Post by Rob on Oct 7, 2016 13:29:46 GMT -6
So, before I begin my transition into a new life, I thought I'd sit down and write out an explanation for the events that led me to this point.
Several months ago, I became aware of the "creepy clown phenomena" sweeping across the nation. Supposedly, it was some group or other that were dressing as clowns and use these costumes as a way to frighten residents in small towns. Or, in some cases, to lure children into the woods for what is assumed to be nefarious purposes. I had figured that it was likely just some very sick-minded individuals that were inspired by notorious child-killer John Wayne Gacy, at least in the case of the ones going after the kids. The rest were probably people that get off on causing strangers to panic that had seen a video or something on YouTube about the whole thing. A clown is expected to bring laughter and joy to both children and adults, something that's been programmed into our social consciousness since we were all kids. Bozo, Krusty, Ronald...Names of clowns that were, at least on TV, meant to be funny.
Me, I hate clowns. Not afraid. I HATE them. I can't pinpoint exactly why, but I think it may be because of the inhuman appearance they have. Big red noses. Floppy shoes. Pasty skin. Hair that no real human could grow naturally. Laughing at everything, whether funny or not. Yet, I do find myself grinning at "IT", laughing at depictions of clowns acting in ways totally outside the expectations of their ilk. And, of course, I enjoy the antics of the Insane Clown Posse. Evil clowns, at least in fiction, I like. I've always felt that, should I encounter one of these "killer clowns" in real life, I'd feel compelled to hit them just the same as a "normal" one, particularly if they're responsible for any harm done to children.
I live in a part of the country where, should one of these "creepy clowns" be sighted, particularly trying to lure children, they would very likely be shot. Most probably, the shooter would be hailed as a hero by the general population, though law enforcement would feel compelled to arrest the shooter. If for no other reason than to continue the pretense that they're actually effectively enforcing the laws. There might be a trial, but they would eventually be exonerated of whatever charges are brought against them. This would be seen as an example of "the system actually working".
Well, this story isn't about our corrupt legal system, so I'll move on. I have a small dog. I walk her on a leash every time I take her outside, as she's not trained to my voice commands as well as I'd like, not to mention my town's leash laws. There's also the fact that she is what I like to call "suicidally retarded". She likes to run and stop in front of vehicles driving by, I guess to try and get them to stop and get out and pet her. There's no such thing as a stranger to her, for the most part. She's not one of those "yapping" little dogs, she rarely barks at all. When she does, I know it's for a reason. An animal is prowling outside, a person is at the door that shouldn't be (in her eyes, anyways). The only person I've ever even heard of her barking at was at a Jehovah's Witness that had knocked at the door while it was open and the fan was in front of it, drawing in some fresh air to help cool the trailer. My ex was in the bathroom, cleaning, and I was at work, so our dog knew the person wasn't supposed to be there. I guess they had been frightened off, because my ex came out literally seconds after hearing the bark to find that there was nobody at the door, and a Witness pamphlet sitting on the steps.
One evening a couple weeks ago, just after dusk, I had taken my dog for a walk. I live alone, having separated from my wife over two years ago. My dog and I live in a trailer park, one with a large circular drive that surrounds the park. It almost looks like a sort of reverse cul-de-sac, the individual driveways and homes on the left side of the park situated on the inside of the circle rather than the outside. I usually bring my cellphone with me while walking, so that I can listen to Pandora as I wait for my dog to do her business. I have WiFi at home, which is how I get connected to the 'Net on my serviceless phone. On the far end of the park from my trailer, there is a wooded area that stays rather dark, save for a small street light here and there, ones that don't illuminate much at all. Knowing that coyotes and other wild animals come down from the nearby mountain area, I usually don't walk my dog down that way after dark. Last thing I need is for my dog to get attacked. She's been the only constant companion I've had these past couple of years, it'd about kill me if something were to happen to her. My WiFi has a pretty good range; I can usually keep a signal almost nearly a city block's worth of distance away, depending on what's between me and the router. I had a stand-up comedy channel playing, I forget who the entertainer was though, while I was walking that evening. My dog had decided that she wanted to pee down by that opposite end of the park, and I allowed her to lead me down there, thinking that it was probably still safe as the sun had not yet gone completely down.
