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.

"Yes, dear."

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

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I'll be a monkey's uncle. A boomstick to the chest. I expect your first treatment of the script to be tightened and sent to Jim Jarmusch before the end of the year.
I heard that if you get bitten by a clown, you turn into one every full moon.

This is a bad business.
OhmiGod! You haven't killed his mum, have you?
It has to be a silver bullet to kill a clowan. I hope Ed Bream knows this.
Don't shoot at the liver in case you get splashed with high-conc. vitamin A!

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.
A silver bullet? Bloody good show, Ed won't have thought of that. Maybe clowans have magic fingers that can mend bullet holes. What colour is a clowan's blood anyway?
A clowan's blood is canary yellow with lime-green polka-dots.
Speak for yourself J the P.
Nothing beats a bit of tri-ursinality to spice up a story.
With the possible exception being a bit of septa-nanusality
Speak for yourself yourself, Ms. Diver. If a story already boasts multimaccusiality, it requires no septananusal "spicing up".
See? The clowans will make us turn on each other.
You are right, Brewski
Group hug!
Audrey, what is multimaccusiality?
Also, how are your buns of steel doing?
Do you mean Macacus?
Multimaccusiality is the quality of posessing multiple instances of Paul McCartney, as every schoolboy knows.
Maccus, Ms.D., was chief grammarian of the Holy Clowny Empire.
This is the first visit I've made to your site. You're headfucked. I'll be back.
Multimaccusiality is the habit or compulsion of denouncing Apple computers in batches, as every schoolboy with an education knows.
'Multimaccusiality!' is a word that is uttered by French court clerics when they have heavy workloads.
Christ! Any chance? 'clerks'.
"Maccus" is Latin for "clown", "ursus" means "bear", and a septananusal story is one that contains seven dwarfs.

So much for the humanities. Scientists, meanwhile, have been rummaging through Bogol's jeans:

Well, a septananusal story could be one written by seven dwarves.

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.
Thank you Audrius!
How's the Gluteus Maximus?
"Maccus" was sort of obvious from context, wasn't it?

Is it any relation to "maculate", by the way?
of curose 'maccus' means 'clowan'. hence teh daravation of scotish names. 'macalister' for exapmel means 'alistairs clown'.
Mr. Hynes is absolutely correct.

"Maccus" is also part of the Latin root for "macintosh"; meaning "Rubber oevercoat worn by clown flashers".
My granny's maiden name was MacAleer ("The Leering Clown"). I have clowan genes.
We are watching you, audro. Oh yes. We are watching.
I'm worried about SCOTUS being majority Catholic: what if one of those Rome-based clowns (macci?) were to eat the pope and take his place?
jtp - in taht caase at lest wed finly get a coherant pasitiion outa teh vadican on the comerce clause. u gota take teh good wiht the bad.
Here's something to pass the time while waiting for the next episode of Clowany:

audrey: I parp my red nose and squirt my button hole at you in respect.

n.b. button hole.
Have you gone on strike, HA3? Or are you just a tease?
I think he has run off with Noreen, for she too has posted nothing for days.
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