The Clown

I was somewhere in the middle of a pine forest when I saw the bundle of rags on the floor ahead. All around were tall trunks marching in perfect rows, like the pillars of a cathedral. The air inside was chill compared to the drowsy warmth outside. Only a few slender rays of sunshine penetrated through the tightly packed canopy, as a noon summer sun floated, unconcerned, above my head.

As I got closer, I realised it wasn’t simply a pile of discarded clothes but a person dressed as a clown. I stopped, unsure as to whether I was approaching someone asleep or a dead body. Given the location, I feared the latter more. I started to tiptoe around the pile in a wide circle, taking in the body from every angle. It was a man. I couldn’t discern his age but he appeared to be bald, curled up in the foetal position with his hands clamped between his thighs. His face was largely obscured but from the portion I could see, it was clear he was wearing make up. His feet were bare and dirty. As I noticed them, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of clown shoes, red and white brogues discarded yards away.

Circling back to my starting position, seeming to snap every twig on the floor, I halted, holding my breath. I cursed my decision to leave my phone behind before this walk – technically I should’ve been at work today – and the nearest road was a few miles back; the nearest village even further. The figure hadn’t moved once, and I’d been staring at his shoulders trying to see any sign of breathing. He was as still as marble.

I picked up a large pinecone and weighed it up in my hand, trying to shake off a nervous hysteria that made me want to laugh out loud. I tried to clear my throat and cough loudly. Every exclamation I made followed by silence, except my heart against my chest. I threw my hands up in the air in frustration, stomped over to the body and hurled the cone at his head. It missed in my adrenaline rush and whacked him on the shoulder. One of his heavily made-up eyebrows twitched. I could see his big red nose crushed into the ground.

“Hello?”

It was a tentative start. His breathing became more pronounced now; a few leaves danced away from his mouth. I gently kicked his kneecap, and got a murmur for my trouble. I reached into my pack and pulled out my bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and letting a little dribble onto his face. He frowned; his eyes were still clamped shut, and a little bit of white make up flaked off to reveal his pink skin.

“Hello clown? Hello?”

‘Clown…’ he murmured.

“Clown?” I crouched down and shook his shoulder. “Mr Clown, wake up sir.”

He let out an annoyed grunt and spat into the floor. All at once, his limbs were coming to life, like a bag of snakes. He rolled onto his back, rubbing his eyes with immaculate white gloves. I remained on my haunches next to him.

“Want some water?”

‘Water… urgggh.’ He opened his eyes for the first time. One was green and the other was red. He focused on me for a moment, looking into my eyes intently then looking around at the trees around him and the soft carpet of pine needles that had been his mattress.

‘Why…’

“Here, have a drink” I said, offering my bottle. He brushed it away.

‘Why am I here?’ Sitting up on his elbows, he looked down at his feet. ‘My shoes. What have you done with my shoes?’

“I’ll get them,” I said, standing up. I brought them over to him. He cleaned the soles of his feet and tipped the oversize shoes upside down. Debris fell out from inside and he placed them on gingerly, as though they were a size too small.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

‘Dead? Could I have some water?’ I handed him the bottle and he took a deep swig, running down his chin. ‘Why would I be dead? Where is this place? Did you bring me here?’

I was incredulous. “How the hell would I bring…? Why would I…?” I stopped. “Did you have too much to drink last night or something? You’re miles from the nearest town and I can’t believe…” I pointed to his feet “…that you walked all the way in those damn things.”

‘I can’t remember’ he said, distractedly. ‘Are there any deer in this forest?’

“I… probably? Is it important?”

‘No, not really’ he said, unconvincingly. I walked behind him and hooked my arms under his to hoist him up.

‘No! I want to rest for a bit.’ He sandbagged as I tried to lift him. I let him go gently.

“What’s your name?”

He rolled his eyes and let out a sarcastic chuckle. ‘Mr. Nutty. Butty.’

“Yeah. Ok. How about your other name?”

‘Oh that.’ He paused for a moment in thought. ‘Wilbur.’