While passing one of the group of empty trailers down there, I thought I heard something from the trees behind it. This was where the reverse set-up of a cul-de-sac switched over to a more traditional structure. I wasn't sure of what I'd heard, so I paused the comedian in mid-joke, the audience in mid-laughter. I listened for a moment, but heard nothing. With a mental shrug, I turned the playback on again and started to walk. My dog, however, wouldn't follow, no matter if I tugged the leash a bit to encourage her to come along. Her ears were pricked, her tail raised and looking like a sail with the long hair I've allowed to grow on it, and she was looking into the woods at something I couldn't make out. I figured that there was probably a stray dog or cat out there and gave another tug at the leash, telling her out loud to "come on". She took a few steps, still looking at the woods, then let out one of her oh-so-adorable little barks. This caught my attention immediately, the phone now ignored.
I paused the phone to listen again, this time catching the tail-end of a high-pitched laughter that was assuredly not part of the recording. I looked down at my dog, who was now cowering next to my legs, ears laid back and tail tucked, trying to look as small as possible. She was even shivering. I hooked the leash to a nearby pole to keep her from running off, then approached the wooded area, my phone going into my pocket to free my hands. I shouted "hello" a few times, but heard nothing. The light didn't allow much visibility past the first few feet among the trees, and really didn't help by making me somewhat night-blind, as it was in front of me. I walked toward the pole, putting the light behind me to allow my eyes to begin to adjust. Just as I began to be able to see a bit more, I caught a glimpse of bright yellow, red, and white behind a tree. I stopped moving, at least until I caught sound of another short and high titter of laughter. Fuck that, I thought. I have kids, two girls. There are kids that live here in the park. This ain't gonna happen here. I started to move toward the thing, whatever it was. That is, until I heard the scrape of metal on wood. I'd heard about some of the clowns carrying weapons, particularly machetes, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and began to back away. I wasn't afraid, I'm a former corrections officer with training on how to deal with an armed assailant. But, I had far too many responsibilities to consider to risk injury or death against what could very well be a deranged individual.
I retrieved my dog, who was more than happy to "nope the hell outta there" with me. We went back to my trailer, where I called the police to report what I'd seen. An officer showed up, took my report, remarked about the level of detail I'd memorized (like I said, I was an officer myself for a time, and was used to being as detailed as possible), then looked around the area I showed him to be where I'd had my encounter. Of course, the subject was long gone, though he'd left what looked to be cuts on one of the trees with his machete. The cop took photos of the scrapings, thanked me for my report, told me to call in if I seen anything else, then left. All told, this took about two hours out of my night, cutting into my rest that I needed to be able to get up at 3:30 in the morning to get to work by 4:30. Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to walking across town that early in the morning. Sometimes I can manage to get a ride for that shift, but the next morning was one that I wouldn't be able to do so.
Surprisingly, nothing happened that morning, nor anything for a week or so after that encounter. I figured that, whoever it was, they'd moved on to fresher prey. One evening, however, almost two weeks later, I was sitting in my living room, reading a book and listening to some music playing on my XBox when I heard someone knock very softly on the door. Unsure as to what I'd heard, I turned the TV off, setting my book aside. "Hello?" I asked loudly in my best 'officer voice'. No answer. Guessing that I was hearing things, I reached for the remote to turn the TV back on when I heard the knock again. "Who's there?" I asked, getting to my feet. I then heard something that raised the hair on the back of my neck. My front door is made of thin plates of metal, like most trailers, and I could hear something also made of metal scraping along the outside of the door, as though it were being brushed against it almost lover-like. Then, hearing a familiar titter, I quickly went to my bedroom as quietly as I could, ducking so that my shadow wouldn't be seen against the curtains over the windows. My dog, meantime, was whining and had hidden herself under the recliner chair I had been sitting in, peeking her snout out from under it to stare at the door. In my room, I keep a number of bladed weapons of my own, including a full-tang katana replica of the sword used in the Highlander TV series. It's not meant for use, at least not for actual sword fighting, though I've sharpened the blade to usable condition.
