

The Guild of Fallen Clowns

Francis Xavier
Copyright © 2011 Francis Xavier

Smashwords Edition

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Francis Xavier.
To: Kathy

Subject: Book Dedication

I know you probably shouldn't see this before the book comes out, but you know me. I'm too impulsive and impatient to keep a secret. What do you think?

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my first wife, Kathy. Without her support and belief in my ability to pull it off, I never would have started writing this story. Even in the darkest of times, she never gave up on me. She truly deserves this dedication because The Guild of Fallen Clowns wouldn't exist without her love. The Guild would still be floating around with dozens of other crazy ideas in my ADD-afflicted brain.

So, for anyone who ends up having nightmares or creepy clown visitations in your dreams after reading this book, don't blame me. It's all Kathy's fault. She's responsible for unleashing Peepers and the guild of creepy clowns into our world. If it weren't for her loving support, I'd still be the only person haunted by these spirits, and all of you would be sleeping much better. Blame Kathy.

I love you, baby! Thanks for not trading me in (yet) for husband number two.

Kathy's reply:

What does husband number two look like?

### Chapter 1

The sad clown's face wilted as his predicament became most dire. The imposing figure glaring down at him was that of Peepers— the dark clown—casually swinging his black sword from hand to hand, savoring the moment as he contemplated the fate of his wounded foe.

Blood oozed from the open gash across Boogy's thigh, dripping to the dirt floor of the big top. This once majestic leader found his only remaining support to be that of the center pole. Dazed and helpless, Boogy's eyes rose to meet those of the dark clown. Peeper's eyes widened; the sides of his cracked red lips tipped upward against the anemic backdrop of his face. His grin parted to a full-blown smile, exposing long, sharpened teeth. Boogy's fear appeared to feed Peeper's perverse hunger. It was much more than a power grab for this twisted challenger. His satiation came from drinking up every last expression of fright in the faces of his hopeless victims.

In an attempt to extract maximum terror from his prey, Peepers made several lunges and half swings of his sword, stopping short of killing the sad clown.

The torment became too much for Boogy. He barked a final plea. "Get it over with already. Kill me, you bastard!"

Sadistic bliss washed over Peepers' face. Towering at close to seven feet with his tattered top hat, the lanky frame of the creepy clown folded at the waist toward Boogy. Inches from his face, Peepers glared into Boogy's eyes. His head tilted back and forth as he examined the source of the contentious command.

Boogy's eyes closed. "Stop playing games and show me what you're here for!"

The smug grin returned to Peepers' monstrous face. "Peepers here to help you," he whispered in a guttural voice.

"Funny way of showing it," Boogy said with his eyes still shut. "Just do it and stop toying with me."

"Help yes. Peepers free Boogy."

Boogy's eyes opened to a squint. "After all this you're going to let me go? I don't understand."

"Boogy's spirit strong. Peepers free Boogy. Grow strong together."

Boogy's eyes opened. "You'll spare me if I join you? No freaking way, you sick freak! Kill me now!"

Still mere inches from Boogy's piercing scowl, Peepers cracked a smile before returning his body upright. Breaking eye contact with his captive, he looked down at his hands gripping his broadsword, while its tip rocked in the dirt. He returned his focus on the sad clown and appeared pleased with Boogy's decision. He hoisted the heavy sword above his head. Boogy's eyes shut as he braced himself for what was to come.

"Strong we both shall be," Peepers said. Without hesitation, Peepers drove the sword with all his might through Boogy. His body offered little resistance as the lifeless halves fell in opposite directions.

YOU LOSE!

Please try your luck again in:

CLOWN WORLD.

*****

Right as the words flashed across Alan's computer screen, the phone on the table beside him rang, snapping him out of his virtual mindset. "Now what am I supposed to do?" he muttered to himself as he reached to answer the phone.

"Hello."

"Hey, Boogy, this is Cracky down at the carnival."

"Oh, hi, Cracky, what's up?"

"We was wondering if you might come out a day early. It's lookin' like tomorrow's not gonna be a washout after all. And wid it being da first day, we think it might get a little crowded down here."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Boogy—whose real name was Alan—said as he flipped his laptop closed and stood from the couch. "What time do you want me?"

"Well, gates open at ten, so I was thinkin' maybe a half hour early so I can give you da nickel tour before things get started."

Alan paused for a second. "Yeah, yeah, that should work— but my other job starts at four, so I'll have to leave by three-thirty."

"Hey, no problem, Boogy. I'm just glad you can come out on such short notice and all. Hey, pal, we'll see you in the AM then." Cracky hung up, avoiding the customary good-bye.

Alan's body ached after his sedentary four-hour Clown World marathon. He stretched his stiffened muscles and returned the handset to its cradle. As he glanced back at the laptop resting beside a well-worn crater in the frayed, plaid couch, his mind returned to the game, in which moments earlier he was viewed as royalty. To him, other characters were real people just like him, living out their fantasies in front of similar computer screens around the world. His Boogy avatar wasn't entirely fictional. He was a very real part of Alan's existence. Now, thanks to this Peepers character, Alan was forced to mourn the death of his own virtual life.

In his small apartment, it was a short walk from the couch/bed to the walk-in closet beside the bathroom. In typical bachelor fashion, Alan had little use for the hanging rods spanning three of the closet walls. Five identical pullover shirts were the only items taking up a small piece of real estate on one of the rods. The floor, however, had a couple of suitcases and stacked piles of loosely folded clothes beside an overflowing laundry basket. It looked as if someone was living in a temporary situation until the furniture arrived. Sadly, this wasn't the case. These stacks, and unused rod space, had changed little during the twelve years Alan called the studio apartment home.

He removed one of the green shirts from a hanger and placed it on the counter beside the sink. Next, he peeled off his faded, semi-transparent Hootie & the Blowfish T-shirt, listing tour dates from 1995, and tossed it toward the back wall of the closet, where it landed on top of the dirty clothes pile and continued to tumble to the floor before resting on overflows to the left side of the basket. His routine was down, and within a couple of minutes he emerged from the bathroom wearing his Vince's Pizza shirt.

Without looking, he grabbed his keys from a wall hook opposite the front door and peered through the peephole. His was the rear apartment on the second floor of the two-story building. An open-air stairwell separated two units on each side.

All was clear, so he stepped outside, walking with the same stealth that a mother moves around a houseful of napping babies. As he approached the bottom of the stairs, the air began thumping from the sudden introduction of obnoxiously loud music coming from one of the apartments. He wasn't able to distinguish which apartment, but due to the growing intensity and obvious lack of consideration for other tenants in the condensed complex, he knew the jarring noise could only come from one place, Lyle's apartment.

Lyle lived across the hall, in the front of the building. Alan continued toward the row of parked cars lined up in front of the building. As he moved from the stairwell, the noise grew louder. He glanced up, confirming his suspicion. It _was_ Lyle playing the music. He was entertaining three friends on his balcony, with his stereo positioned so that it was pressed against the rails, facing out as they talked and drank beer.

Alan continued toward his car, which was parked directly below Lyle's apartment. The instant Lyle noticed him, the conversation stopped. Lyle stood and shouted out to his buddies, "Hey, guys, guys, watch this."

Alan purposely avoided looking up at them. It didn't take long for him to discover what Lyle was alerting his friends to. Lyle's car was parked less than a foot from the driver side of his own. Alan stopped to assess the situation as Lyle and his goons busted out in mocking laughter. Alan tried his best to ignore them.

Still laughing, Lyle shouted, "Hey, BOOGER! Looks like you have a little problem there." He snickered and added, "You better not touch my car, Booger. If you do, I'll come down there and beat the snot out of you." His pun was quickly acknowledged with a new round of howling laughter from the audience on the balcony.

Alan sighed and continued on to the passenger side of his car. His decision to find the least confrontational solution to the problem at hand fed the amusement of his audience. He aimed his keys toward the door and pressed the "unlock" button on his remote. Clicking sounds came from inside the car. However, the passenger door of his old economy car remained locked. The roaring gallery found pleasure in Alan's comical efforts to flee their taunting.

Still avoiding eye contact, Alan unlocked the door with his key. He climbed in and started to work his way over the center column. The space was tight and difficult to maneuver. Just as he twisted his body over the shifter, his remote's panic button accidentally activated, filling the air with the annoyingly loud, rhythmic honking of the car's horn. This, combined with Lyle's radio blasting and the chuckleheads' hysterical laughing at Alan's awkward dance into the driver's seat, was a sight to behold. As a matter of fact, the commotion drew the attention of at least a half dozen onlooking residents of the Meadowbrook apartment complex.

Alan deactivated the panic button and started the car without hesitation. Before he could shift to reverse, a half-empty can crashed against his windshield. Beer burst out, temporarily obstructing his view with foam. After a few swipes from the wipers, Alan could see Lyle looking down from his balcony, motioning Alan to roll down his window. He cracked it open enough to hear Lyle's last bit of advice.

"If you scratch my car, you're a dead man. You best be careful, Booger!"

Through clenched teeth and still lips, Alan rolled up the window and mumbled, "Yeah, right. Keep picking on Alan, why don't you? You know I won't fight back." He cautiously backed his car out and drove away. In his rearview mirror, he saw Lyle and his friends still celebrating at his expense and public humiliation.

Alan continued to let out his pent-up aggression. "Go on, laugh at me as I drive away in fear from you. Don't you look tough, Lyle? I'm sure your friends think you're some sort of big tough-ass punk for picking on someone bigger than yourself. That's right, I know that I'm bigger than you. And if you ever push me too far, well, heaven help us both, because I don't know what I'm capable of. Maybe that's the reason I don't fight back, Lyle. Maybe I'm not the wimp you think I am. Maybe the only thing I'm really afraid of is going to jail for killing your ass. Yeah, so you better back off, or things might get ugly. You really don't want to see what might happen if you push Boogy too far. Did you hear that, Lyle? It's Boogy, not Booger. Boogy!"

*****

Alan's car disappeared from the complex as onlookers returned to their lives. One of the witnesses to the spectacle was an elderly man walking his dog. He glared up at the gang. Lyle noticed the look. He puffed out his chest and shouted, "What are you looking at, old man?"

The older gentleman didn't take his visual aim off Lyle. He simply shook his head and softly replied, "Nothing." Returning attention to his dog, he continued on his walk. Lyle viewed it as a retreat and decided to let it go with a glib chuckle. Turning back to his cheering section, Lyle said, "Who wants another beer? I'm buying."

