Day of the Dead Clown

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Everyone on Maritime Creek Drive knew Maritime Marivalla Crispin, the clown living in the house at the end of the street who children liked to visit and the parents didn’t worry about. He didn’t hurt anyone or try to scare anyone. All he did was be as nice to people as necessary; smiling at people as they walked by and waving at them as they said hi.

Only when a new family, the Meyers, moved in a few houses down did a boy on the way to the clown’s house find Marivalla Crispin dead on the sidewalk after being beaten to a pulp, it seemed like.

No one really suspected the newly arrived; not even the cops. The idea of it came when every family in the area but the new one had already spoken to the police. Children and teenagers were as involved as their parents. The Meyers probably would have came out to see their new neighbors, and since the Meyers weren’t spoken to, a couple of days after the murder, a group of three adults and two teenagers decided to go and see them at three o’clock in the afternoon.

The group was on the doorstep, but they didn’t go in or knock. They had a strange feeling, and a strange odor came from the open front door. They were staring at it questioningly, since it never opened with anyone coming in or out when anyone else was looking. The group went into the house slowly, lead by John Crowley, a man of 54 who knew Marivalla when he was a ten-year old dressing up as a clown every Halloween.

What they found was shocking: the Meyer family, two parents and two children, were staked to the wall on either side of the living room window off to the right. All of them were wearing pastels, stained brownish red by the dry and clotted blood from where the stakes were driven into them. Blood was pooled under them. The skin on their contorted faces, limbs, hands and bare feet were pale and bruised from what can be seen from the places that weren’t covered in blood. Dark rings were under bloodshot eyes that pointed in different directions.

The group, after they got over the shock of finding the corpses, looked around the living room until their eyes all fell on Maritime Marivalla Crispin. He was blood-soaked from the injuries he received, the blood still moist despite being a few days old, his costume torn up, bones were showing, splintered and pinkish, and his skull was caved in at the back. Marivalla’s face was mostly intact, but his eyes, which seemed to be popping out because the eyelids were pushed in, were staring right at the group.

He rose his arm slowly and shakily, creaking as it went along. In the misshapen hand was a note. Knowing Maritime Marivalla wouldn’t hurt anyone in the group, one of the teenagers, a boy of fifteen, slowly walked up to the dead clown and took the note. In shaky handwriting, but still legible, it read:

“They killed me, all of them. They killed me because they were afraid of me. They said they would kill every child who comes and visits. So I killed them because of what they said.”

After the note was read, Maritime Marivalla Crispin crumpled into the chair he was sitting in.



Credited to Blood Dahlia
Originally uploaded on December 11, 2012


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