One of my most prized books I've written is an enormous collection of short stories with all kinds of horror themes. It's called "Don't Go There! A Flash Horror Anthology. It comes on
Kindle and in
print forms. Here is a sample story from this unique book that times the typical reading time so you know if you can sneak in a short story while waiting on another activity.
“Coulrophobia:
Fear of Clowns”
How do you feel
about carnivals and clowns? Some people fear the brightly painted mimes, usually
amongst a laundry list of other anxieties. What would happen if that person
were forced to face her greatest fear at a most vulnerable time in her life?
(length: 2400 words or about 12 minutes)
“Your assignment is to
go out and do one thing alone this week. Shopping doesn’t count. You have to
actually go to a place made for recreation and be seen alone. It can be a
restaurant, a museum, whatever sounds good. But,” Ruth’s therapist emphasized,
“it must be some place you would never normally go with or without someone. You
need novelty.”
Ruth clenched her
fingers into her purse on her lap. “You mean like going to a car show or
something like that?” She must have made a look of disgust because Jeremy
laughed.
“Yes. Something like
that. What’s going on this weekend?” He asked and picked up a paper and started
to shuffle through it.
“I-I’ll find something.”
She assured him.
“Do you understand why
we’re doing this, Ruth?” He asked as he remained behind the wall of newsprint.
“To learn to be my own
person?” She asked weakly, always feeling like he was a teacher and she was the
dimwitted student in class.
“Aha!” He snapped the
newspaper shut, a huge grin on his gaunt face. “There’s a carnival in town.
That’s just the thing for you.”
She felt her stomach flutter
in response. She hated the sounds, the lights, the smells, and the…clowns.
“Do I have to go to that?” She asked.
His face went grim as he
leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Ruth, because of your reaction, I’m
certain this is exactly what you
should do. You go to the carnival and spend a good two hours. I expect you to
leave there having found yourself.”
“At a carnival?”
*
Five hours later
standing before the ticket booth with cash in hand, watching the couples and
young families with small children rush through the dirt lot and point at the
brightly lit noisy rides, Ruth checked her watch.
I get to leave at 11.
Feeling out of place by
herself, she nervously skirted along the Tilt-A-Whirl ride where the smell of
fresh vomit filled the air and gagged as she turned the corner and ran straight
into her most hated fear.
A
clown!
His silken billowy
costume blew in the breeze, snapping like the sails on a ship. Ruth stumbled
back, terrified he would touch her. The clown pulled his mouth down to
exaggerate the painted on frown. Above his pout, a red ball created his
prosthetic nose. Beady dark eyes clashed with the white pancake makeup and tiny
bowed eyebrows were sketched in to make him look perpetually perplexed. He had
a blue teardrop on his cheek. His hair was a skullcap with red wiry protrusions
coiling out each side of his head. Everything about him was big, bright, and
loud. Instinctively, she stepped back again. He imitated her motion as if
mocking her.
Feeling like the
frightened child she had once been at the circus, she raced off towards the
restrooms and went inside. Within the stall, Ruth held her hands to the walls
and gasped for her breath.
Panic attack number one.
The rush of numbness
raced through her body like a tsunami. Her lips tingled, her heart pounded
wildly and she felt beads of sweat dribbling down her spine.
It’s just a man who’s paid to put on makeup and a silly outfit and big
shoes and wander around the park to drum up business and festivity. He’s not
coming after you, you big baby!
Jeremy was right, if she
sat through the panic attack and observed it and it rose and fell and then was
over. She didn’t die or go crazy.
One accomplishment at a
time, Ruth straightened up her sweater and walked outside again, determined to
pretend to be normal. She’d watched other people do many things alone like
eating in restaurants and traveling and they looked very comfortable in their
skin. She would just pretend she was one of those people who never thought
twice about going anywhere she wanted, doing anything she desired.