### Chapter 2

Bells above the glass door rang as Alan rushed into the shop.

"You're late!" Joe announced without taking his attention off the task of boxing a freshly baked pizza.

"Sorry, Joe. I would have been here on time except—"

Before Alan could finish his excuse, Joe cut in, "Let me guess, car trouble."

Alan paused to consider Joe's explanation. "Uh, yeah, you could say that."

Still avoiding eye contact, Joe put his hand up, halting Alan from punching in. Alan froze as Joe grabbed a pizza peel and slid it under a baking pizza to check the crust. With a quick jerk, he shifted the pizza deeper in the oven and returned the peel.

Wiping his hands in his apron, he looked directly at Alan. He didn't say a word, but Alan knew from his expression that his late arrival wasn't going to be overlooked. After a short pause, Joe simply tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, motioning Alan to follow him to his supply closet/office at the rear of the shop.

As Alan followed, he tried in vain to apologize once more. "I'm really sorry, Joe, but I'm not even five minutes late."

Joe ignored his plea as they walked past three teenagers deeply focused on their tasks. After they passed, the young employees glanced at each other in shocked disbelief.

Joe opened the door and motioned Alan to the five-gallon sauce bucket in front of his desk. Alan slid the bucket to a suitable location and sat on it. As soon as Joe closed the door behind them, Jamie's voice came over the intercom. "Joe, your mother is on line one."

"I got it. Thanks, Jamie." The phone rang once. Joe picked it up. "Hi, Mom, is everything okay?" He looked at Alan and held up his index finger, indicating this would only take a minute. Alan nodded and leaned against stacked cases of napkins behind him.

Within seconds of listening to his mother, Joe's stern expression turned to a frustrated smirk.

"Ma, you'll have to wait...no...no, listen—Ma. I can't tell you how to do it—" He looked at Alan and rolled his eyes before trying to interject a second time. "No, Mom, hold on a second...Wait...please stop talking...so..." Another failed attempt. Joe lowered the handset to his desk and looked to Alan for sympathy. Alan grinned. Joe returned the phone to his ear.

"Ma!" he snapped. This more forceful command acted like a needle being temporarily lifted from a spinning record. She instantly stopped chattering. Seizing the opportunity to be heard, he continued, "You know I can't help you with this over the phone. I'll be there tomorrow morning. I'll show you then, okay?"

The needle returned to its place on her side of the conversation and she continued as if he said nothing. Joe placed his free hand over his forehead as his head snapped back.

"Look, Ma, I can't do this now. I gotta unload the truck. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you." He lowered the handset; her voice continued until he released it on the cradle.

"Aaah!" Joe blurted out in frustration. "I love my mother, but she just doesn't listen. I never should have bought her that computer. It's my own fault. It's my own fault. I knew this was going to happen. So what did I do? I bought her a freakin' computer. I'm such an idiot. What was I thinking?"

Alan smiled. "Maybe you were thinking she wouldn't call as often if she had another way of keeping in touch with you."

Joe nodded. "You know what, Alan? You might be right about that. Come to think of it, the first thing I showed her was how to send email. I can get through an email much faster than talking to her on the phone."

"So what was her problem?" Alan asked.

"Oh, you're gonna love this," Joe said. "She wanted to send pictures to her sister, but she forgot how to get the pictures from her camera to the computer. And she forgot how to attach pictures to an email. I showed her this stuff fifteen times already. God love her."

Alan chuckled and Joe smiled.

Joe's expression instantly shifted to guilty embarrassment. "I'm not complaining, Alan. I really do love my mother and I appreciate the fact that she's still around to give me _agida_. I don't mean to disrespect your situation. I mean, I'm sure you must think—well, you know—if—"

Alan quickly realized where Joe was going with this and cut in. "Oh— god no, Joe! No offense taken."

"Oh good," Joe said. "I wasn't thinking. Here I am hanging up on my mother with you sitting there wishing you could talk to yours again, rest her soul."

"Forget about it, Joe. I'm fine—really."

Joe put his hand over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, thank god, because I didn't want to be mean to you twice in one day."

"Mean?" Alan asked.

"Well, Alan, here's the thing. You were late today."

"I was only a few minutes late."

"True as that may be, those few minutes happen a lot. Now, personally, I don't really care about a few minutes here and there because you're a good worker, but the problem isn't about that. The problem is that the kids see you doing it, and then they start doing it. Only, for them, it's ten or twenty minutes late. If I say anything to them, they ask why I never say anything to you. They think I'm showing favoritism—and I gotta say, they might be right."

Alan nodded. "I totally understand, Joe."

"Good! Because then you'll also understand that I need to set an example. I need to tighten things up around here. So, I hate to say this because you know I love you like I wish I could love my real brother, but I'm gonna have to write you up. And if you're late again, it's going to escalate. You understand what I'm saying, Alan?"

"Yes, I get it, and I'm sorry I put you in this position."

"All right, then, let's get to work," Joe said as he stood from his chair. They exited the office and Joe stopped. He put his hand on Alan's shoulder, stopping him as well. "I almost forgot. Mrs. Henderson called in her order. Must have been twenty minutes ago. Better hurry or she'll get _Mr_. Henderson after ya."

"No problem," Alan replied. He punched in on his way to the front of the shop.

"And there's another one, should be about ready," Joe said

"Ready," Jamie said as he removed a pizza from the oven.

Alan found the Henderson pizza on the rack, slid it into a warming bag, and waited for Jamie to box the second pizza.

In an effort to lighten the tension, Jamie looked at Alan and said, "Hey, _Boogy_ , when are we gonna see you at the carnival?"

Alan glared back at him. "You can call me Boogy _at_ the carnival. I start tomorrow morning."

"Sorry, Alan, just trying to get in the carnival mode. Speaking of which, what's it like being a carny?"

Sensing that Jamie was toying with him, he answered, "I don't know, Jamie. I've never done it before. If you really want to know, ask me again next week."

"I hear carny chicks are sexual freaks. They might even get off on doing a clown. You shouldn't have any trouble getting laid there," Jamie said.

Jamie's statement got the attention of Natalia, working at the toppings station a few feet away.

"Watch it Jamie. Mixed company," she warned.

"Oh, sorry, Nat. Just trying to help ol' Alan out. It'd be nice to see him arrive late for a better reason than car trouble."

"If I need your help, I'll ask for it. Just give me the pizza, Jamie," Alan said.

Jamie closed the lid and handed him the boxed pizza. "Good! Maybe I'll see you there tomorrow night and give you some pointers."

"I don't want your help, and I'll be _here_ tomorrow night," Alan said.

From across the shop, Joe chimed in. "So will you, Jamie! You're on the schedule."

Alan grabbed his deliveries and headed out the door. At the passenger side of his car, he pressed the remote and pulled the handle. The door remained locked. He remembered that the remote control was broken on the passenger door so he unlocked it manually and placed the pizzas on the seat. From the floor, he pulled out the magnetic sign with the words " _Vince's Pizza"_ and stuck it to his roof before heading out on his first delivery.

*****

Hidden Valley was the oldest townhouse community in Riverside. Many of the original residents still lived there, but their numbers were in decline. Alan and the other delivery drivers irreverently referred to the neighborhood as Death Valley.

He pulled up the driveway, put the car in park, and tugged twice on his high beams. The house was completely dark, but Alan's trained eye spotted a flash of light as Mrs. Henderson peered through a carefully peeled back section of aluminum foil from a corner of the window to the right of the front door. He waited for the signal. "One, two, three," he whispered. On three, the porch lights came on. This was his cue to exit the car and proceed to the porch. Making his way through the fine mist of rain, Alan laughed to himself as he prepared for the remaining sequence of this ten-year ritual.

" _Mr_. Henderson. Pizza delivery," he said as he stood at a mark exactly three feet in front of the garlic-clad door.

The metal mail slot creaked as it pivoted half open, fluttering from the rickety finger supporting it. From the gap, the voice of an elderly woman scolded him. "You're late, Alan. Mr. Henderson won't give you a tip."

Alan grinned. "I understand, Mrs. Henderson. I apologize for being late." The standard tip from the Henderson residence was only fifty cents.

An envelope slipped through the slot and fell. Eighty-seven cents in change jingled as the envelope settled on the welcome mat. Alan retrieved the envelope, placed the boxed pizza on the mat, and returned to his car. His earlier amusement turned to sadness as he wondered if Mrs. Henderson would ever get over her fear of the world since Mr. Henderson's passing nearly a decade earlier.

*****

One Krauss Drive. A medium pizza with everything. A few dozen houses lined Krauss Drive, but this address was unfamiliar to him. Before Alan was born, a developer bought the front parcel of land from a farmer named Krauss. He built a small neighborhood of mostly ranch-style homes. The farmer's driveway was at the end of the suburban street. To Alan's knowledge, the old farmhouse had been abandoned since the horse barn burned down when he was eight years old. Parents claimed a boy playing with matches started the fire. However, since none of the kids in the area confessed, the younger generation was skeptical. They thought it was another clever tactic devised by adults to scare children from playing with matches.

Nobody knew what happened to farmer Krauss and his wife after the fire. The adults of Krauss Drive assumed that the loss of income from renting horse stalls was the tipping point that forced the old couple to move. The house sat, abandoned and boarded up. The barn and grazing land were subsequently sold off, but the farmhouse remained untouched as it decayed from years of neglect.

The children of Riverside had a different story for the old place. The Krauss farmhouse became known as _Krauss House_. In their active minds, it was the most haunted place on earth. Its seclusion, age, and decaying condition made it the quintessential haunted house. Every campfire story told since the unfortunate demise of the horses and disappearance of the old Krauss couple involved some variation of this tragedy.

*****

At the age of fourteen, the closest Alan came to Krauss House was fifty feet from the porch, partially hidden from view in the thicket of growth which, in an earlier time, was the front yard of the old farmhouse. His younger brother, Dale, and three other boys dared each other to get closer. Fifty feet was Alan's chicken point. It was early afternoon that day, but the boys trembled as if it were midnight, and in the darkness, they could hear wolves howling in the distance as the front door creaked open, exposing a disembodied ghostly arm motioning them to come closer.

Another boy found his chicken point five paces ahead of Alan. Over the next five minutes, Dale stood between the remaining two kids. Always known as the leader of any group he participated in, Dale and his fearless nature drew the boys tight to his sides with each half step closer to the foreboding structure. As they stood shoulder to shoulder, with no earth remaining, the steps to the old porch were the only things separating the trio from the weather-battered mouth of the beast, the front door.