Unsheathing my sword, I headed back to the living room, the scraping sound having turned from almost seductive to what sounded like angry cutting at the paint on the door's surface, the edge probably being drawn down from the top to nearly the bottom, pressing hard. I warned the person that I was armed, and he'd be well-advised to get the hell out of there. Actually, what I said was, "I got a sword, dumbass. Get the fuck outta here!", but you get my point. The cutting at my door stopped, and I could hear the point of the blade being drawn along the side of my trailer's wall as the person headed toward the open center area of the park. He also reached up to each window as he passed, tapping the flat of his blade against the glass. Still with my sword in hand, I unlocked the door and went out, glancing over the damage done to the wall, but keeping watch back and forth between where the direction of the sound was heading and the driveway and the field across the driveway to keep from having someone sneaking up on me.
I did manage to see the person that I supposed had been at the door, walking across the middle area I mentioned before, the street light above him gleaming from the blade of his machete. I could see that he was wearing a bald cap, it and presumably his face painted corpse white. He was wearing a jumpsuit that was red on the left side, yellow on the right, and was wearing the typical clown shoes, colored white. In his right hand dangled the machete he had been using on my defenseless house.
"Fucker..." I muttered, then decided on a little revenge. I began to sneak toward him, barefoot, across the yard. As I moved, I kept my sword concealed behind my back and leg. When about twenty feet was still between us, I stopped and cleared my throat. He turned around, letting me get a look at his painted face. He had a twisted sort of grin painted around his lips, but no unusual nose was present. Honestly, it looked like he'd had a blind man try to paint him like how the Joker looks. Just...off, you know? He began to turn fully toward me, revealing the expected red and yellow balls of fluff attached to the front of his jumpsuit, his hand with the machete beginning to raise. I smirked, then revealed my own much-longer blade, settling into a combat stance with the blade held horizontally beside my head, point toward the clown. At that, he decided that he was going to be the one to take off this time. I allowed him to run into the woods, heading toward my trailer to put my sword away and call the police again.
Another officer, another report, more pictures taken. I left out the part about following him into the field, though. I knew that would look really bad on my part. Admittedly, that was probably a very stupid thing that I'd done, but it felt good to strike a bit of fear of my own into one of these twisted assholes. This time, the officer promised that there would be patrols through the park more than was usual, being as it seemed that I was now a target. He did ask if I wanted to be taken into protective custody, but I declined, assuring the officer that I felt well-protected enough by my own training and weapons. If I was attacked, I felt that I didn't have anything to worry about. The guy running away had convinced me that they were, at heart, cowards.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Now we come to last night. I had taken a few over-the-counter sleep aids, something I've been doing for awhile now to help with adjusting my sleep-schedule with my odd hours. I was supposed to have been off work today, so I had gone to bed around 1 in the morning. Naturally, I'm a night-owl. Have been since my teenage years. If I don't take the pills, I generally stay up until three, four in the morning.
I woke up about five am, groggy due to the medication still trying to keep me under. But, something had awakened me. A familiar laugh. I thought at first that it was just outside my open window, my hand automatically reaching for the sword next to my bed. My searching fingers encountered only the bare wooden panelling of my wall. That was when I realized two things. One, my dog was whining in the living room. Two, the laugh was actually inside my bedroom.
----------------------------------------------------
I was given a choice: join with the clowns, thereby discovering what was really going on, or be violated with my own sword quite gruesomely. I chose the former, knowing that I would eventually be able to enlighten the world as to what the hell was happening. I still hate clowns, though I find myself now dressed like one. I would be the "inside man", so to speak. We don't go after kids, not in the way a pedophile or child murderer would. In fact, we're to go after them, according to the mysterious "orders from above". If we were to encounter one of these pretenders, we were to kill them in as morbid a fashion as possible and leave their bodies where they could be easily found, though with as little evidence left behind as we can, their costumes still on them so as to leave a clear message.
So, this is how I have found myself, hiding near Wal-Mart, waiting until closing time to pick out my first victim, a small bunch of balloons in hand, borrowing their WiFi to present my story to the world. Will it be read? I hope so.