Deciding to firmly try
and “find herself,” Ruth wandered over to the ring toss game and promptly
ordered three sets of rings to toss. The other people around the display were
tossing their rings to the bottles in the middle, laughing and cheering as they
tried to win a prize. When she tossed the first ring, she smiled, feeling as if
she were part of the crowd.
Someone next to her
said, “it’s a scam, you know. The way the bottles are lined up, you can’t land
one.” He offered.
His friend elbowed him.
“That’s not true, miss. You can do it. You just have to spin it. See?” He took
his ring and spun it and it circled a bottle neck and then flung itself at the
shifty man running the game.
The men laughed and Ruth
found herself laughing too.
“When you open yourself up to the world and join the living, Ruth, you
will find you are alive and not dead with your husband, Ricky. He would want
you to live again. You’re much too young to be buried with him.” Jeremy’s words
had never been so true.
Feeling more secure to
try something on her own, she walked over to the Scrambler ride and gave the
man her ticket. He clinked her into her little bench seat and she watched the
entire carnival turn into a blur of red, blue, green, and white lights. Ruth
laughed as the wind caught her long hair and flapped it around her until she
couldn’t see which way she was facing. She had always loved the ride as a
child, but never indulged as an adult since spinning rides made her husband sick.
It continued to slam the seats to the edges of its reach and then back again,
around and around. The smells of the carnival went from nasty to sweet. Candy
corn, funnel cakes, corn dogs filled the night air mixed with the distant wood
smoke of a fall night. Ruth closed her eyes and laughed joyously as she was
slammed yet again in her seat to the limits of the ride’s scope. The tinny
sounds of the music and the dinging of the muscle hammer attraction filled her
ears.
When Ruth climbed down from
the ride, her hair was a mess, her sweater askew, her walking unstable from the
dizzying ride. And, she’d never felt so alive in the past two years! And no
longer alone. She was part of the crowd, part of the event, a participant and
not a spectator!
Ordering a huge ball of
pink cotton candy that matched her sweater, she wound the tendrils around her
finger and nibbled it off with childish delight. Several men passed by her,
watching her licking at her pink finger and she blushed sheepishly. One man
even winked at her! Feeling a flutter of life unfold within her chest, Ruth
sighed. She felt like a woman again.
Proud and contented,
Ruth turned, holding her head up high, spine erect, she felt taller, more
slender, more graceful. She smiled with her secret knowledge and then licked
the sugar from her lips when she felt eyes upon her. She turned to see the
clown again. His arms were crossed over his massive chest and his dark eyes
were focused on her, the painted frown seeming even more anguished than before.
His expression reminded her of her own expression only a half hour ago. It was
a childish threat, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy that he’d noticed her
out of all the people in the carnival and all the distractions. What did he
want?
She began a steady walk
around the carnival grounds, nervously capturing glimpses of his red and white
satin costume. Was he following her? She tried to zig-zag between the rides,
but now she was absolutely certain he was chasing her. It sent a shiver down
her spine to consider him getting any closer. Without realizing it, Ruth
approached the edge of the carnival. She stopped short and looked back to the
clown standing not 20 feet away openly studying her.
Heart beat hastening,
Ruth searched around for a safe harbor. She was at the Ferris wheel now, the
last ride on the edge of the forest clearing. All Ruth’s progress in one
evening was going to be ruined by the last vestiges of childhood fear rearing
its head. Jeremy would tell her to go to the clown and have him engage her in some
trickery, but the primitive part of her mind had taken over. Heart racing,
palms sweating, she handed her last ticket to the ride attendant and rushed
forward onto the bench seat.
A whoosh beside her
caught Ruth's attention as a blur of white and red climbed into the seat beside
her. The attendant locked the bar in place.
“Sir!” She screamed out.
“We’re not together.”
The attendant couldn’t
hear her through the grinding of the gears as he moved her bucket up one and
filled the next seat.
The clown’s satiny
fabric fluttered against her arm and Ruth withdrew to her side of the bench to
gaze out at the dark forest, desperate to endure a few minutes of ride beside
him.
