The Guild of Fallen Clowns (4 page)

By this time, Alan was really freaked out.
Who in the world could feel safe living with haunting spirits? All
he knew was that he needed to get out fast. He told Mary to enjoy
the pizza, and he started to turn around when something caught his
eye at the top of the stairs. He glanced back for a second look and
saw a dark smoky blob move across the opening.

Alan’s double take caught Mary’s attention.
“Oh, did you just see Lailah?”

This was more than he could handle. He
didn’t take the split second to answer her question. He raced out
of the house toward his car. In his rush to get away he said, “I
gotta get going. I’m late for my next delivery.”

Mary stood in the doorway and replied, “No
problem, Alan. It was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you
again if this pizza is as good as I’ve heard.”

“Looking forward to it,” Alan said before
closing his car door. His hand trembled as he inserted the key and
gave it a quick turn before accelerating for the safety of Krauss
Drive.

Along the way, he couldn’t help but glance
in the rearview mirror to see if the shadowy spirit was chasing
after him. The car’s draft stirred and tugged on lower tree limbs
lining the narrow path. It was as if the trees were reaching for
him in an effort to capture and return him to the
Shadow
Spirit
inside Krauss House.

The bottom of his car scraped the street as
he finally reached the end of the driveway and landed hard on
Krauss Drive. He sped to the end of the street before stopping out
of visual range of the property. His heart pounded as he struggled
to catch his breath. One might think he
ran
the distance
from the house instead of drove.

“What just happened?” he said. “Was that
real? Did I just see a
real
ghost at Krauss House?” He
continued asking himself these questions in order to make some
sense of what he just experienced. “C’mon, Alan, why are you being
such a wimp? Mary lives with the ghost, and she’s fine. She must
think I’m a real loser,” he continued as his breathing became less
labored.

Thinking about his character in Clown World,
Alan wondered how Boogy would have handled the same situation.
Sitting on the safe side of the computer screen, his character
might have tried talking to the spirit. Or, he might have walked up
the stairs for a closer look. He would have done many things, but
the last thing Boogy would have done was run away like a frightened
little kid.

At that moment, it occurred to Alan that he
wasn’t Boogy from Clown World. This
was
his life. An
existence where his strong, alter ego, virtual world, Boogy
character was little more than a wish for who he wanted to be.

Dressed and made up in his Boogy the Clown
costume, Alan stepped out of his car, locked the door, and pocketed
his keys. More than a half hour remained before the Saturday
morning opening of the carnival, but cars already began flooding
into the freshly mowed temporary parking lot. Families and groups
of teenagers herded toward the gated entrance.

Noticing Alan’s costume, the guard cracked
the gate open and waved him through. Eager guests pleaded with the
guard to let them in early. Since the guard was preoccupied with
blocking the anxious crowd, Alan looked for someone else to direct
him to Cracky. He scanned the area and noticed two men walking
together ahead of him. With nobody else in sight, he sprinted to
catch up with them.

“Excuse me,” Alan said. The two were in a
heated argument and didn’t hear Alan’s meek attempt to get their
attention. Again, he thought it might be better to find someone
else for assistance.

As he rounded the first bend of the midway,
he noticed a maintenance worker opening his toolbox in front of the
Bobsled ride. He didn’t appear to be rushed so Alan asked him where
he might find Cracky.

“The Big Guy?” the man replied. “Last I saw,
he was at the Zipper, in the back corner,” he said, pointing in the
direction.

Alan now had Cracky’s proximity, but he had
never met the man in person.

“Great. Thank you. Oh, one more thing. What
does Cracky look like?”

The grizzled worker didn’t look at Alan and
replied, “The big guy.”

Puzzled by what sounded like another
question, Alan replied, “Yeah—the big guy, Cracky. What does he
look like? I’ve never met him. We talked on the phone, but I’ve
never seen him.”

The worker put down his wrench and turned to
face Alan. His eyes moved up and down.

“He’s the big guy!” he chuckled. “He looks a
little like you. You can’t miss him,” he said as he turned away,
picked up the wrench, and resumed working.