By the Above, I fucking hate clowns....
Several months ago, I became aware of the "creepy clown phenomena" sweeping across the nation. Supposedly, it was some group or other that were dressing as clowns and use these costumes as a way to frighten residents in small towns. Or, in some cases, to lure children into the woods for what is assumed to be nefarious purposes. I had figured that it was likely just some very sick-minded individuals that were inspired by notorious child-killer John Wayne Gacy, at least in the case of the ones going after the kids. The rest were probably people that get off on causing strangers to panic that had seen a video or something on YouTube about the whole thing. A clown is expected to bring laughter and joy to both children and adults, something that's been programmed into our social consciousness since we were all kids. Bozo, Krusty, Ronald...Names of clowns that were, at least on TV, meant to be funny.
Me, I hate clowns. Not afraid. I HATE them. I can't pinpoint exactly why, but I think it may be because of the inhuman appearance they have. Big red noses. Floppy shoes. Pasty skin. Hair that no real human could grow naturally. Laughing at everything, whether funny or not. Yet, I do find myself grinning at "IT", laughing at depictions of clowns acting in ways totally outside the expectations of their ilk. And, of course, I enjoy the antics of the Insane Clown Posse. Evil clowns, at least in fiction, I like. I've always felt that, should I encounter one of these "killer clowns" in real life, I'd feel compelled to hit them just the same as a "normal" one, particularly if they're responsible for any harm done to children.
I live in a part of the country where, should one of these "creepy clowns" be sighted, particularly trying to lure children, they would very likely be shot. Most probably, the shooter would be hailed as a hero by the general population, though law enforcement would feel compelled to arrest the shooter. If for no other reason than to continue the pretense that they're actually effectively enforcing the laws. There might be a trial, but they would eventually be exonerated of whatever charges are brought against them. This would be seen as an example of "the system actually working".
Well, this story isn't about our corrupt legal system, so I'll move on. I have a small dog. I walk her on a leash every time I take her outside, as she's not trained to my voice commands as well as I'd like, not to mention my town's leash laws. There's also the fact that she is what I like to call "suicidally retarded". She likes to run and stop in front of vehicles driving by, I guess to try and get them to stop and get out and pet her. There's no such thing as a stranger to her, for the most part. She's not one of those "yapping" little dogs, she rarely barks at all. When she does, I know it's for a reason. An animal is prowling outside, a person is at the door that shouldn't be (in her eyes, anyways). The only person I've ever even heard of her barking at was at a Jehovah's Witness that had knocked at the door while it was open and the fan was in front of it, drawing in some fresh air to help cool the trailer. My ex was in the bathroom, cleaning, and I was at work, so our dog knew the person wasn't supposed to be there. I guess they had been frightened off, because my ex came out literally seconds after hearing the bark to find that there was nobody at the door, and a Witness pamphlet sitting on the steps.
One evening a couple weeks ago, just after dusk, I had taken my dog for a walk. I live alone, having separated from my wife over two years ago. My dog and I live in a trailer park, one with a large circular drive that surrounds the park. It almost looks like a sort of reverse cul-de-sac, the individual driveways and homes on the left side of the park situated on the inside of the circle rather than the outside. I usually bring my cellphone with me while walking, so that I can listen to Pandora as I wait for my dog to do her business. I have WiFi at home, which is how I get connected to the 'Net on my serviceless phone. On the far end of the park from my trailer, there is a wooded area that stays rather dark, save for a small street light here and there, ones that don't illuminate much at all. Knowing that coyotes and other wild animals come down from the nearby mountain area, I usually don't walk my dog down that way after dark. Last thing I need is for my dog to get attacked. She's been the only constant companion I've had these past couple of years, it'd about kill me if something were to happen to her. My WiFi has a pretty good range; I can usually keep a signal almost nearly a city block's worth of distance away, depending on what's between me and the router. I had a stand-up comedy channel playing, I forget who the entertainer was though, while I was walking that evening. My dog had decided that she wanted to pee down by that opposite end of the park, and I allowed her to lead me down there, thinking that it was probably still safe as the sun had not yet gone completely down.