Frozen in place, Dale glanced back at Alan as the two boys glued to his sides waited to be guided by his next move. Dale smirked and shot Alan a wink. Then, from behind his back, his clutched right hand opened, revealing to Alan a golf ball-sized stone. Alan returned a grin and a supportive nod. He knew that Dale was about to demonstrate one of his most practiced and skilled tricks.

Dale returned his attention to the house. "Did you hear that?" he whispered to the boys pressed against his sides.

"No, hear what?" one replied nervously.

"Inside. I thought I heard the ghosts coming to the door," Dale said.

"No, you didn't. You're just trying to scare us," the other boy chimed in.

"No, really," Dale said. "I think they are coming to get us." Then, with a quick jerk of his wrist, the stone in the hand behind his back flung over his head to the roof of the porch in front of them. He did it without flinching a single muscle aside from his wrist, and the boys pinned to him were unaware of his deceit. The knock and rumbling sound as the stone rolled down the porch roof appeared to come from within, an audible warning to all who dared trespass inside Krauss House—Riverside's own gateway to hell.

The two boys no longer found comfort in Dale's courage. They gasped for air as their bodies broke away from their protector. With arms flailing above their heads, the two screamed as they ran past Alan for safety a few hundred yards up the driveway. Although he was aware of Dale's practical joke, Alan got caught up in the fear of the moment and fled in close pursuit of the horror-stricken duo. His slightly braver friend, five paces closer to the house, joined in their escape.

Shortly after their retreat, Dale caught up to the gang, his body hunched over with both hands on his belly as he tried to catch his breath from his uncontrollable fit of laughter. When he finally regained the ability to speak, he stood tall, raised his clenched fists above his head, and proudly declared himself the winner. The two boys who made it to the base of the porch with him claimed Dale cheated. They called him a jerk and a few other choice words, but none could deny Dale his moment of glory. If he weren't between the two boys, they wouldn't have gotten much further than Alan.

Alan had always both admired and envied his baby brother's fearlessness and his ability to take control in any situation. Their father died when Alan was seven. Dale was only four. As the older male, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of failure for allowing Dale to assume the role of man of the house while he retreated and silently struggled with his own loss.

*****

Alan gradually drove past the small cluster of houses lining Krauss Drive. It didn't take long to realize the address "One" was indeed the old farmhouse. As he approached the driveway, he couldn't help but wonder if the Demons inside the house had ordered a medium pizza with everything just to lure him back for another visit.

He stopped in front of the driveway. The house was set back a half mile from the street and wasn't visible through the dense forest and winding gravel path. Taking note of how narrow the driveway was, he knew that once he entered there would be no room to turn around.

_What the hell is going on here?_ Alan thought.

He double-checked the label on the box with the hope that he was at the wrong house. No, the address clearly said _One Krauss Drive_. Further down on the label, below the address, a name was printed. A single word— _KRAUSS_.

Instantly, Alan was transported back to that moment where he stood motionless, fifty feet from the front porch of Krauss House. He was back again. Only this time he didn't have his brother's courage or the light of day to draw strength from. Without those, Alan discovered that his true chicken point was a half-mile away.

Calling Joe wasn't an option. What would he say—I'm scared of the haunted house? No. There had to be a logical solution. He looked back to the driveway. This time he searched for signs of life.

_It's not as overgrown as it used to be, and there appear to be fresh tire tracks_ , he thought.

It was possible a person made the tracks. It was also possible that the spirits were making him _think_ he was seeing tire tracks. "Are you trying to trick me into going to Krauss House _?_ " he whispered, half expecting to get an answer.

Still parked in the road, he knew that he didn't have a choice. He was already on thin ice with Joe. If he didn't deliver this pizza, Joe would surely fire him. This should've been enough incentive to push him through his fear, but it wasn't.

For additional motivation, Alan needed only to go back to his last stop. He pitied the old woman afraid to leave her own home without the safety of her long-deceased husband. Was he so different from her, believing in haunted houses and evil spirits whose mission it was to frighten the pizza delivery guy? Were tin foil hats and garlic-clad doors in his future?

He shifted the car into drive and slowly pulled forward until he was about fifty feet into the property. He pressed on the brake and looked around. So far, everything was okay. He proceeded another hundred or so feet before stopping again. To his surprise, his chicken point was getting shorter. Invigorated by his newfound courage, he drove progressively larger distances forward until ten minutes passed and the old house came into view.

"Krauss House," he said as he pressed on the brake and placed the car in reverse.

His watchful eyes locked on the house for the slightest sign of trouble. He swung his right arm over the back of the passenger seat in readiness to retreat. At closer examination of the house, he noticed the room to the right of the front door was lit. He also noticed a car parked out front. It occurred to him that the windows weren't boarded up and the yard wasn't overgrown.

_Someone, a human someone, lives in Krauss House,_ he thought.

Whoever this person was, they must be the bravest soul on the planet. Even Dale at his current age would proudly surrender his throne to someone this gutsy. This stranger's courage was all he needed to put the car back in drive and roll cautiously toward the house.

_I'm about to go to the front door of Krauss House_ — _at night_! he thought as he bravely got out of his car with the medium pizza in hand.

His pace slowed to a crawl. With every inch forward, the house appeared to swell around him. The gravity of each step became more intense. _"My car is at the fifty-foot mark, and I'm less than ten feet from the porch. What was I thinking?_ Even if there was a human inside, this was still Krauss House— and he was still that frightened little boy, reliving a moment from so many years ago.

Those fearful thoughts regained control over his body, casting out all regard for the consequences of a retreat. He started to turn, and as he faced away from the house, the sound of the creaking screen door sent waves of cold shivers along the length of his body, paralyzing him in mid-stride.

"Don't worry, you're in the right place," came the comforting words of a woman's voice.

Alan slowly turned around to see who, _or what,_ had spoken to him. Standing on the porch was a petite woman in paint-covered overalls with her hair pulled back in a bunch. With a paintbrush in one hand, she held open the screen door with the other.

"C'mon in. I need to put this brush down and get your money," she said as she turned back into the house.

With those few words, a sudden sense of normalcy washed away his built-up anxiety. Seeing this woman casually penetrating the depths of the beast was like watching someone removing a thorn from the foot of an angry lion. She was in charge, and the house succumbed to her powers. He inched closer to the porch. Her reassurance should have been enough to quash his fears— but it wasn't. He harnessed enough of her courage to wait for her on the first porch step, one step closer than Dale's personal best.

"Still there?" she called from inside the house. "Don't worry, I won't bite. Bring the pizza in and put it on the table. I need to wash the paint off my hands before getting your money."

"That's okay, ma'am. I'll wait here," Alan replied.

"Don't be silly. Come inside," she said.

Alan never was good at saying no to the opposite sex. To his surprise, her command was more powerful than his fear, and his feet eagerly responded to her suggestion. Before he knew what happened, he was standing in the foyer of— _Krauss House_. Looking around the rooms for ghosts or evil spirits, he noticed the left side of the house was piled high with boxes and old antique furniture. The right side had newly plastered walls, paint rollers, and a long aluminum platform placed over a pair of empty five-gallon paint buckets, all indications that the house was in the state of rebirth. It was coming back to life.

"I'm remodeling in stages," the woman said as she approached with the money.

"Is your name—"

"Krauss," she said before Alan was able to complete his question. "Mary Krauss. My grandparents used to own this place. And lucky me got it in the will," she said while exchanging the pizza for money. "I suppose it's a good thing, but it sure is taking a lot of time and money to restore."

"I bet. Oh, my name is Alan. I actually grew up not far from here. I didn't know old farmer Krauss and his wife had kids."

"They had three boys. My father was the youngest. He moved out before the neighborhood was built. He and my uncles moved out of state, so I guess people around here didn't see much of them before my grandparents left."

"Have you...been here before?" Alan asked, still surveying the house for spooks.

"My parents tell me I was, but I don't remember. I was maybe three or four at the time."

Still gazing around the rooms of the old house, paying little attention to Mary in front of him, Alan asked, "Have there been any...problems working on the old house?"

"Well—I've had to replace the plumbing, the wiring, furnace, hot water heater, windows, and siding, to name a few. Oh, I've also had to get the foundation repaired. Other than those few _minor_ things, it's been a piece of cake." She smiled.

"Don't forget the walls," Alan said, pointing to her current project.

"Oh, right, like I said—piece of cake."

It was clear that Mary spent many hours, night and day, working on the house. Maybe it was never haunted in the first place. Could it be possible that Krauss House was like every other house in Riverside? Nothing more than sticks and nails? With this new realization, a wave of calm rushed over Alan.

"Wait!" Mary said. "Did you mean—have I seen any ghosts?"

Alan stood in shocked disbelief that she would cavalierly blurt out such a thing.

Sensing Alan's discomfort with the subject, she laughed and said, "I should have known that's what you meant by _problems_. I've heard the stories, Alan. I've also had some—let's say—interesting observations of my own since moving in two months ago."

Alan's eyes widened.

She continued, "My father warned me that I might not be comfortable living out here alone in the middle of nowhere—but the way I see it is if there are spirits here, they never hurt my father, uncles, or grandparents. So why would they start now?"

Alan took a step backward and asked, "You mean the house really is haunted?"

Mary smiled and said, "Haunted? Well, that sounds kind of spooky. I prefer to think of it as—cared for. My father and uncles always talked about the shadow spirit, but even as kids, they never felt frightened of it. They actually felt a sense of security with it around."

Alan wasn't feeling the same sense of well-being, but his curiosity prevented him from fleeing to his car. He needed to know more.

"What, uh—what observations did you have?" he asked as his face tightened to a grimace. He really didn't want to know the answer, but it was too late now. He had no choice but to suffer through the details of her reply. He hoped she would say the house creaked when the wind kicked up, or a light bulb burned out in the basement; observations which could be easily explainable for any other house, but understandably frightening in the context of Krauss House.

"Well, as I said, this is an old house. I expected to hear creaks and sounds of the old place settling."

There it was, the normal things one would expect of a house of this age.

"But the other night, I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my bedroom. Then I heard what sounded like a woman humming a song. I locked my bedroom door and called the police. When he arrived, he didn't find any signs that anyone broke in. The doors and windows were locked. I felt so stupid, but as a single woman, I can't be too careful."