Trying not to look
curious, she peeked cautiously at him. The clown was studying the distance as
they continued up higher and higher until the last seat was filled and the ride
could begin. Desperate for some sign of humanity about him, Ruth noted that he
was Ricky’s size and had dark eyes like his. She bit her lip and turned away.
This was not Ricky. This was a stranger. One who chose to spend his evenings
behind makeup and a costume where he could know what everyone else was, but
they would never know what he was.
What was he?
With a nagging inner
voice, Ruth imagined what Jeremy would say. He’d prod her on about making the
clown a real person and not a fictional character. He would tell her to take
his teeth away as she had taken away the teeth of her panic attacks by enduring
them and doing things in spite of them.
“I know clowns aren’t
supposed to speak, sir, but I was wondering. Why did you get on this ride with
me?”
He turned slowly and
studied her with his black eyes.
“You wanted to frighten
me? You saw that I was scared, didn’t you?”
He raised one of his
thinly marked brows as if puzzled. The exaggerated pose was almost comical.
“I’m really not scared
of you.” She insisted firmly as the ride began its fast ascent and descent into
the night sky. She could see in the glowing lights of the ride her own cowering
figure in his dark eyes.
He tilted his head to
one side as if he didn’t buy it.
“See.” She insisted,
putting her hand on his. He remained still. She retracted. “You’re just a man in a costume, right?” She
reached to touch the white of his face, but his hand caught hers.
“I’m sorry.” She blushed
excitedly. His hand was warm and by the slightly sweaty scent and size of him,
she could imagine the powerful man he was beneath the costume. It made her
mouth go dry.
He guided her hand to
his wide muscular thigh in his balloon-shaped pants. She could feel the muscles
tighten at her touch. It was a male reaction, the same reaction that tightened
a man's hip muscles and drew his groin into a pool of heat and throbbing ache
when aroused. Curiously, she spread her fingers on the clown’s thigh, feeling
the width of his leg, the silken fabric, and listening above the sounds of the
carnival below.
Realizing how wrong it
was to touch a stranger’s leg, Ruth lifted her hand. The clown looked at her.
She could tell by the corner of her eye, but she was childishly afraid to look
at the face too long with its grossly exaggerated frown.
His huge hand glided to
her thigh, feeling her leg through her jeans. His hand was so big and powerful,
so warm. His breathing caught.
She looked up at his
face cautiously, his eyes closed as he held her leg. He seemed to tremble
inwardly. The ride jerked to a stop and she gasped. The clown’s hand lifted
from her thigh leaving a hot place where it had rested.
The attendant grasped
their cart and steadied it, opening it up. The clown stepped out and walked
down the plank and Ruth followed feeling unsure of what the usual interactions
with ride attendants and civilians were. When she got to the end of the ramp,
he was gone.
Certain she’d done more
than enough for a night, Ruth wandered back towards the restrooms before
leaving. Near the line of forest trees, she saw something bright. The clown. He
was holding a balloon and his grotesquely painted face frowning perpetually.
She looked around her
and realized he was staring at her. She walked over to him, unsure what to say
to a man who was sworn to silence.
He held out his hand,
giving her the balloon and she smiled at him. “Thank you for helping me get
over my fear of clowns.”
She turned to leave, not
sure what he wanted from her. His hand came down on her shoulder and she turned
back, almost hoping he wanted something more. Perhaps another caressing touch.
It had been so long since she’d been touched that way, she flushed with
embarrassment that a clown had been the first one to reach out and connect with
her physically and even more mortified she'd enjoyed it so much.
It is certainly a night of firsts.
He leaned into her under
the shadows of the trees. “You were frightened of me?” He whispered in a rusty
voice that sounded as if it were barely ever used. “Are you now?”
She
shook her head, her body shivering with arousal at the husky timber of his
voice. “I am no longer afraid of you, either. Thank you for helping me overcome
my fear of…humans.” He confessed as he turned and strolled off
into the crowd.
