Confronting A Clown

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I don't know what I was thinking.

It seemed like an innocuous idea: find one of the clowns, corner it, and find out why they're doing all of this. I would become a media sensation! My findings might have led to blowing the entire clown sensation wide open! All because of my bravery.

I'd be a hero.

At first, my town seemed to be a sacred land that no clown dare touch. It was a god-fearing, blue collar town where everyone knew their neighbors and the postman could eat for an entire week thanks to the housewives and their generosity. There was one school, a Baptist-run institution that - surprisingly - focused more on education than religion. Everyone who has ever lived in the town went to that school, just like everyone here got their first job at the window factory. It was simply how things were. Some call it trite. We called it home.

Sure, there was crime. One time, for example, the little Daxterly's oldest boy lashed out and broke three windows at the church. It was all over the news and the papers. People would gossip, of course. However, no one chastised him for his actions. Instead, everyone was supportive and got him the help he needed. I'm not trying to brag, this was just a genuinely pleasant and nurturing community.

When the news broke that a clown was seen sitting on the steps of the school the other night it sent a ripple throughout the calm town.

Everyone had been following the stories, yet no one was concerned of seeing them here. Why would we be? We all knew it was a prank - albeit a stupid one - that would fade away into obscurity. It was chalked up to the Daxterly boy lashing out again...until the next sighting.

And the next.

Then another.

Then two clowns together.

It wasn't until a dog was found mutilated in the middle of the town centre that the population collectively began to panic. Curfews were enforced. Shops closed early. School and church service was reduced to twice a week. Had someone passed through after dusk they would have found a ghost town. Fear was running the town now.

I wanted it to stop.

My plan was simple. Every night since the first incident, the clowns have been seen on the school grounds or the church grounds. All I would need to do is stay out of sight of the sheriff while I waited to see a clown. Then, simply run up on it and find out what the hell they're in the town for. Easy.

Darkness had finally fallen the night I made the decision to act. I've never believed in guns, nor taking a weapon to an unarmed fight...but I have to admit, the hysteria was beginning to grate on me at that point. I went out with a wooden Louisville Slugger and a flashlight.

It was slightly after 10pm, and most of the residents were already sleeping in hopes of seeing daylight sooner. That made it easy for me to avoid the sheriff as I was able to cut through backyards and hide in driveways when the patrol cars got too close. This was a small town. On a regular night I could walk to the school in less than ten minutes, but law enforcement wasn't taking any chances. It took me almost an hour to reach the school, and when I did I was upset to see nothing waiting for me. Nothing.

I posted up in a nearby tree that had a clear view of the front of the building and got comfortable. Something in my gut told me I was going to have a long wait ahead of me. I wish I could say that a few hours into my shift a clown came and I was able to get my answers. I really do...but I fell asleep.

I woke up on the lawn under the tree to blinding daylight and a gun in my face.

The officer was stern and visibly shaken, but nice enough to me. At the station he gave me coffee and a nice selection of pastries and fruits to choose from for breakfast. In other cities this might be seen as them buttering up a suspect to get them to talk, but not here. This was southern hospitality at it's finest.

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