So much for the simple explanation he wanted to hear. Alan stood horrified. He couldn't even think of anything to say as he stared at her with his mouth wide open.

Mary grinned. "Alan. Hello. Are you in there?"

He snapped out of his trance. "Uh, sorry. I'm just stunned. I don't know what I would have done." This wasn't entirely true. If this happened to him, he'd probably still be hiding under his bed, shaking from head to toe.

Mary laughed it off. "Well, now that I know it's just the shadow spirit my father told me about, I feel much better."

This confused Alan. He couldn't understand how someone could feel comfortable living with a ghost in the house. More importantly, how could he be standing there knowing there was an active spirit nearby, probably watching them as they spoke? Why wasn't he running away? Was it Mary's courage or his own curiosity—or fear—locking him in place? Whatever it was, Alan needed to have a better understanding before he could leave. He asked one more question.

"How can you be sure it was a ghost?"

"Because I hear her all the time now," Mary replied nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Yeah, but mostly at night. And now I'm seeing her. She's just a shadow, but I'm convinced she's happy that someone is living here again. I know this is going to sound strange, but I've never felt safer anywhere in my life. I even named her. I call her Lailah—after _the angel of the night._ I found the name written on a wall when I removed some old wallpaper. I thought it sounded nice, and it fit her because she keeps me safe at night."

By this time, Alan was really freaked out. Who in the world could feel safe living with haunting spirits? All he knew was that he needed to get out fast. He told Mary to enjoy the pizza, and he started to turn around when something caught his eye at the top of the stairs. He glanced back for a second look and saw a dark smoky blob move across the opening.

Alan's double take caught Mary's attention. "Oh, did you just see Lailah?"

This was more than he could handle. He didn't take the split second to answer her question. He raced out of the house toward his car. In his rush to get away he said, "I gotta get going. I'm late for my next delivery."

Mary stood in the doorway and replied, "No problem, Alan. It was nice meeting you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again if this pizza is as good as I've heard."

"Looking forward to it," Alan said before closing his car door. His hand trembled as he inserted the key and gave it a quick turn before accelerating for the safety of Krauss Drive.

Along the way, he couldn't help but glance in the rearview mirror to see if the shadowy spirit was chasing after him. The car's draft stirred and tugged on lower tree limbs lining the narrow path. It was as if the trees were reaching for him in an effort to capture and return him to the _Shadow Spirit_ inside Krauss House.

The bottom of his car scraped the street as he finally reached the end of the driveway and landed hard on Krauss Drive. He sped to the end of the street before stopping out of visual range of the property. His heart pounded as he struggled to catch his breath. One might think he _ran_ the distance from the house instead of drove.

"What just happened?" he said. "Was that real? Did I just see a _real_ ghost at Krauss House?" He continued asking himself these questions in order to make some sense of what he just experienced. "C'mon, Alan, why are you being such a wimp? Mary lives with the ghost, and she's fine. She must think I'm a real loser," he continued as his breathing became less labored.

Thinking about his character in Clown World, Alan wondered how Boogy would have handled the same situation. Sitting on the safe side of the computer screen, his character might have tried talking to the spirit. Or, he might have walked up the stairs for a closer look. He would have done many things, but the last thing Boogy would have done was run away like a frightened little kid.

At that moment, it occurred to Alan that he wasn't Boogy from Clown World. This _was_ his life. An existence where his strong, alter ego, virtual world, Boogy character was little more than a wish for who he wanted to be.

### Chapter 3

Dressed and made up in his Boogy the Clown costume, Alan stepped out of his car, locked the door, and pocketed his keys. More than a half hour remained before the Saturday morning opening of the carnival, but cars already began flooding into the freshly mowed temporary parking lot. Families and groups of teenagers herded toward the gated entrance.

Noticing Alan's costume, the guard cracked the gate open and waved him through. Eager guests pleaded with the guard to let them in early. Since the guard was preoccupied with blocking the anxious crowd, Alan looked for someone else to direct him to Cracky. He scanned the area and noticed two men walking together ahead of him. With nobody else in sight, he sprinted to catch up with them.

"Excuse me," Alan said. The two were in a heated argument and didn't hear Alan's meek attempt to get their attention. Again, he thought it might be better to find someone else for assistance.

As he rounded the first bend of the midway, he noticed a maintenance worker opening his toolbox in front of the Bobsled ride. He didn't appear to be rushed so Alan asked him where he might find Cracky.

"The Big Guy?" the man replied. "Last I saw, he was at the Zipper, in the back corner," he said, pointing in the direction.

Alan now had Cracky's proximity, but he had never met the man in person.

"Great. Thank you. Oh, one more thing. What does Cracky look like?"

The grizzled worker didn't look at Alan and replied, "The big guy."

Puzzled by what sounded like another question, Alan replied, "Yeah—the big guy, Cracky. What does he look like? I've never met him. We talked on the phone, but I've never seen him."

The worker put down his wrench and turned to face Alan. His eyes moved up and down.

"He's the big guy!" he chuckled. "He looks a little like you. You can't miss him," he said as he turned away, picked up the wrench, and resumed working.

Still a bit confused Alan didn't want to chance angering the man with more questions. He politely thanked him and walked away. The man proceeded to climb through an open panel to gain access below the ride. Alan was a good distance from the Bobsled ride when he heard the worker yell out, "What the hell?" followed by a long stream of obscenities. Alan was glad he had decided not to ask more questions, which might have provoked the guy to snap at him instead of the problem he encountered seconds after he left.

The Zipper wasn't hard to find, and as soon as Alan saw three men talking in front of the ride, the maintenance worker's description became clear. Two of the men were of average height and weight. However, the third man towered over the other two at about six and a half feet tall. He had the broadest shoulders Alan had ever seen on a man, and his arms were as thick as Alan's thighs. He had a large belly, but due to his bulk, he didn't appear fat. If this wasn't enough of a clue indicating this guy was Cracky, the rest of the description was undeniable. The worker said Cracky looked like Alan. Well, this hulk of a man wore regular working clothes, but his entire head was made up in clown makeup—a happy clown. He had to be Cracky.

Cracky glanced away from his conversation and noticed Alan as he approached. His painted-on smile grew and he yelled out, "Boogy?" Alan smiled back as the distance between them diminished.

"What gave it away?" Alan replied.

The two met in the middle and Cracky reached out to shake Alan's hand. As if Cracky's giant hand wasn't enough to make Alan feel small, he also made half of his arm disappear as he grabbed it with his other hand and shook vigorously. Unlike his brief experiences in the park with the guard and the maintenance worker, Cracky appeared to be extremely pleasant.

"Hey, Boogy, glad you made it. It'll be nice havin' another clown round here," Cracky said, still shaking Alan's arm.

"Glad to be here, Cracky. I didn't know you were a clown here."

Cracky released his hold. "Well, I don't actually work here as a clown. I manage da place. Da clown face is for da kids. Dey get scared of me widout it. Wid it, more grown-ups den kids are scared."

"Oh," Alan said.

"So what say I show you round, give you da _Cracky_ tour of da place?"

Alan nodded.

"We gotta make it quick cause da gates open soon. But don't worry, if you got any questions, I'm usually easy to find in the ticket booth," Cracky said. "Follow me, Boog. We can start wid da reason we needed your help in da first place."

Alan tried to keep up as Cracky swiftly moved toward the opposite side of the carnival grounds.

Still walking at a hurried pace, Cracky looked back at Alan. "Have you heard of da Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, Boogy?"

"Sorry, can't say I have," Alan replied.

"Well, da Labyrinth is our top attraction. It scares da bajesus out of people, and for some reason, dey can't get enough of it. In our last town, someone actually had a heart attack and died." Cracky's pace slowed as they neared the Haunted Labyrinth.

"Someone died?" Alan repeated.

"Yeah, I mean it's sad dat he died, but we clearly warn people not to go in if dey have heart conditions. Some people can't handle such things. Anyways, I know it's sick, but once people heard bout dat, everyone wants to go through it."

They stopped in front of the Labyrinth. Alan was a bit confused and didn't see the connection to his role at the carnival. Was Cracky going to ask him to work inside the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors? Just the thought of that possibility sent shivers down his spine. Sure, it was just a carnival attraction, but after the incident at Krauss House, anything even remotely connected to haunted spirits was unthinkable.

Cracky continued, "See, pal, now dat attendance is up, we thought it would be good to have someone like you entertain da crowd while dey wait for their turn in the Labyrinth. Keep da people happy so they don't get frustrated and leave disappointed."

Phew! That was a huge relief for Alan. As long as he wouldn't have to go inside, it should be a piece of cake. He changed the subject. "So, how did you find me, Cracky?"

Cracky looked confused. "Don't you know Geno?"

"Geno? No. Who's Geno?"

Still puzzled, Cracky replied, "You don't know Geno? Well, I guess it don't really matter as long as you're here, but I thought you two knew each other."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Geno works inside da Labyrinth here. He's the mechanical genius behind it all. Geno's the guy who recommended you. Maybe he found your name in the phone book. Whatever. Like I said, it don't really matter how he found you. We're just glad to have you."

From the milk bottle throw booth next to the Labyrinth, a man's voice called out, "Geno hides from the people, above the labyrinth. He lacks the skills to bring out the true potential of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors."

Cracky looked at the man. "You never mind dat, Ringmaster. Just take care of your bottles." The man, dressed as Cracky suggested, in a ringmaster's costume, turned away.

"Never mind him, Boogy. He's always sticking his nose in everyone's bidness. He's mad 'cause he wants to run da show like his old man, but he's stuck settin' up bottles all day."

Alan didn't want to meddle, but Cracky made it impossible to ignore the obvious questions.

"You lost me, Cracky. Does his father own the carnival?"

"No. His faddah worked in da circus. He was a _real_ ringmaster. You see, his faddah didn't want his only son to live in da life, so he spent all his money sending da kid to fancy art schools in Europe. He wanted his son to be an artist cause dat's what _he_ wanted to be. Den when his faddah died, the kid came home and took his pops uniform. All _he_ ever wanted was to be a ringmaster. He's got visions of grandiose. Of course he lacked the skills for dat job. Between you and me, dat's never gonna happen. Da only place someone like him fits in at all is, well—here. He's perfectly suited to work as a carnie. We're all misfits."

"So his nickname is the Ringmaster," Alan said.

