Silver Crowbar Creepypasta Book

Chapter 17- Friend of Mine

Be it any other situation, Elise would have jumped at any little sound. But she didn't. The squeak of a mouse or the chirp of a bird sometimes sounded from outside the tent, along with the small little sounds of the old, damaged metal shelves settling every now and then. She could have sworn she heard more than that. Little sounds that were so perfectly on the edge of small and simple that she couldn't tell whether or not she was imagining them.

Perhaps the clown was standing just outside the tent or behind the red curtains, watching her somehow. The part of her that would have been shaking and paranoid was exhausted. She sat in the cage with a blank expression, sweater pulled over her to protect her from the cold air (an action she had achieved at an excruciatingly slow pace last night). The air was warmer now, morning sun heating the space dimly, yet seemingly storing the coolness of the room into the bars of the cage. Elise didn't much care, leaning against the bars with a vague discomfort.

Of course she hadn't gotten any sleep, she was far too tired to get to sleep. And far too aware. Aware of every little sound, every little dust particle that fell from the shelves and the ceiling of the cage. Aware of the dusty smell, the dim sweet smell of the candy on the shelves, the metallic smell of.....well, at least she didn't have to see what was in that other room. The room right beside her. The room where a clown may be lying in wait for the right moment. Why didn't that scare her anymore?

She wasn't even sure if she'd be scared if he came busting into that section of the tent, with his murderous grin and the eyes of a madman. Right now, thinking of him only gave her this strange feeling of anxiousness. As if she was simply waiting for something, anything, to happen. She found herself contemplating at some point in the night if she had any chance of overpowering her captor. She reached the conclusion that no matter how much jiujitsu she could possibly preform correctly, the clown would always be able to get the upper hand.

He wasn't human, he couldn't be. His teeth were so abnormally sharp, nose long and pointed, body long and inhuman. His arms elongated, for Christ's sake. But Elise had spent enough time wallowing in her realization that such creatures exist. She had apparently spent enough time wallowing in anything at all. She felt nothing. Not fear, not sadness, not desperation. Nothing. Blankness. She had never felt this way before, and while it confused her, she couldn't bring herself to care about it.

She wondered how long it would be until the clown came back to kill her. She wondered how painful it would be to be nailed to a wooden wall, like the ones lining the room she resided in. Or perhaps he nailed them to the wall afterwards. She wondered if she'd be alive when he removed her organs and stuffed her with that candy in colorful, shiny wrappers. She stared at the wrappers through the glass jars on the shelves, trying to come up with a situation that was worse than this. People in movies always said that there was 'worse ways to die' when meeting their demise.

Was there a worse way to die than this? Every terrible death she could think of was either less painful or met her fate on the same terms. It was then that her eyes began to water once more, despite how many tears she had already shed. She felt a flickering sadness, and immediately wondered if it was better to simply feel nothing. She didn't get much time to contemplate it, as sounds coming from outside the tent interrupted her thoughts. These were different sounds than before, louder yet more distant.

Something 'clank'ed, like the ring of metal on metal, and the sound repeated. It made a striking sense of anxiety run through Elise, as if the alerting sound had rudely woken her mind. Her eyes widened a bit as the sound continued to repeat, and she hesitated for a long moment before moving for the first time in hours. She turned her head towards the direction of the sound. She obviously couldn't see anything through the shelves and wooden walls, though the sun dripped through the fabric ceiling like rain through paper.