While passing one of the group of empty trailers down there, I thought I heard something from the trees behind it. This was where the reverse set-up of a cul-de-sac switched over to a more traditional structure. I wasn't sure of what I'd heard, so I paused the comedian in mid-joke, the audience in mid-laughter. I listened for a moment, but heard nothing. With a mental shrug, I turned the playback on again and started to walk. My dog, however, wouldn't follow, no matter if I tugged the leash a bit to encourage her to come along. Her ears were pricked, her tail raised and looking like a sail with the long hair I've allowed to grow on it, and she was looking into the woods at something I couldn't make out. I figured that there was probably a stray dog or cat out there and gave another tug at the leash, telling her out loud to "come on". She took a few steps, still looking at the woods, then let out one of her oh-so-adorable little barks. This caught my attention immediately, the phone now ignored.
I paused the phone to listen again, this time catching the tail-end of a high-pitched laughter that was assuredly not part of the recording. I looked down at my dog, who was now cowering next to my legs, ears laid back and tail tucked, trying to look as small as possible. She was even shivering. I hooked the leash to a nearby pole to keep her from running off, then approached the wooded area, my phone going into my pocket to free my hands. I shouted "hello" a few times, but heard nothing. The light didn't allow much visibility past the first few feet among the trees, and really didn't help by making me somewhat night-blind, as it was in front of me. I walked toward the pole, putting the light behind me to allow my eyes to begin to adjust. Just as I began to be able to see a bit more, I caught a glimpse of bright yellow, red, and white behind a tree. I stopped moving, at least until I caught sound of another short and high titter of laughter. Fuck that, I thought. I have kids, two girls. There are kids that live here in the park. This ain't gonna happen here. I started to move toward the thing, whatever it was. That is, until I heard the scrape of metal on wood. I'd heard about some of the clowns carrying weapons, particularly machetes, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and began to back away. I wasn't afraid, I'm a former corrections officer with training on how to deal with an armed assailant. But, I had far too many responsibilities to consider to risk injury or death against what could very well be a deranged individual.
I retrieved my dog, who was more than happy to "nope the hell outta there" with me. We went back to my trailer, where I called the police to report what I'd seen. An officer showed up, took my report, remarked about the level of detail I'd memorized (like I said, I was an officer myself for a time, and was used to being as detailed as possible), then looked around the area I showed him to be where I'd had my encounter. Of course, the subject was long gone, though he'd left what looked to be cuts on one of the trees with his machete. The cop took photos of the scrapings, thanked me for my report, told me to call in if I seen anything else, then left. All told, this took about two hours out of my night, cutting into my rest that I needed to be able to get up at 3:30 in the morning to get to work by 4:30. Yeah, I wasn't looking forward to walking across town that early in the morning. Sometimes I can manage to get a ride for that shift, but the next morning was one that I wouldn't be able to do so.
Surprisingly, nothing happened that morning, nor anything for a week or so after that encounter. I figured that, whoever it was, they'd moved on to fresher prey. One evening, however, almost two weeks later, I was sitting in my living room, reading a book and listening to some music playing on my XBox when I heard someone knock very softly on the door. Unsure as to what I'd heard, I turned the TV off, setting my book aside. "Hello?" I asked loudly in my best 'officer voice'. No answer. Guessing that I was hearing things, I reached for the remote to turn the TV back on when I heard the knock again. "Who's there?" I asked, getting to my feet. I then heard something that raised the hair on the back of my neck. My front door is made of thin plates of metal, like most trailers, and I could hear something also made of metal scraping along the outside of the door, as though it were being brushed against it almost lover-like. Then, hearing a familiar titter, I quickly went to my bedroom as quietly as I could, ducking so that my shadow wouldn't be seen against the curtains over the windows. My dog, meantime, was whining and had hidden herself under the recliner chair I had been sitting in, peeking her snout out from under it to stare at the door. In my room, I keep a number of bladed weapons of my own, including a full-tang katana replica of the sword used in the Highlander TV series. It's not meant for use, at least not for actual sword fighting, though I've sharpened the blade to usable condition.