"It's more den a nickname. He's so into dis ringmaster crap dat he actually had his name legally changed. His first name is The. You ever hear of anything so stupid?"

"Sounds disturbing...and kind of sad," Alan replied.

"Oh, don't worry bout him. He's cuckoo, but harmless. Besides, not many of us get to live our dreams. Dis ain't exactly what I wanted to be, but we adjust. He just needs to adjust his dreams to something more realistic, like maybe keeping his bottles set up."

"I heard that, Cracky," Ringmaster said. "My talents are being wasted on these bottles. You know I'd do a better job than Geno if I were running the Labyrinth."

"You keep sticking your nose in where it don't belong and you'll _never_ get dat opportunity, Ringmaster."

This angered The Ringmaster, and Alan couldn't help but notice Ringmaster's contentious scowl, piercing through him.

"That job is mine, Cracky. You better not give it to this guy. It's mine."

"Yeah, Ringmaster, dat's what I'm doing here. I'm showing Boogy da Labyrinth 'cause I want to give him Geno's job," Cracky replied sarcastically.

Alan's eyes widened. He knew Cracky was toying with The Ringmaster, but it was clear that The Ringmaster was unable to interpret his remark as sarcasm. Alan felt uncomfortable in the position as a perceived rival to someone with The Ringmaster's distorted view of the world.

"Please, Cracky, tell him that's not true. I know you're joking, but I don't think he knows that, and I don't want him thinking I'm out to get his job."

"First of all, it ain't his job. Geno runs da Labyrinth, and he knows it."

"Maybe so, Cracky, but now he thinks I'm next in line for it. This is crazy because, well, first of all, I'm not even with the carnival. I'm a temp. And second, I really wouldn't be good at that job. Please, I don't want him to hate me."

"Okay, fine," Cracky said. "Hey, Ringmaster, what I said ain't true. But you better keep on your toes or I might consider it." He smiled back at Alan. "There you go, Boogy. Problem solved."

Not completely satisfied, The Ringmaster gave Alan the stink eye before slipping out of view inside the tent.

A distant voice called out, "Cracky! Cracky! You need to come to the Bobsled," the man pleaded between breaths.

They turned to see the maintenance worker from the Bobsled running toward them.

Cracky looked back at Alan and said, "Speaking of misfits—"

"Slow down, Rudy. What's da problem?"

Rudy stopped in front of them and took a second to catch his breath. "There's a problem with the Bobsled. The hydraulic line looks like it was cut. The ride won't be ready for opening."

Cracky looked down at a box in Rudy's hand. "What's dis?"

"Oh, yeah—a package for Geno. He's been waiting for it. But we gotta get to the Bobsled."

Cracky took the package and put his hand on Rudy's shoulder. "Calm down, Rudy." Then he looked at Alan. "Hey, Boogy. Looks like I'm gonna have to cut da tour short. Do me a favor and give dis to Geno for us. I gotta see what's going on with dat hydraulic line. Thanks, pal. Oh, and come see me in da ticket booth after we open. I got somethin' for ya."

Alan took the package from Cracky and the two rushed off in the direction of the Bobsled ride.

He watched as Cracky disappeared from view, abandoning him in front of—the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. Returning his attention to the labyrinth, he surveyed the area before taking his first step inside the perimeter.

The foreboding entry gates were opened inward, with oversized metal plates shaped like skulls welded to the center of each rusted wrought-iron side. The gates were mounted to columns. The left column formed a giant cloaked black hand, which appeared to be growing ten feet up from the ground. In the grip of the massive hand was the shaft of a sickle, which crossed over the pathway. The tip of the long black steel blade rested in the dirt beyond the opposite column on the right side

Lining the wide pathway was a series of connected movable barriers, forming a snakelike pattern designed to contain the line of anxious visitors. The sides of the pathway were adorned with an abundance of fake spider webs and gravestones. A few zombies appearing to climb out of their graves, and miscellaneous half-decayed body parts were strewn about for added effect—typical haunted house fare.

The building itself wasn't what one would expect of a haunted amusement. Instead of appearing as a dilapidated old mansion with skeletons on the porch and ghostly images in the windows, the Labyrinth looked more like the side of a factory wall. Other than the opening for the entrance, the two-story front façade was entirely made up of corrugated, faded black steel panels. If not for the blood-red words _The Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors_ painted across the width of the building, the entire structure might not be visible after sunset.

For as long as Alan could remember, he had done his best to avoid amusement park haunted houses. As a matter of fact, the list of things he avoided was long: he wouldn't go near wooded areas at night, he wouldn't walk through a dark room, he'd never go in an attic, he never looked under a bed at night, he wouldn't sleep in a perfectly silent room (he needed some white noise or a radio on). And above all, he wouldn't go into the basement of an old house alone, at any time of day. Oh, and since his run-in with Lyle the previous day, he had added one more thing to his "not do" list—he wouldn't park his car in front of his own apartment building, unless he could get the spot where his driver side door faced the median.

Up until his Krauss House experience the previous night, Alan had done well at avoiding those things. Now, less than a day later, he faced another unthinkable situation. He was being forced to enter a haunted amusement. How was it possible for him to get through more than three decades of life where his most frightening experience was fifty feet from Krauss House in the daytime? Now, suddenly, within a few short hours, he was faced with not one, but two unearthly predicaments.

As he wrestled with his fears, it occurred to him that the carnival wasn't opened to the public yet. There were still twenty minutes before guests would be admitted and the rides would be turned on. He wasn't sure of what would be inside the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, but based on its name, it would likely be a maze of mirrors in the dark with spooky sounds and creepy mechanical things brushing into people as they journeyed through. If so, all of those creepy things would likely be turned off until the carnival opened. Until then, Alan convinced himself that it was probably just a maze of mirrors and the room lights would still be on. After all, this Geno fellow would be waiting for whatever part was in the box he was about to deliver. This should be easy.

With his newly formed justification and belief that everything would be okay, he started his approach. His head followed the Reaper's hand and sickle as he walked through the ominous opening. He had slowly weaved halfway through the snake line on his way to the entrance when he heard The Ringmaster's voice call out from the side.

"The Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors isn't for the faint of heart. Welcome to the portal to the underworld, where evil spirits await to prey upon both the weak and strong. All are welcome to test their will, but be warned. What you experience inside will haunt you forever. The Haunted Labyrinth welcomes you, but please remember—flash photography is prohibited and those with heart conditions or who are pregnant are prohibited from entering."

"He's auditioning," Alan said under his breath, as he stood motionless. Cracky was right. This guy did have a screw loose. He truly viewed Alan to be his competition for a job that wasn't even available.

The Ringmaster slithered back inside his booth as Alan continued his way to the entrance of the Labyrinth. Stopping at the front door, he called in to Geno, hoping he would come out to him. No luck. He took one step inside. It was dark, but rope lights along the walls at floor level illuminated the path.

"Geno!" he called out again. This time he got a response.

"Come back here. Just take a left at the end."

"Uh, that's okay, I was sent to deliver a package to you. I'll just leave it here on the floor."

"Not acceptable!" Geno snapped. "Bring it to me."

Alan didn't see that he had any choice, so he continued to the end of the narrow hallway of mirrors and turned into a well-lit large circular room fully lined with mirrored panels. A man—apparently Geno—was crouched down working on something. The floor of the room was covered with what appeared to be a road map of narrow channels. Geno removed the head of his screwdriver from one of the channels and glided a mirrored panel through the track. It was connected like a bi-fold door to other panels. He eased the panel back and forth over the area he had just worked on before pushing the sections back to the outer wall.

He looked over at Alan still in the entryway of the room. "Come here," he said, motioning with his hand.

Without taking a step, Alan held out the box. "They gave me this package to deliver to you."

"Bring it to me."

Alan looked around the room. His own and Geno's reflections were the only things he saw. As he approached Geno, he wondered what the big deal was about the place. There weren't any scary posters or mannequins dressed like Frankenstein or Dracula. No cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. It was just a room full of mirrors. Sure, it could get scary when the place opened and ghostly sounds would emanate from speakers, but other than that, the place looked pretty tame. If that place could scare people to death, maybe his lifetime of avoiding similar attractions was completely irrational. As a child, things could have been a lot easier for him if he sucked it up and joined his friends as they braved years' worth of haunted houses at carnivals, fairs, and Halloween parties. If he didn't fear so many things, maybe his friends wouldn't have given him the nickname _Boogieman_ , which was later shortened to Boogy.

Alan was feeling braver than ever. For a brief moment, he selectively forgot about his response to the _thing_ he saw the previous night at Krauss House. That was real, and places like the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors were just illusions. After seeing the real thing, maybe he would be able to live with the simulations.

He reached out to offer the package to Geno. Geno was significantly shorter than Alan. He looked directly into Alan's eyes as he grabbed the package and didn't say a word as he continued to study him. As the seconds ticked, Alan became more and more uncomfortable with the silence.

"Uh, my name is Alan, eh, Boogy," he said as he reached his hand out a second time, this time offered as a handshake.

Geno grinned, ignoring the gesture. "I know who you are."

"Oh, that's right, Cracky told me you're the reason I got this job," he said nervously. "And, eh, thank you. I really appreciate it. I don't know how you found me, but thanks. I'm excited to be here."

Geno nodded slightly and reached down for his toolbox. "I need you to wait here for a minute, Boogy. There's someone I want you to meet."

Alan stood motionless as Geno brushed by him to another wall of the mirrored room. His reflections appeared to follow. At the wall, he pivoted a mirror and stepped through. He and his reflections disappeared, leaving Alan alone with countless reflections of Boogy looking back at him.

With Geno gone, Alan was starting to think there might be some truth to the stereotype given to carnies. Other than Cracky, they were all a little bit creepy. Before entering the Labyrinth, his only concern was with the dead spirits he might find inside. Now he wasn't thinking about the dead. He was more concerned with Geno. That odd little man gave him the shivers.

Sounds of footsteps going up a metallic stairway, then across a floor above him, echoed throughout the room. Alan continued to stand motionless, curious about where Geno was headed. The footsteps stopped and the room lights dimmed. The entry and Geno's exit door panel spun flat with the rest of the panels before loud clicking sounds locked them in place, creating an unbroken reflective circle around him.

"Don't worry, Boogy. He'll be there soon," Geno announced through hidden speakers.

