Clowns, why did it have to be clowns? It could have been Kelpie, or even my mother-in-law for Pete’s sake, but instead I was granted with rainbow costumes, squeaky noses, obnoxiously permed bright-colored wigs, and oversized shoes – and as a real bonus, razor sharp teeth and claws.
All I wanted was a nice, relatively normal, evening in the sole company of my niece. One evening during her winter break, before she heads back west to the coast for school. One evening where we might avoid a few of more mundane clowns, get a cavity or three from greasy and sometimes questionable carnival food, and enjoy a couple rides a hundred times each. Guess I pissed off at least one of the Fates because that must’ve been too much to ask of the universe. Instead, I end up taking my twelve-year-old niece to the carnival the same night a clan of ghouls marches through town.
I hate ghouls. I hate clowns. And, oh, do I especially loath ghouls disguised as clowns.
Screams are rather typical at a carnival, what with any brand of high-speed ride being on the same fair ground, but these were the kind that raises the hair on your neck and makes your adrenaline run just to hear. These screams were the kind that spoke to one’s instincts and told them to run before the danger gets after them, too.
I could smell the anxiety leeching out into the air, even through the excitement and adrenaline pouring out from a hundred different humans that wandered the fair grounds. The other Fae in the crowd sensed the same threat I did, they were the ones whose heads were on a swivel and who held more tightly to each other and their children.
A crash brought my attention to the left, the screams were louder there and just seeped with terror and pain. I watched people – humans, Fae, and everything in between – start running towards the exits. Parents picked up their children, some out of their strollers, and ran with the crowds, all picking up on the herd sense that something was horribly wrong.
Now – normally – I would be pleased as poppies to fight angry, man-eating (or, in some cases, Fae-eating) clowns, but I came to this damned carnival with my mostly human niece and I wasn’t all that thrilled at leaving her somewhere to go confront a whole clan of hangry ghouls.
“Aunt Kat! Aunt Katti, look!” Rachel stood in front of one of the several psychics tents scattered around the carnival. I glanced back at her and saw her pointing at one of the murals hanging beside the entrance, a portrait of a woman draped in a purple something was standing with arms out and open like welcoming someone into an embrace.
“Rach, hold on a sec, kiddo!” I looked back at the growing line of ghoul-clowns. They had started marching forward in a solid line, biting and cutting away at everything that got in their path. Biting back a curse, I ran over to Rachel and grabbed her arm, dragging her into the tent,
“Janey mack! You’d have to be soft in the head to be out in all this bleeding mess?” The psychic swept aside the beaded curtain that separated her private room and client reception and paused mid-stomp when she saw the look on my face. “Ah, well then.” She looked down at Rachel and back at me. She nodded and I pushed Rachel into her open hands.
“Aunt Katti?” Rachel looked back at me. Her eyes were wide and scared
I knelt in front of her. “Rach, kiddo. I need to go do something for work, so this nice lady,” I glanced over at the psychic. She pointed at a sign that sat next to a crystal ball on the table. “Miss Delacour, is going to watch you for a little while, okay?”
The psychic knelt down next to my niece, “Its alright, little one. Why don’t you pick out something and I’ll tell you the whole story of how it happened to end up at this sorry tent of mine?”
Rachel nodded and swept a gaze around the tent with wide eyes that were now full of curiosity rather than fear. I was going to get a very loud and very long call from my brother when this was over about leaving his daughter in the hands of a strange carnival psychic. But, hey, at least it wasn’t a mortal One. Any human “psychic” would have demanded we leave or charged me on entry.
I left the tent and ducked behind a booth selling gyros and freshly made lemonade. The workers had already run off, probably heard the screaming or saw blood-soaked clowns and got the heck out of Dodge. I crouched down, assessing the oncoming assault. I heard a crunch in the gravel behind me. I whirled around, outstretching my arm, claws extended and clasped the throat of the red-headed tree-freak who could be considered harmless – unless you knew him.
Leave a Reply