October 27, 2005
A quiet night
This is Part Three. The story began here.
A crash and a yowling snarl split the silent, moonlit midnight on Katzenjammer Street. Ed Bream sat bolt upright in bed. Something was trying to break in downstairs. There was another crash, and a hoarse, inhuman shriek, rising in pitch until he could no longer hear it. His head ached and a dog down the street began to howl.
Ed fumbled in the closet for his shotgun and a flashlight. He whispered urgently to his wife Mary.
"I've got to go down there. Get the kids in here and lock the door."
Another crash, and the sound of a pot falling in the kitchen downstairs.
Walking down the stairs, Ed heard the children whispering groggy questions and Mary quieting them. The crashing went on below, and a deep raspy snuffling. What was that thing? A mountain lion? He heard little Junior in the hallway above gasp "Clowany!", heard a small thump, and in a moment felt the little creature push past him and run into the kitchen.
"God damn it..."
If Clowany got hurt, the kids would never get over it. But never mind. If the thing at the door, whatever it was, if it got in, and if it got past him... He thought of Mary and the children and thumbed off the safety.
In the kitchen he shone the light on the door as it shivered under another impact. Clowany raced frantically to and fro, yelping in his tiny thin voice. Ed flipped the lightswitch and set down the flashlight. As he raised the gun, the door gave way and a full-grown clown tumbled into the kitchen, shrieking like a damned thing and leaping straight for Ed's throat. He fired, and then it reached him. He fired the second barrel into its chest as they fell.
At the foot of the stairs, Mary and the children screamed.
To be continued
Links to this post:
This is a bad business.
I thought mommy clowan would come into this, though there are shades of Goldilocks that way, and we don't want any tri-ursinality creeping in - that's a bit camp.
Nothing beats a bit of tri-ursinality to spice up a story.
With the possible exception being a bit of septa-nanusality
Audrey, what is multimaccusiality?
Also, how are your buns of steel doing?
So much for the humanities. Scientists, meanwhile, have been rummaging through Bogol's jeans:
Trouble was, by the time the Romans had thought of a word for clown they had all been devoured by the rapacious funsters. There followed the Holy Clowny Empire (as I alluded to before), and if it wasn't for Clown Flu we wouldn't be here today.
"Maccus" is also part of the Latin root for "macintosh"; meaning "Rubber oevercoat worn by clown flashers".