearly white and dark rings underlying them like a restless dead man. The father was baffled, swinging his arm out to push his daughter away from the scene, about to wake his wife when the clown lurched forward.

      Jagged fingers ran crookedly along the man's throat, the gurgled noise of shocked and staggered breaths cringing in the air. Blood ran down his skin, faintly splattering the face of the colorless clown. He laughed, retreating his hand back to lick the crimson droplets had collected at the end of his fingers. The little girl stood petrified in her spot, staring at her father who now stared back to her with blank and death taken eyes. Her new friend had soon began to tear into the gut of the man, ripping and shredding, never dropping his cheerful grin of pure glee. 

     The sounds had soon awoken the mother, who sat up to have blood sticking to her arms. A choking sound escaped her lips- as if she were attempting to scream but not a sound could part from her. She stumbled out of the bed, her eyes shifting from her fallen husband, to the clown, and lastly to her daughter. She ran around the side of the bed, in hopes she could grab her daughter and flee from the place. However, the performance was not over. The clown could never part from his audience in such a way! Of course he would finish his act, common courtesy and such. 

     He lunged forward to the woman, whom had yet to make her away around the room. He gave a bright smile, waving his hand and then putting a finger to his lips, using his freehand to rummage through his pockets. The woman slowly edged towards her daughter though was quickly stopped as the clown had finally retrieved what he was searching for. A few pieces of sweets, wrappers vaguely shinning in the pale light of the bedside lamp. He extended his hand, as if to offer the woman some. Though she did not reach out, instead lunged to the side. See, it was really her mistake for refusing such kind behavior. 

       The gut wrenching sounds of flesh being torn open cracked in the air, the sharp metallic scent of freshly spilled blood quite strong, fragile bones being cracked in angles that made quite a scene within the walls of the family's home. Though soon there was nothing but silence, all expect a faint patter. 

     The man laid in bed, his head rested on the pillow, his eyes now crinkling wrappers of candy, his mouth ripped open to expose a toothless grin. Though the rest of his body rested scattered around the room, limbs hanging from the ceiling fan, fingers left sprawled across the nightstand. His wife sat just besides him, her dark hair littered with sweet wrappers and blood, her limbs contorted to angles unnatural, her insides torn open, though the clown had eaten all that her delicate skin and muscle had concealed. And as for the little girl? She laid in the trunk at the end of the bed, or at least most of her did. The wall just across, still dripping wet from the recent paint, spoke the words of a song that used to be played in a little box. 

" All around the mulberry bush.. The monkey chases the weasel. Pop goes the weasel!"