Still a bit confused Alan didn’t want to
chance angering the man with more questions. He politely thanked
him and walked away. The man proceeded to climb through an open
panel to gain access below the ride. Alan was a good distance from
the Bobsled ride when he heard the worker yell out, “What the
hell?” followed by a long stream of obscenities. Alan was glad he
had decided not to ask more questions, which might have provoked
the guy to snap at him instead of the problem he encountered
seconds after he left.

The Zipper wasn’t hard to find, and as soon
as Alan saw three men talking in front of the ride, the maintenance
worker’s description became clear. Two of the men were of average
height and weight. However, the third man towered over the other
two at about six and a half feet tall. He had the broadest
shoulders Alan had ever seen on a man, and his arms were as thick
as Alan’s thighs. He had a large belly, but due to his bulk, he
didn’t appear fat. If this wasn’t enough of a clue indicating this
guy was Cracky, the rest of the description was undeniable. The
worker said Cracky looked like Alan. Well, this hulk of a man wore
regular working clothes, but his entire head was made up in clown
makeup—a happy clown. He had to be Cracky.

Cracky glanced away from his conversation
and noticed Alan as he approached. His painted-on smile grew and he
yelled out, “Boogy?” Alan smiled back as the distance between them
diminished.

“What gave it away?” Alan replied.

The two met in the middle and Cracky reached
out to shake Alan’s hand. As if Cracky’s giant hand wasn’t enough
to make Alan feel small, he also made half of his arm disappear as
he grabbed it with his other hand and shook vigorously. Unlike his
brief experiences in the park with the guard and the maintenance
worker, Cracky appeared to be extremely pleasant.

“Hey, Boogy, glad you made it. It’ll be nice
havin’ another clown round here,” Cracky said, still shaking Alan’s
arm.

“Glad to be here, Cracky. I didn’t know you
were a clown here.”

Cracky released his hold. “Well, I don’t
actually work here as a clown. I manage da place. Da clown face is
for da kids. Dey get scared of me widout it. Wid it, more grown-ups
den kids are scared.”

“Oh,” Alan said.

“So what say I show you round, give you da
Cracky
tour of da place?”

Alan nodded.

“We gotta make it quick cause da gates open
soon. But don’t worry, if you got any questions, I’m usually easy
to find in the ticket booth,” Cracky said. “Follow me, Boog. We can
start wid da reason we needed your help in da first place.”

Alan tried to keep up as Cracky swiftly
moved toward the opposite side of the carnival grounds.

Still walking at a hurried pace, Cracky
looked back at Alan. “Have you heard of da Haunted Labyrinth of
Mirrors, Boogy?”

“Sorry, can’t say I have,” Alan replied.

“Well, da Labyrinth is our top attraction.
It scares da bajesus out of people, and for some reason, dey can’t
get enough of it. In our last town, someone actually had a heart
attack and died.” Cracky’s pace slowed as they neared the Haunted
Labyrinth.

“Someone died?” Alan repeated.

“Yeah, I mean it’s sad dat he died, but we
clearly warn people not to go in if dey have heart conditions. Some
people can’t handle such things. Anyways, I know it’s sick, but
once people heard bout dat, everyone wants to go through it.”

They stopped in front of the Labyrinth. Alan
was a bit confused and didn’t see the connection to his role at the
carnival. Was Cracky going to ask him to work inside the Haunted
Labyrinth of Mirrors? Just the thought of that possibility sent
shivers down his spine. Sure, it was just a carnival attraction,
but after the incident at Krauss House, anything even remotely
connected to haunted spirits was unthinkable.

Cracky continued, “See, pal, now dat
attendance is up, we thought it would be good to have someone like
you entertain da crowd while dey wait for their turn in the
Labyrinth. Keep da people happy so they don’t get frustrated and
leave disappointed.”

Phew! That was a huge relief for Alan. As
long as he wouldn’t have to go inside, it should be a piece of
cake. He changed the subject. “So, how did you find me,
Cracky?”

Cracky looked confused. “Don’t you know
Geno?”

“Geno? No. Who’s Geno?”

Still puzzled, Cracky replied, “You don’t
know Geno? Well, I guess it don’t really matter as long as you’re
here, but I thought you two knew each other.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Geno works inside da Labyrinth here.
He’s the mechanical genius behind it all. Geno’s the guy who
recommended you. Maybe he found your name in the phone book.
Whatever. Like I said, it don’t really matter how he found you.
We’re just glad to have you.”