Fog began rising from the floor. Instantly, Alan reverted to his previous condition and darted for the entry door. The opening was gone. He pressed against the mirrors in an attempt to pivot them as Geno did when he left the room. One after another, he pressed on the panels around the room.

"Let me out," he commanded as he continued searching for an exit.

"Patience, Boogy, he's almost here," Geno's voice echoed.

With all the mirrors checked—and some double-checked, Alan moved to the center of the room to look for another escape option. There were none. Geno had trapped him inside.

"What are you doing? Let me out. Please."

Geno ignored his plea. The fog covering the floor settled at knee level, but inside the mirrors, dark smoke appeared to rise nine feet to the ceiling. Watching the mirrors build with smoke, Alan noticed the area in front of him become turbulent. The dark cloud began dissipating as a figure moved toward the mirrors' surface from the darkness. It was tall and darker than the smoke. As it stopped at the inner skin of the mirror, its features sharpened, and Alan's eyes widened.

"Peepers!" Alan gasped. "But that's not possible. You're not real. You're just a character in Clown World."

The Peepers figure didn't appear to be a projection on the mirror. Instead, it looked like he was standing behind the sheet of glass. As Alan tried to make sense of what was happening, Peepers raised his left hand. The rigid mirror barrier rippled as his hand flowed through it and into the room. As it moved into his space, the hand took on a semi-transparent consistency.

Alan couldn't move if he wanted to. The image in front of him was surreal. All he could do was watch as the rest of Peepers' body flowed through the barrier and stood in front of him like a holographic representation of the Peepers from inside the mirrored wall.

Peepers floated to within a few feet of Alan. From the corner of his mouth, another plea to Geno was all Alan could muster.

"Geno, please turn it off."

"Geno didn't bring me here, Alan," Peepers said.

"Holy crap," Alan stammered.

"Peepers here for you, Alan. And you are here for Peepers."

Alan had had enough. He closed his eyes in an effort to make it go away.

"Open eyes, Alan. Peepers brought you to help. We help each other."

One eye opened to a slit. Peepers stood tall, staring down at him with his big, glossy black eyes.

"Now the other," Peepers said, and his bony finger twitched upward, inches from Alan's face.

Alan slowly opened his other eye.

"This can't be real. How did you know about Clown World, Geno? Are you the Peepers character? What's going on here?"

From the side of the room, a mirrored panel pivoted and Geno walked through. He flipped the panel back to a closed position and walked past Alan to the back of the room, where he unlocked another panel and exited the building.

Alan returned his focus to Peepers.

"Geno helps Peepers. Peepers real."

With Geno out of the building, Alan realized that this couldn't be some sort of manipulated projection. It was talking independently to him. It had to be a real ghost.

"Yes, Alan, Peepers real. Once, real like you. Now, real in spirit realm."

Alan spun to scan the mirrors. His was the only reflection in the panels. "You're a ghost?"

"Yes, Peepers slip from the solid world to place where judgment awaits."

Alan didn't try to understand Peeper's reply, and for a moment he forgot that he was talking to a ghost. One question dominated his thoughts.

"Why did you kill me in Clown World?"

Peepers tilted his head. Even as a spirit in another dimension, he appeared confused and unable to understand how Alan's deeply rooted fear of everything supernatural could be overshadowed by the demise of his fictional character in a role-playing game.

"Alan, Peepers here to help you. Peepers need your help."

"Help? Wait, just tell me why you killed me."

Something inside Alan took over. Maybe it was the strange and almost mystical setting with all of the smoke and mirrors. Or maybe it was the lifelike projection of a familiar character from Clown World standing in front of him. Whatever it was, Alan temporarily lost his sense of reality and acted as if he were back in his virtual world character of Boogy. The _real_ Alan could never be so bold.

Peepers apparently wasn't interested in playing Clown World, or Alan's _new_ game any longer. He needed to snap him back to reality—the reality where the sight of Peeper's ghostly image in front of him would make him numb with fear.

He lowered his face to Alan's and growled, "Clown World not real. Boogy character dead. Now, only Peepers and Alan. Time for games over."

The sensation of Peepers' hot breath snorting through his bulbously disfigured black clown nose into his face was unlike anything Alan had ever experienced in Clown World—or any world. Terror returned as he realized Peepers was real and he was trapped.

A look of pleasure spread over Peepers' face as he watched the fear return to Alan's painted face.

"Yes, that's where Alan must be. Does Alan fear Peepers?" he asked.

Alan's emotions were still filled with a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger. Most of all, he didn't understand why Peepers had lured him there. What was he saying about them helping each other? Nothing made sense.

"Maybe," he quivered.

Peepers' large eyes lowered to Alan's trembling legs. He laughed and returned his glare to Alan's wondering eyes.

"Yes," Peepers whispered. His head bobbed to match the erratic movement of Alan's eyes as he tried desperately to avoid visual contact with his ghost. "Peepers help Alan with his fear."

Alan stopped looking away and met Peepers' stare. "Help me? Like you helped me in Clown World?"

Peepers' laughter subsided. "The game not real. Peepers help Alan in real world," he said.

"I know it's not real. I'm not stupid. But I enjoyed it, and you took that from me."

" Peepers and the guild real. We help Alan grow strong with real power—in real life."

Alan shook his head. "What does that even mean? I don't know what you can possibly want from me. You already pointed out how the only place I had any power at all was in Clown World. A computer game that isn't real. How the hell can I help you?"

"Alan strong in spirit world. Peepers need his spirit power to earn light."

Still oblivious to what the ghost was saying, Alan said, "What light? Stop speaking in riddles."

"Peepers—and the guild—sinned. Must atone. Earn light. Peepers help Alan with weakness in his world."

"What light? What weakness? What guild? What do you want from me?"

"Peepers help Alan grow strong. Alan help Peepers grow strong," Peepers said before his figure glided back through the mirrors and faded into the dark cloud of smoke.

The lights of the Labyrinth glowed brighter. Alan looked around for signs of life, or spirits of once living things. Seeing the coast, and ghost, was clear, he walked back to where he remembered the front entrance was before melding in with the rest of the mirrored panels. A nearby panel clicked and the exit door opened. His paced quickened as he rushed out of the building. He looked away as he passed Geno, who was training a ticket taker near the gates of the Labyrinth.

_I need to tell Cracky this isn't going to work out. I can't work here with a ghost,_ he thought as he stormed toward the ticket booth near the carnival's entrance. He made it about halfway when a stampede of guests rumbled toward him. Passing up a dozen other opportunities to be first in line, the crowd was singularly focused on making the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors their first attraction of the day. He tried to get out of their way, but it was too late. It was like he was standing in the ocean with a giant wave heading toward him. If he tried to fight it, he would get swept up and dragged back to the Labyrinth. Instead, he ducked and tucked his knees and elbows tight to his body. The human wall flowed around him.

That was close. I wonder if Peepers had anything to do with that. Maybe he wanted to use them to drag me back there.

The ticket booth came into sight and he could see Cracky inside, tending to a line of eager customers. Lines for each booth were long, as the gates had opened minutes earlier. Through the side door window, Cracky noticed Alan approaching and waved him over.

_He's relying on me. What am I going to tell him? I can't tell him the truth. He'll think I'm crazier than that Ringmaster guy. How am I going to get out of this?_ Alan wondered as he stepped up to the side door of the booth.

Cracky opened the door. "Hey, Boog, be with you in a sec," he said before returning his attention to a couple of eight-year-old boys pulling loose change and crumpled bills from their pockets. Placing the money in a combined heap on the shelf in front of the half-circle opening, they continued searching their pockets for one more quarter.

"We need ten tickets for the Zipper. Just one more quarter," said one of the boys as he rooted through his own pockets.

The other boy looked at the pile and said, "Are you sure you counted it right? Maybe we should count it again."

Cracky took advantage of their preoccupation by sneaking a puff from a lit cigarette inside the booth. Then, with a slight head turn, he shifted his lips to the side of his face and exhaled the smoke to the back of the cramped booth.

By now, the boys' pockets were pulled out like rabbit ears. They didn't have the extra quarter needed to ride the Zipper. Standing outside the open door, Alan tried working a hand through his clown costume to the front pocket of his jeans. Before he found the necessary twenty-five cents, Cracky exchanged the money on the shelf with ten tickets. The boys, still unaware of the exchange, debated over whose mother they would beg for the additional quarter.

"Boys!" Cracky broke in.

They looked up. Without saying a word, Cracky nodded and looked down to the tickets. The boys' eyes followed. Their jaws dropped as their mental counts confirmed they had the required amount for the Zipper.

"Awesome! Ten tickets," said one of the boys.

The other boy snatched the tickets and shouted, "Thank you, mister." They turned and howled as they ran in the direction of the Zipper.

Cracky pulled a quarter from his pocket and added it to till. He looked back at Alan and said, "Don't tell anyone you saw me smoking in here."

"You're a good man, Cracky," Alan said with a smile.

Ignoring the compliment, Cracky changed the subject. "Guess what we need you to do?" he grinned. He reached under the shelf in front of him and pulled out a bag of balloons.

"Um—poodle patrol," Alan replied.

"You got it. Poodles, giraffes, monkeys, hookers, whatever makes 'em happy."

"You'll have to teach me how to do that last one, Cracky," Alan snickered as he took the bag.

"Oh, Boogy, you don't know dat one?" Cracky asked. "Dat's da best one of 'em all. It's da only one you can charge money for."

"I'm starting to see why they call you Cracky. You're a funny guy."

"I wish!" Cracky blurted out with a chuckle. "They call me Cracky 'cause before dis gig, I worked as a plumber's assistant."

Alan laughed as he moved away, allowing Cracky to get back to work.

Why didn't I tell him? I just took these balloons and laughed at his joke before walking away. What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe Peepers was right. Maybe I do need help. I don't even have the guts to quit a job I haven't even started.

"Hey, Boogy," Cracky yelled with his hand on the doorknob. "Remember, work da crowd near da Labyrinth." The door closed and Cracky went back to selling tickets.

Alan gave him the thumbs-up and started a slow walk back in the direction of the Labyrinth.

_The Labyrinth, of course._ It was too late to turn back and tell Cracky he couldn't work there. That opportunity expired the second he accepted the balloons. Now he had no choice but to return to the Labyrinth, where minutes before, he was face-to-face with Peepers.