“Well look, Mr Nutty Butty, I’m on a walk but I don’t want to leave you here. You say you don’t know where you are…?”

‘Can’t see the wood for the trees.’ He cackled and squeezed his crumpled nose; the distorted horn made a pathetic squeak. ‘Oh… shit. I broke my nose.’ He beamed.

“Mmhmm” I nodded. “You broke your nose. Look, I can direct you to a footpath that’ll take you to a road. You can walk or thumb a lift. I can’t imagine you’ll have any trouble attracting attention.”

He was looking intently in the middle distance.

‘I’m starting to remember now.’ His face lit up. ‘Can you fix cars?’

“No. No, I can’t fix cars…”

‘It might need some water. Could you look at it? The car?’

“Where is it?”

He looked over his shoulder and pointed. A few hundred yards away the forest gradually climbed a slope. It was the route I’d been planning to take, climbing up a hill towards a bridleway that would take me into the next valley.

“I’m going that way, yes…” I said cautiously.

‘Great! You’d be doing me a favour. Really, big favour.’ He now stood up with a grimace. ‘I remember, I walked downhill last night. Definitely walked down… that hill, yes.’ He pulled out a series of knotted handkerchiefs from his sleeve and wiped his face, smearing his make up.

“You got any doves up there?” I asked, tilting my head. “Rabbits or…?”

‘No’ he said brightly, tucking them back into his sleeve. He reached into his back pocket and produced a deck of cards.

“Look, I’m not in the mood.”

‘Pick a card.’

“I don’t want to pick a card. I want to get walking. Up this hill, yeah?”

‘Pick a card and I’ll let you go.’ His voice was oddly deadpan, and he’d stopped smiling.

“Why is it so important…?”

‘Just once. Then we walk. Promise.’

“I might not be able to fix your car, you know that don’t you?”

‘Card’, he offered again, waving them under my chin, spread like a Japanese fan.

I took one, the Two of Diamonds. I hoped he got it first time.

‘Okay. Now put it back in the deck.’ I complied. He started to shuffle the cards as I sighed and looked to the treetops.

‘Right…’ He pulled out a Queen. I shook my head.

‘Okay… I got this.’ He pulled out a Jack this time. I stared daggers at him.

‘Oh I’m just messing with you. I actually hid it up my sleeve.’ He reached inside. ‘Is this the one?’ He pulled out a gun.

I laughed, but he looked deadly serious straight at me.

‘The car’ he deadpanned. ‘And then, your valuables.’ I looked down at the gun in his hand; he followed my eye-line. He made a wide circle around me, poking the barrel into my shoulder-blade. It felt heavy and metallic. I started to walk.

**************************************************

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I had stopped at the top of the ridge. From left to right ran a rutted bridleway, flanked by tall oaks on either side. It was deserted; this close to the edge of the forest, most people never bothered to venture this far. In front of me was an old VW Beetle, every panel a different sickly neon colour. The front end was partially stoved in and wrapped around a young silver birch, which now leaned at a precarious angle. Clown shoved his gun against me again.

“What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” I walked to the front of the wrecked car, pretending to survey the damage but actually getting out of close range. I crouched down near the ruined bumper, scrabbling around for any loose pieces of metal, either sharp or blunt, to overpower him. “I’m not sure I can even get the hood up”

‘Nice try’ he giggled, and his voice briefly returned to the sing-song Mr Nutty Butty. He gestured to the back of the car. ‘Engine’s in the rear.’

I had one last sweep of the floor and stood up empty handed. I walked around to the back and lifted the rear hatch. As far as I was concerned, it looked like a solid piece of ironmongery with a few cogs. I started looking for pipes or valves to stick water in.

‘Any ideas?’

“No! None! I told you! I’m not a fucking mechanic!”

‘Oh come on. How hard can it be?’

“Try it” I said. “Get in and try it.”

‘You try it.’

“I don’t know how it works…”

He tossed me the keys. ‘Try and start the engine. I bet you it doesn’t work.’