From the milk bottle throw booth next to the
Labyrinth, a man’s voice called out, “Geno hides from the people,
above the labyrinth. He lacks the skills to bring out the true
potential of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors.”

Cracky looked at the man. “You never mind
dat, Ringmaster. Just take care of your bottles.” The man, dressed
as Cracky suggested, in a ringmaster’s costume, turned away.

“Never mind him, Boogy. He’s always sticking
his nose in everyone’s bidness. He’s mad ’cause he wants to run da
show like his old man, but he’s stuck settin’ up bottles all
day.”

Alan didn’t want to meddle, but Cracky made
it impossible to ignore the obvious questions.

“You lost me, Cracky. Does his father own
the carnival?”

“No. His faddah worked in da circus. He was
a
real
ringmaster. You see, his faddah didn’t want his only
son to live in da life, so he spent all his money sending da kid to
fancy art schools in Europe. He wanted his son to be an artist
cause dat’s what
he
wanted to be. Den when his faddah died,
the kid came home and took his pops uniform. All
he
ever
wanted was to be a ringmaster. He’s got visions of grandiose. Of
course he lacked the skills for dat job. Between you and me, dat’s
never gonna happen. Da only place someone like him fits in at all
is, well—here. He’s perfectly suited to work as a carnie. We’re all
misfits.”

“So his nickname is the Ringmaster,” Alan
said.

“It’s more den a nickname. He’s so into dis
ringmaster crap dat he actually had his name legally changed. His
first name is The. You ever hear of anything so stupid?”

“Sounds disturbing…and kind of sad,” Alan
replied.

“Oh, don’t worry bout him. He’s cuckoo, but
harmless. Besides, not many of us get to live our dreams. Dis ain’t
exactly what I wanted to be, but we adjust. He just needs to adjust
his dreams to something more realistic, like maybe keeping his
bottles set up.”

“I heard that, Cracky,” Ringmaster said. “My
talents are being wasted on these bottles. You know I’d do a better
job than Geno if I were running the Labyrinth.”

“You keep sticking your nose in where it
don’t belong and you’ll
never
get dat opportunity,
Ringmaster.”

This angered The Ringmaster, and Alan
couldn’t help but notice Ringmaster’s contentious scowl, piercing
through him.

“That job is mine, Cracky. You better not
give it to this guy. It’s mine.”

“Yeah, Ringmaster, dat’s what I’m doing
here. I’m showing Boogy da Labyrinth ’cause I want to give him
Geno’s job,” Cracky replied sarcastically.

Alan’s eyes widened. He knew Cracky was
toying with The Ringmaster, but it was clear that The Ringmaster
was unable to interpret his remark as sarcasm. Alan felt
uncomfortable in the position as a perceived rival to someone with
The Ringmaster’s distorted view of the world.

“Please, Cracky, tell him that’s not true. I
know you’re joking, but I don’t think he knows that, and I don’t
want him thinking I’m out to get his job.”

“First of all, it ain’t his job. Geno runs
da Labyrinth, and he knows it.”

“Maybe so, Cracky, but now he thinks I’m
next in line for it. This is crazy because, well, first of all, I’m
not even with the carnival. I’m a temp. And second, I really
wouldn’t be good at that job. Please, I don’t want him to hate
me.”

“Okay, fine,” Cracky said. “Hey, Ringmaster,
what I said ain’t true. But you better keep on your toes or I might
consider it.” He smiled back at Alan. “There you go, Boogy. Problem
solved.”

Not completely satisfied, The Ringmaster
gave Alan the stink eye before slipping out of view inside the
tent.

A distant voice called out, “Cracky! Cracky!
You need to come to the Bobsled,” the man pleaded between
breaths.

They turned to see the maintenance worker
from the Bobsled running toward them.

Cracky looked back at Alan and said,
“Speaking of misfits—”

“Slow down, Rudy. What’s da problem?”

Rudy stopped in front of them and took a
second to catch his breath. “There’s a problem with the Bobsled.
The hydraulic line looks like it was cut. The ride won’t be ready
for opening.”

Cracky looked down at a box in Rudy’s hand.
“What’s dis?”

“Oh, yeah—a package for Geno. He’s been
waiting for it. But we gotta get to the Bobsled.”