_He did say "near" the Labyrinth. He didn't say anything about going inside. Maybe I can do this,_ he thought to himself as the Labyrinth came into sight. _I just won't go inside again. If they ask me to deliver another package to Geno, I'll refuse. What will they do, fire me? I was going to quit anyway, so who cares? I'll stay outside where all the people are. That should be fine. I can do this._

The area outside the Labyrinth was packed with people. The line extended far outside the gates, while others waited for friends and family to exit the building. Nobody looked particularly horrified. Groups of young kids celebrated their shared experiences as they exited the notorious attraction. It was clear that none had witnessed the same haunting as his own. Nobody would come out laughing after a face-to-face with Peepers.

Alan got to work as Boogy the Clown. He pulled a long red balloon from his pocket, gave it a couple of quick stretches, and started blowing into it.

*****

Inside the Labyrinth, four pre-teen girls entered the Rat Room with arms locked, their feet lost in the knee high fog. They were so tightly bonded; their legs didn't appear to be moving as they glided toward the center of the six-foot-diameter space. The room had two openings, with the entry behind and the exit directly in front of them.

Geno observed from the catwalk structure above, hidden from view in the darkness behind the black mesh fabric ceiling, looking for his opportunity to provide human assistance to a host of automated effects. He started by pulling a lever, which closed the exit door in front of the girls. They screamed simultaneously. As the computer dimmed the lights, Geno pulled another lever, locking the opening behind them. The girls trembled, waiting to see what was in store. Suddenly, they heard the faint screeching of a single rat, then more rats as the sound amplified. Projections of rats began to jump out from the fog.

The girls' high-pitched screaming was music to Geno's ears. With the flick of a switch, he bypassed the preset volume control, allowing him to double the decibels. The girls became so frightened by the sounds and images that they faced each other screaming and cupping their ears to block out the terrifying rat screeches.

Geno was elated at his power to elicit panic from the unsuspecting gaggle below. He had them where he wanted. He flicked off the floor lights and the room went completely dark. Then he grabbed a long hand crank mounted to the catwalk and started churning the handle. This turned gears positioned every two feet around the room. The gears rotated spindles, which spanned to the floor of the Labyrinth. Attached to the spindles were long leather strips. The thin strips spun, slapping the legs of the girls and giving them the sensation of rat tails racing around their feet. Their screams and cries intensified. Geno soaked up their fright like a drug addict absorbing a fresh injection of heroin.

Within seconds, the computer turned off the projections and sounds. Geno restored the floor lighting and opened the exit door. The girls' grip on each other broke as they made a mad dash for the exit. Their frantic shrieks cleared others from their path. Disorientation from the mirrors confused and frightened them to ever increasing depths of horror. Geno followed from above, redirecting them by turning wall panels in their path. He herded them to another part of the Labyrinth. The girls now became the rats, unable to find the exit to his maze.

Ignoring all other guests, he relentlessly tormented the fragile girls. He shouted at them through a bullhorn, telling them they would never escape. Finally, he had them cornered. The girls squeezed together, crying and pleading for their freedom. Geno backed off and turned up the lights. Mirrored panels reflected dozens of weeping girls. The voice from above said, "Do you want out?" Emotionally and physically drained, they nodded submissively as each mumbled, "Yes."

Geno paused to suck in every satisfying second of his achievement before he opened a panel into another compartment. Through the room was an open door to the outside. Relieved, the girls cautiously walked toward the daylight. As the last one entered the room, they discovered the opening was actually a reflection in a mirror. The doors shut and through his bullhorn, Geno said, "Welcome _back_ to the Rat Room."

The lights went out and the girls screamed at the top of their lungs one last time before dropping to the floor in surrender. The lights come back on and a door opened to the outside. The girls remained clumped together on the floor, afraid to move. Unable to discern illusion from reality, they didn't trust their eyes. It took them a full two minutes before they discovered this to be an actual exit. Geno sapped as much nectar of sweet terror as he could from them. He was already on the prowl for his next rush.

*****

Tying off a long green balloon, Boogy asked a four-year-old boy if he liked monkeys. The boy nodded and smiled wide. Alan proceeded to bend and twist the balloon. The boy stared in amazement as the balloon started to take shape. Taking advantage of his trance, his mother slipped the stuffed dinosaur out from under his arm to free up his hands for the green monkey. She handed the dinosaur off to the father for safekeeping.

The father turned, alerted by the sounds of sobbing girls approaching from behind.

"Daddy," cried one of the girls; her arms reached out for the security of his embrace.

The father reached out to greet her hug. "What's this about? What happened? Is everything okay?"

The other three girls joined in. Two grabbed onto the mother and the last one wrapped her arms around the daughter and father. None were able to hold their composure long enough to explain what happened.

Alan finished the monkey and handed it to the anxious little boy, who was oblivious to the foursome's whimpers.

Finally catching a breath, the daughter whimpered, "We want to go ho...home...Daddy. Please let's go home." Wailing moans followed her pleading.

"What happened? Was the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors too scary for you?" the father asked.

"Stop, Daddy," she cried. "You don't know how scary it was in there. Please take us home."

"Ha! I told you girls it might be too scary for you. But no, you all insisted. What were the words you used? Oh yeah, you said it's kid stuff," he said, reveling in the moment.

"But you don't understand, Mr. McNair. They tried to keep us there," one of her friends added.

The father paid no attention their ramblings. He just enjoyed seeing the smug look washed from the four pre-teen girls' faces. He agreed to take them home, and as they walked away, the four girls remained glued to the arms of the adults.

Alan watched the group, huddled close as they walked away. _What happened to them? Did Peepers have anything to do with it, or were they just acting like typical teenage girls?_ He looked back at the Labyrinth, where more groups exited, laughing and joking around with each other. All appeared normal.

The remainder of the afternoon was mixed with three basic types of people: those who thoroughly enjoyed their experience in the Labyrinth, those who showed little or no emotion at all, and those who expressed great anxiety. The only odd thing that stood out was the fact that the groups who exited in fear were unified in their terror. There was never one or two who enjoyed their experience.

Alan found this to be very peculiar.

*****

At three-thirty, Alan had to leave his carnival job. It was time to trade his Boogy costume for his pizza delivery hat. Just before he made his way through the parking lot to his car, a curtain of thick clouds had quickly filled the sky. The sky grew dark as the ominous wall approached.

Most of the visitors to the carnival heeded Mother Nature's warning and flooded into the parking lot with him. Everyone picked up the pace as the first heavy drops fell. By the time he got in his car, there was a full-on downpour. He looked in his rearview mirror and noticed his Boogy makeup melting down his face from the cleansing rain. He made things worse by wiping away the moisture along with samplings of color from all parts of his face.

The rain was heavy but he didn't have time to wait for a break in the clouds. If he were late again, Joe would surely fire him. More importantly, he didn't want to let his friend down.

Unfortunately, he didn't anticipate the effect poor weather would have on the hundreds of visitors at the carnival. Vince's was only ten minutes away, and he gave himself plenty of time—for a normal day. However, the field was jammed with cars all trying to exit at the same time. Alan's buffer may not have been enough, but he took advantage of the parking lot delay by using the last of his cold cream to clear the colored makeup from his face.

### Chapter 4

Bells jingled over the shop door. Alan knew he was late and tried making his way through without drawing attention to himself. Joe stood beside the oven; his piercing glare stopped Alan in mid-stride. Without saying a word, he glanced at the wall clock, and then returned his aim at Alan. He was eleven minutes late.

Alan knew Joe was left with no other choice. He raised his hands in surrender. Although he had a legitimate excuse, he also knew that he'd be stoking the fire if he tried offering it.

"I know, Joe. I'll be in your office," he said as he continued through the shop. In the office, he turned over the empty bucket, sat down, and waited.

Joe entered thirty seconds later. He closed the door and took his seat behind the desk.

"Why are you doing this to me, Alan?" he said. "I thought we were good. I thought you understood."

"I'm sorry, Joe. You're absolutely right. I did understand, and I gave myself plenty of

time—"

"Oh no, not again. What did I tell you about excuses, Alan? No more!"

"You're right, Joe. I totally understand why you have to fire me."

"Fire you?" Joe shot back. "Who said anything about firing you?"

"Well, I just assumed—"

"I just need to make an example of you, Alan. You're my best employee. I don't want to fire you."

Alan exhaled, and his stiff posture relaxed. He had been sure that Joe would fire him to set an example to the others.

"Alan, relax. The thing is we are the only adults in this place. These kids are the future. They're good kids, but they need discipline. The way I see it is each of them is a ball of dough. Their parents put all the right ingredients into the dough, but now it's my job—our job—to form the dough. For most of them, this is their first job. I take that responsibility very seriously. I know they'll all end up leaving here thinking it was just another stupid childhood job. And that's okay. I just want to be sure that we help shape them properly so they do well in life."

"Why don't you have kids Joe?" Alan asked.

"Long story, but I consider all of them—and you—to be my kids. And _you,_ are about to get a spanking."

"Seriously?" Alan asked.

"Yes seriously, but not literally. I do need to punish you. It's because of you that Jamie called in sick. My guess is he's at that carnival of yours."

"Jamie called in sick?"

"Yes! And now I'm short-handed and I need to suspend you for a few days. See what you've done, Alan?"

Alan didn't completely follow Joe's logic, but he was relieved that he wasn't getting fired. He didn't think this would be a good time to question Joe's thought process, so he let it go.

"Do you have to suspend me right away?"

"Well, if I don't, it will look like I'm going easy on you and I'll look weak."

"True, but this is my fault. I don't want you and everyone else to be upset with me for being short-handed tonight. Why don't you let me help through the rush, and then send me home?"

"Okay—that might work, but I need to yell at you in front of Nat and Alex. They'll tell the others and everyone will know I'm serious."

"Sure, sure, yell at me good. That should work," Alan said.

"Okay, I'm gonna get up now and, uh, you walk out first, okay?" Joe nervously maneuvered to a position that allowed Alan to exit his office before him. Loosening up, he appeared to be an actor preparing to go on stage, shaking out the cobwebs and freeing his mind from the clutter in order to sell his audience.

"Yeah, no problem." Alan stood and opened the door. Joe clenched his fists and rocked his head to indicate his readiness.

"Hold on, Joe. Let me see if any customers are in the store."

"Oh, right. Good thinking."

Alan peeked around the corner. It was clear so he turned back and gave Joe a nod.

Joe yelled out, "Now get out of my office! I don't want to see your face until Wednesday."

"Okay, Joe. I'm really sorry," Alan said as he looked to be sure their act got the attention of Natalia and Alex. It was clear that they heard all of it.