I hesitated a moment, then looked up the bridleway. Clown walked alongside me, sitting on a nearby bank. I gingerly clambered in and tried the starter. It coughed into silence and made no further noise.

‘I told you’ he laughed and gestured to the rear of the car. ‘Come on. Back to the future.’

Taking the keys out of the ignition, my trembling hands dropped them in the foot-well. As I reached down, I found something under the seat – an adjustable spanner. I pulled it out and waved it in front of him.

“This will help!” I said cheerfully. “Maybe I need to unscrew something.” He was pulling out his handkerchiefs again, like bunting.

‘If you need something to wipe your hands’ he grinned.

I walked to the back of the car again and attached the spanner on a random bolt. It was rusted tight. I leaned back, pretending to give it some effort – I was actually just pivoting my weight.

“I could do with a hand here,” I said. He walked over, leaving a small mountain of brightly coloured knotted cloths on the floor.

He leaned in.

‘What’s that do?’

“I think it’s connected to your fuel supply” I lied. “If I loosen this, I can look inside the pipe and see if there’s a blockage.” He playfully slapped my arm.

‘Well how about that!? That all sounds good to me. Where do you want me to stand?’ He put the gun down to the side of the track, in a small drift of leaves.

“Just here” I said. I prised the spanner off the bolt and brushed away flakes of rust. He leaned in, showing me the back of his head. It was an invitation I couldn’t ignore.

I brought the spanner down hard. The first blow immediately drove a red blotch into his white painted scalp; several red cracks then appeared going in opposite directions from it like spindly legs on a crushed insect. He stood up and looked at me blankly, confused, and then fell forward smashing his face on the engine. I brought the lid of the rear hatch down a few times to make sure. When I eventually stopped, exhausted, I heard two little taps a few seconds apart. They were teeth dropping into the bottom of the engine bay.

He was silent again. Blood was now flowing over the rusting components, although I couldn’t bring myself to lift his head and see the damage. I checked the pulse on his neck; it was racing, and at the same time felt faint. The back of his head had a noticeable dent. Pieces of his skull were no doubt now floating on top of the brain, and the red cracks were now almost black, with another slightly translucent fluid leaking from them, discolouring his make-up.

I picked up my rucksack lying nearby and looked around. A rookery had been alerted by our violence but otherwise there was no sight or sound of anything or anyone else. I knew the nearest village was a couple of miles away. I checked my watch. It was approaching one. If I ran, I could have the alarm raised by two. Hoisting my pack over my shoulders, I started to run down the bridleway, pausing at the drift of leaves. Carefully, I covered my hands with a piece of my shirt and lifted the gun out, wrapping it up in a couple of his handkerchiefs. This would be evidence. I had no choice. It would be covered in his fingerprints surely, despite the gloves. He must’ve handled it at some point without them. Jogging off between the ruts, I left the Clown in strange prayer to his ruined vehicle.

**************************************************

It took a few minutes for the operator to believe me. I leant inside the payphone, panting and sweating, hacking up phlegm, trying to convince him that this wasn’t a prank call.

“Yes. A clown. He might be dead or just unconscious. I had to club him with a spanner. He was threatening me! He had a gun. I retrieved it. Yes, I can wait here for the police. No problem.” I left them my name and number and hung up the receiver. I felt sick, and hoped that he wasn’t dead somehow, just unconscious enough to stay where he was; asleep long enough to be arrested. I left the booth and closed the door behind me, walking across the village green and looking to the road in anticipation of blue lights. At that moment, I realised the backs of my thighs were damp.

“Fuck.”

I dropped to my knees, going through my pack. I pulled out my water bottle – the stopper was fastened tight and felt dry. I rooted around deeper, feeling wet rags nestling in a puddle at the bottom. I unwrapped them and let out another expletive. My jogging had loosened a catch on the gun and as I held it up, I realised the bastard Clown had been threatening me with a very realistic water pistol.

In the distance, carried down the lane on the wind, a police siren called out and I knew this was going to be a long afternoon.