Unsheathing my sword, I headed back to the living room, the scraping sound having turned from almost seductive to what sounded like angry cutting at the paint on the door's surface, the edge probably being drawn down from the top to nearly the bottom, pressing hard. I warned the person that I was armed, and he'd be well-advised to get the hell out of there. Actually, what I said was, "I got a sword, dumbass. Get the fuck outta here!", but you get my point. The cutting at my door stopped, and I could hear the point of the blade being drawn along the side of my trailer's wall as the person headed toward the open center area of the park. He also reached up to each window as he passed, tapping the flat of his blade against the glass. Still with my sword in hand, I unlocked the door and went out, glancing over the damage done to the wall, but keeping watch back and forth between where the direction of the sound was heading and the driveway and the field across the driveway to keep from having someone sneaking up on me.
I did manage to see the person that I supposed had been at the door, walking across the middle area I mentioned before, the street light above him gleaming from the blade of his machete. I could see that he was wearing a bald cap, it and presumably his face painted corpse white. He was wearing a jumpsuit that was red on the left side, yellow on the right, and was wearing the typical clown shoes, colored white. In his right hand dangled the machete he had been using on my defenseless house.
"Fucker..." I muttered, then decided on a little revenge. I began to sneak toward him, barefoot, across the yard. As I moved, I kept my sword concealed behind my back and leg. When about twenty feet was still between us, I stopped and cleared my throat. He turned around, letting me get a look at his painted face. He had a twisted sort of grin painted around his lips, but no unusual nose was present. Honestly, it looked like he'd had a blind man try to paint him like how the Joker looks. Just...off, you know? He began to turn fully toward me, revealing the expected red and yellow balls of fluff attached to the front of his jumpsuit, his hand with the machete beginning to raise. I smirked, then revealed my own much-longer blade, settling into a combat stance with the blade held horizontally beside my head, point toward the clown. At that, he decided that he was going to be the one to take off this time. I allowed him to run into the woods, heading toward my trailer to put my sword away and call the police again.
Another officer, another report, more pictures taken. I left out the part about following him into the field, though. I knew that would look really bad on my part. Admittedly, that was probably a very stupid thing that I'd done, but it felt good to strike a bit of fear of my own into one of these twisted assholes. This time, the officer promised that there would be patrols through the park more than was usual, being as it seemed that I was now a target. He did ask if I wanted to be taken into protective custody, but I declined, assuring the officer that I felt well-protected enough by my own training and weapons. If I was attacked, I felt that I didn't have anything to worry about. The guy running away had convinced me that they were, at heart, cowards.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Now we come to last night. I had taken a few over-the-counter sleep aids, something I've been doing for awhile now to help with adjusting my sleep-schedule with my odd hours. I was supposed to have been off work today, so I had gone to bed around 1 in the morning. Naturally, I'm a night-owl. Have been since my teenage years. If I don't take the pills, I generally stay up until three, four in the morning.
I woke up about five am, groggy due to the medication still trying to keep me under. But, something had awakened me. A familiar laugh. I thought at first that it was just outside my open window, my hand automatically reaching for the sword next to my bed. My searching fingers encountered only the bare wooden panelling of my wall. That was when I realized two things. One, my dog was whining in the living room. Two, the laugh was actually inside my bedroom.
----------------------------------------------------
I was given a choice: join with the clowns, thereby discovering what was really going on, or be violated with my own sword quite gruesomely. I chose the former, knowing that I would eventually be able to enlighten the world as to what the hell was happening. I still hate clowns, though I find myself now dressed like one. I would be the "inside man", so to speak. We don't go after kids, not in the way a pedophile or child murderer would. In fact, we're to go after them, according to the mysterious "orders from above". If we were to encounter one of these pretenders, we were to kill them in as morbid a fashion as possible and leave their bodies where they could be easily found, though with as little evidence left behind as we can, their costumes still on them so as to leave a clear message.
So, this is how I have found myself, hiding near Wal-Mart, waiting until closing time to pick out my first victim, a small bunch of balloons in hand, borrowing their WiFi to present my story to the world. Will it be read? I hope so.
By the Above, I fucking hate clowns....
