Swingin the Clown: My Short Story Of the Week

SwinginTheClown

Sadie said, “There’s someone on the swings.”

“What?” Braxton asked.

“It looks like … a clown?”

Sadie and Braxton just finished their show and were in the process of turning off the lights before heading upstairs to bed. As was Sadie’s habit, she peeked out the curtains into the backyard. She never expected to see anything, but it’s something she did all fourteen years of their marriage.

Braxton questioned, “Did you say a clown?”

“Turn off the kitchen light so I can see better.”

“How about we turn on the back patio light instead?”

“No!” Sadie cried. “I don’t want him to know we see him. Turn them off, Brax.”

Braxton relented, then joined his wife at the sliding glass door. They peered through a slight gap of the curtains. The landscaping lights lit up their backyard well, and so even though the hour neared midnight, they could easily distinguish the person on the swings at the back edge of their property.

“I’ve heard about these nuts,” Braxton groaned. “I’m calling the cops.”

“What? No!” Sadie replied. “The kids are sound asleep. The commotion will wake them up and then they’ll never go back to bed. Besides, if they see this guy, they’ll be traumatized for life.”

Braxton stared at his wife in disbelief. Though he already guessed her answer, he asked, “What are you suggesting?”

“It’s a prank,” Sadie began. “We’ve seen this on the web. It’s just some college kid trying to scare us. He saw our lights on and hoped we’d notice him. Well, guess what?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

Sadie continued, “He’s going to be the one getting scared tonight, buddy boy. How do you like that?”

“I don’t,” Braxton said. “This is crazy. It’s late. You’re not thinking straight. Let’s call the police.”

Edging past her husband, Sadie crept into their adjacent kitchen. She pulled the big knife from the block.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Look,” Sadie said, “we’ve seen the videos. When you confront them, they walk away.  He’s on our property. It’s just a knife. I’m well within my rights.”

“Actually, I don’t think you are.”

Sadie brushed by her husband again, this time in order to unlock the sliding glass door. Before she pushed the curtains aside, she asked, “You ready?”

“No,” Braxton answered. “I’m calling the police the minute he comes at you.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Sadie lectured as she opened the curtains. “But … leave the sliding door open, okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Braxton deadpanned. “Besides, I want to hear what’s going on out there.”

Sadie closed the screen door, then traversed the damp grass while crickets warned her away. She ignored them.

As she approached the figure sitting upon the swings, she noticed his puffy blue wig. She also saw that, like her, he remained barefoot. His dingy jeans were patched. He wore no shirt, which exposed a stomach, chest, and arms so thin that she could make out every vein. The landscaping lights cast imperfect shadows, so when she got close enough to see the toothy smile painted upon his face from chin to ears, it unnerved her. Furthermore, he’d painted black, frowning circles over his eyes, making them appear angry and unnatural.

He hunched in the swing, but he did not sway.

Sadie came to a stop five feet from the stranger. He rolled his eyes up to look at her without raising his head.

“That ain’t much of a knife,” he croaked.

Though she fought to control her emotion, she could feel her heart fighting against her chest and a slight buzzing in her ears—a sure sign of adrenaline. She said, “You need to get out of here.”

“I ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“To swing. Just to swing. I Swingin the Clown.”

“You’re an asshole and you need to get off my property before you get hurt.”

Though he still didn’t lift his head, the clown smirked. After a few moments, he said, “You gonna hurt me? With that knife?”

“If I have to,” Sadie responded. Her eyes remained fixed upon him—she would not be caught off guard. Things weren’t going the way she planned, but she still refused to let him gain the upper hand.

“You don’t wanna hurt me,” he uttered. “We the same. You ain’t the hurtin’ type. I ain’t, neither.”

His grin faded.

“Get out of here,” Sadie said. “Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

“Go on in and call ‘em. See what’s waitin’ for you.”

“What?”

“Never you mind.”

Sadie glanced back at the sliding door. It remained open, but she didn’t remember also leaving the sliding screen door ajar. Did Brax do that?

A rustle caught her attention so she thrust the knife out in front of her before whipping her eyes back to the clown. He shifted from one swing to the other.

“Just wanna try t’other one.”

“Leave. Now,” Sadie commanded. “You can’t do this.”

The clown lifted his dirty feet from the ground and rocked a little bit.

“You scared.”

“You’re trespassing,” Sadie replied.

“No, I Swingin. Never met no Trespassin. I know Bustin and Killin, though. They pals. They in you house right now.”

Sadie turned and sprinted across her lawn to the sliding door. She distinctly remembered closing the screen door so the bugs wouldn’t fly in—they terrified her sons. Yet there it was, wide open.

As she crossed the threshold, Sadie contemplated whether she would suffer a lifetime of regret, or simply mere moments.


Copyright © 2017/2019 by Scott William Foley

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.

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