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To take up the #10WeeksOfHorror Challenge:

  • Write a story to this week’s theme (10 Clowns a-Laughing);

  • Post it to your blog, FB/G+ page, Google Drive or other publicly viewable forum;

  • Submit the link, or the story itself, here by Friday night.

Next week’s prompt: 9 Sirens Singing

♪♫♪♪

Dashing through the blood,

In a floor-length, black prom dress,

O’er the fields she fled,

Her hair was such a mess!

Makeup smeared and ran,

She was quite a sight.

What fun it was to kill the guy

Who’d made her cry tonight.

trauma-clown

Bad Tastes

Caitlin ditched her heels in favor of speed, running as fast as she could over the barren fields in a black prom dress. Most of her hair was plastered to her head with blood, only a few patches of strands whipped around in the chilly March storm.

Uncle Todd’s pirogue … if I can just make it to the river…

She’d float along the Mississippi River down to Morgan City, jump out and swim to shore. From there, she could walk to her cousin’s house in Patterson in no time. With him fresh out of jail, and his wife selling dope off the back porch, he wouldn’t call the cops on her. She’d start over in a new town, maybe get a job at Wal-Mart or something. She was old enough, turned eighteen in February.

She just needed to make it to the river.

Shrieks pierced the night, shrill screams rising with the cadence of a symphony of crickets until it drowned them out. Caitlin thought she heard a woman’s repeated pleas; “My boy! No, not my boy!”

The unintelligible wails that followed gave her a momentary pang. She hadn’t meant to hurt his mother, only the boy who’d made her cry.

She’d done herself up real nice for him, thinking he would ask her to the prom. He was new at school, so he didn’t know how unpopular she was. She took a chance and sat with him at lunch. They spoke briefly, mostly about school work, and he asked if he could go to her house later, after school.

Caitlin had rushed home and ran straight to her parents’ bathroom where her mom kept makeup. Her mom was pale, several shades lighter than Caitlin, but she used her foundation and powder anyway. Her face turned out whiter than the rest of her, but it was better than nothing.

She applied the mascara on her lashes oh so carefully, and a light shade of gold shadow on her eyelids. Red lipstick topped it all off. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but she thought she did pretty good, especially considering she’d never worn makeup before.

When she’d opened the door to the boy, his smile was tight-lipped and trembling, but he didn’t say anything. She showed him around the house, and led him to her bedroom. He giggled every time he looked at her and, exasperated, she finally asked him what was so funny.

“You look like a clown,” he’d said. The laughter he’d been holding back had finally burst forth like a slap in her face.

Dogs howled alongside the wailing woman, their mournful cries cut short as they were loosed and the barking began. Deep-throat bellowing approached more quickly than Caitlin could run. The dogs would catch her before the men spurring them on.

What then?

She wondered briefly if she could kill the dogs if they caught her. Caitlin had never wanted to hurt any living thing before, but when that boy laughed at her, something inside of her snapped.

The nearest thing at hand had been a pencil, so she stabbed him with that. It went straight into his jugular. Blood spurted from his neck when she jerked the pencil out. He stumbled and fell back, onto her bed.

Torn between horror at her own actions and morbid curiosity, Caitlin dropped the pencil and straddled his waist, wrapping her hands around his throat. She’d meant to stem the flow of blood, but when the thick, warm liquid quickly coated her hands, she didn’t mind. She kind of liked it. She leaned forward and licked a drop off his jaw to taste it.

With the hounds fast approaching, Caitlin fantasized killing them. Again, her first instinct was a bit of shame, but it paled in comparison to the desire she felt to bathe in blood again. But then, that’s what had gotten her in trouble in the first place.

She probably would have gotten away with killing the boy who’d hurt her if she hadn’t been entranced by the blood. There was so much of it! She sat astride him as he gurgled his last breaths, no final words spoken between them. None were needed. In that moment, she only wanted to feel his blood on every part of her body.

She dipped her fingers in the seeping lubrication, coating them with the thick, warm blood. The many nights she’d spent rubbing and writhing in her twin bed, tucked beneath the sheets where no one could see, gave her no where near as much pleasure as this had.

Her moment of reverie was abruptly interrupted when she faltered. Tripping over an unseen root, Caitlin went down hard, her face smashing into another root. Briefly stunned, she rose up on her elbows and shook the stars out of her eyes.

A howl, close by, got her up and moving again. The dogs were almost upon her, but that big oak tree, whose roots had just tripped her, wasn’t far from the river. She was almost there, almost free, could clearly see the dock beneath the single lamp that hung at the end of it.

Something was amiss. The boat was gone. She jogged the rest of the way and stopped at the end of the pier, looking back over her shoulder, watching the darkness. She could just make out the shadowy shapes of dogs.

No way I could take ’em.

She looked to the river, at the fast moving water beneath the worn boards at her feet. Knowing its dangerous depths, she tasted the boy’s blood on her fingers one last time, and dove in.

trauma-clown

To take up the #10WeeksOfHorror Challenge:

  • Write a story to this week’s theme (10 Clowns a-Laughing);

  • Post it to your blog, FB/G+ page, Google Drive or other publicly viewable forum;

  • Submit the link, or the story itself, here by Friday night.

Next week’s prompt: 9 Sirens Singing

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