Take your flashlight and illuminate the phantasmal thoughts. ‘You Choose the Horror!!!’ puts the cleaver in your hands: invent horrific concepts, stitch together an improbable atmosphere, share malformed ideas—are you ready to explore the limitless dark?
A zombie clown crawled from the creative depths of Amanda Steel’s mind.
Zombies terrify people. Clowns terrify people. Put the two together, and, well…something bad will happen, right? It’s all fun and games until someone gets their face chewed off.
If you feel slightly uncomfortable after reading this story, please blame Amanda Steel.
Clown With A Frown
They say people are afraid of clowns, but I never understood why. What’s there to be scared of? Pretty colors? Oversized shoes? If only people understood what lies behind the makeup, then perhaps they would truly understand the meaning of fear.
…I’m a zombie clown.
Please don’t judge me, you see, the static, joyful expression is just face paint. The smile hides the frown underneath, and trust me, you don’t want to see my frown. Do you want to know what happened to the last person who saw my frown? Come closer. I’ll tell ya.
Stan was an animal tamer who owned three lions: Bobby, Robby, and Tommy. Stan never fed those poor lions. They were always hungry. I told him he should toss them some meat or something. Stan leered down at me while gripping that damn whip. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to wrap that whip around my neck and choke the life out of me. If only he knew there was no life to choke. Poor Stan.
He walked into the bathroom and saw me putting on my smile. Stan stood in the doorway. Motionless. My reflection in the mirror flickered as a light-bulb buzzed and blinked. The paint couldn’t hide the rotten chew marks. My eyeball dangled out of its socket. Big mistake. I can put on makeup better while only using one eye. Go figure.
You can’t let someone like Stan know you’re a zombie clown, so I bit him.
…Stan rose from the dead about an hour later. I had no choice but to lock Stan inside the bathroom stall. They say it takes about eight hours for the body to become fully zombified, in which case, he’d actually regain his memories, and more importantly, the ability to control his own limbs. Most people think zombies don’t have any recollection of their past life, but that’s not true. Obviously.
He didn’t know he was locked in a bathroom stall. Lucky him. Someone forgot to flush the toilet. What? It wasn’t me. I promise. I lost the function of my bowels many years ago.
Stan wasn’t allowed to shamble around the circus. No way. Nope. Not an option. My cover would be blown. And besides…Stan would have been a shitty clown. Did you know he hit on those lovely trapeze artists? I’ll tell you the story. Someday.
Remember when I said Bobby, Robby, and Tommy didn’t eat much? Well…they ate a special meal that night—Stan. Please don’t judge me, okay? Did I tell you he screamed? Because he did. A lot. I quit smoking cigarettes but the sound of Stan’s begging convinced me that was probably a bad idea. My lungs still work. I’m not sure why.
Stan should have been tossed into the cage an hour sooner, that way he wouldn’t have been able to feel Tommy gnaw on his leg. Bobby preferred the neck. Robby ate everything else.
And they say zombies are gluttons. Sheesh.
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