"I don't want to hear it! And you know what?" Joe said. "You just put us in a bad situation, Alan. Because of you we're short-handed. Deliveries are piling up and I don't have anyone to deliver them. Are you proud of yourself, Alan? Are you happy with the way this has affected the rest of us?"

_Ouch!_ Alan thought to himself. Joe was really good at acting—a little too good.

"This is what you're going to do," Joe said. "Deliver those three pizzas before your suspension starts. And since everyone else will be working harder with you gone, I expect you to put your tips in the tip jar."

_Ouch again_. "Okay, Joe. I guess I deserve it for being late. I'll see you Wednesday night."

"That's right. Wednesday night. And if you're running late, don't bother showing up at all."

Alan grabbed the stack of pizzas and headed for the door. With his back pushing the door open, he saw Alex and Natalia nervously working as they tried to stay far from the action. Out of their view, Joe stood at the back of the shop smiling at Alan with a two thumbs-up signal to indicate their act was a success. Alan smirked as his body twisted around the closing door.

*****

1116 Fisher Road. One large pepperoni pizza. The old Cape style home was warm with life. Soft lights glowed from every window. A scooter leaned against the perfectly trimmed boxwood beside the porch steps. Add a thatched roof and gently falling snowflakes and one might mistake the house for a living Thomas Kinkade painting.

He pressed the backlit doorbell. That simple action opened the starting gates for a small army of tiny socked feet, led by the family's fearless guard dog, a fifteen-pound black and white shih tzu named Oreo. The door opened a quarter of the way, blocked from a full opening by the rumpled area rug. Oreo and little Bobby managed to squeeze through. Oreo threatened the stranger with vicious growls and barking from the front end, and his _happy to see you_ tail slapping the door from his rear. Bobby's hands and face pressed into the glass storm door, adding to the smudge marks from other recently welcomed visitors.

"It's here," Bobby called out. The rug behind tugged away, revealing Bobby's older siblings, Danielle and Mitchell. Trailing close behind was Paula, their mother.

_She's still as beautiful as ever,_ Alan thought as she herded the kids and Oreo away from the storm door.

"Move, Bobby. Mitchell, grab Oreo," Paula commanded. "Hey, Alan, how are you?" she asked as she opened the screen door.

"Great, Paula. Looks like you've got your hands full."

"That's why I ordered the pizza. Dave is on a business trip and I didn't have time to go shopping today," she said as her free hand instinctively found its way to the top of Bobby's head, preventing him from slipping around her. Still oblivious to her own ability to multitask, she redirected the boy and with a nudge, artfully sent him back into the house.

Alan used one hand to transfer the pizza as she propped the glass door open with her elbow and held out a twenty.

Alan retrieved the cash. "Any plans to take the family to the carnival?"

"Oh, that's right. I saw them setting up. I'm sure we'll get there before it's gone. Hey, Alan, are you still doing the clown thing?"

"Yup, still clowning around," he said as he pulled crumpled bills from his pocket, found a five-dollar bill, and attempted to give her change.

She stopped him with an open hand indicating his tip, three dollars more than her usual.

"Wow! I remember in high school," she said, "every Halloween you would get on the bus dressed as a clown. Who knew you would still be doing it in your thirties?"

"Yeah, who would have guessed?" Alan replied in a more somber tone.

"Don't get me wrong. I think it's great that you were able to find work doing something you enjoy. It's just that you never hear about people becoming clowns."

"Well, it's mostly just a part-time thing. I do the occasional kids party, but this year I'm helping out at the carnival."

"Really. Do you have a card? I might be able to help you out."

Alan reached for his wallet and pulled out one of his business cards. On the card there was a caricature of his clown face with multi-colored letters spelling out _Boogy the Clown_ arched above it. His phone number and email address were listed below. He handed the card to Paula.

"How cute! Do you do any magic tricks?"

"I can turn a balloon into a giraffe," Alan quipped. "Other than that, not really. Just your standard clown tricks."

"Don't forget, Alan. You can also make pizzas appear out of nowhere."

By this point, Alan just wanted to get away. Paula had been everyone's crush girl in high school. He knew he'd never been in her league, but she was always kind and nonjudgmental toward him. Tonight, as he delivered her pizza and talked about his other part-time job as a carnival clown, Paula's eyes were no longer able to hide her pity and concern for his sad life.

"I hope you all enjoy the pizza," Alan said as he turned and walked toward his car.

"Maybe we'll see you at the carnival," Paula responded before returning inside.

*****

His next delivery was to an apartment complex near the college. Most drivers did their best to avoid early deliveries to the college because students are usually bad tippers. Later in the night, after the alcohol takes effect, they become more generous. It was early, but that didn't matter on this night because Joe's ad-libbing resulted in his own generous donation to the tip jar back at Vince's.

He knocked on the apartment door. Inside he heard a girl giggling and screeching in a playful manner. She opened the door and greeted Alan with a big smile before turning her head back. "Pizza's here. Come pay the guy." With that she took the box and walked inside, leaving the door wide open with Alan still standing outside.

A man approached. Without looking up he pulled out and opened his wallet. "How much?"

"That'll be twelve fifty," Alan replied.

The man pulled out a few bills and reached to hand them to Alan. The two made eye contact and the guy froze.

"Alan?"

"Hi, Dave."

Dave was Paula's husband. Less than ten minutes earlier, she told him he was out of town on business.

Dave looked back inside and said, "I'll be there in a sec, Deb. Go on and start without me."

He moved outside with Alan and gently closed the door behind him. Closing the gap between them, he placed his arm over Alan's shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, I know this doesn't look good, but you know how it is. We're both guys. I'm sure I can count on you not to break the man code by saying something you might regret."

"It's none of my business, Dave."

"Good. That's right, Alan. It's not your business and besides, we go back a long way."

"You picked on me in high school," Alan said.

"Oh, come on, Alan, it was just a few swirlies. The other guys wanted to do a lot more, but I wouldn't let them. Seriously, Alan, I need to know I can count on you to keep this between us. You wouldn't want to hurt Paula, would you? Neither of us wants that. Am I right?"

The truth of the matter was that Dave was correct. Even without the fear of possible retribution from Dave, Alan didn't want to see Paula get hurt. He knew this secret would likely come out eventually, but he didn't want Paula to have his face burned in her memory for the rest of her life as the face that brought her such devastating news.

"I won't say anything," Alan said.

Dave removed his arm from Alan's shoulder and smiled. "I knew I could count on you, pal. I know I wasn't that nice to you back in school, but I always did like you. You're a stand-up kinda guy."

This was an interesting choice of words coming from a douche bag just caught cheating on his wife. But Alan chose to let it go and try to forget about the entire encounter.

For added insurance Dave reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. He folded the bill lengthwise and held it out between his first two fingers. The payoff came with conditions.

"I want to give you a better tip, Alan. But I need you to promise once more that you won't say anything to Paula."

"You can keep the money, Dave. I'm not going to say anything."

Dave smiled, grabbed Alan's hand, placed the bill inside, and closed his fingers around it.

"Keep it, buddy. It's yours."

Alan didn't want to stick around and argue over it. Instead, he returned a halfhearted smile and walked away.

On the way to his car, he struggled with his feelings. On one hand he felt sad for Paula. She was a good person who didn't deserve to be treated like that. Unlike Dave, she'd never treated him as a lesser human being. She didn't have it in her to look down on anyone. However, on the other hand, he felt an enormous weight lifted from him. The obvious pity she unconsciously displayed for his lifestyle no longer hurt. The dagger was pulled out and now he took pity on her.

She might not be aware of it, but her life wasn't as picture perfect as the world viewed it. Just knowing this made Alan feel relieved that someone he idolized also had flaws. Paula had her own demons to deal with. He grappled with an extreme amount of guilt for allowing himself to revel in her misfortune. He wouldn't wish it upon anyone, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling good after discovering Dave's tawdry secret.

*****

The short shift ended with his final delivery to a customer he knew well. The familiar address was the house he grew up in, and the new owners were his brother, Dale, his wife, Cheryl, and their two kids.

He pulled into the driveway, grabbed the pizza from the passenger seat, and exited the car. He paused to look at the old house before going to the front door. The painted white brick veneer below the picture window brought back one of his only memories of his father allowing him to help with an _adult_ project. He and Dale sat inches from his father and looked on with awe as he brushed the heavy paint over the bricks.

Normally, their father was fine with the boys looking on as long as they stayed out of the way. However, on that day, he looked at his wide-eyed sons and decided to break with tradition. He asked them if they wanted to help. Of course the two were overjoyed at the prospect of helping their dad with such an important project. He retrieved a couple of two-inch wide brushes from the garage and showed them how to dab the brush into the bucket, brush the excess on the side of the can, and work it into the crevices of the bricks.

Between the two of them, they probably only covered a few square feet of brick, but that fact was irrelevant in the grand scheme of life. At least for Alan, this was his greatest memory of his father.

Dale answered the door. "Hey, Uncle Boogy. What are you waiting for? C'mon in."

Alan paused on the porch, still looking at the painted bricks. "Do you remember when we helped Dad paint this wall?" he asked.

Dale stepped out to look at the bricks. "I wish I did. I was too young. I don't have many memories of Dad."

"I can almost see him there, showing us how to use the paintbrushes," Alan said.

"I envy you. The only thing I remember is Dad coming home in his uniform."

They both paused for a few seconds before Dale broke their moment of silence. "Now let's get that pizza inside. The kids keep asking when Uncle Boogy is showing up with the food."

"Uncle Boogy! Uncle Boogy!" came cries from inside.

Cheryl followed the two girls.

"Hey, Alan, let me get that pizza before they knock it out of your hands," she said.

The twins each took a leg and squeezed hard.

"I missed you girls too. Now, let go so Uncle Boogy can bend down and give you both a big hug." They released their grip and reached for Alan as he kneeled down to their level. The two jumped into his waiting arms.

"See what you're missing, Alan?" Cheryl said.

Dale added, "Yeah, Boogy. You know you can come by more often. It's not right that the only time we see you anymore is when we order pizza. Hell, you only live ten minutes from here."

"I know, guys. I really should make more of an effort. It's not that I don't want to see you. We just have odd hours."

"That's true, but Cheryl's always here. You don't have to wait till our schedules work. Stop in anytime. The girls would love to see you more often. When you bring the pizzas, you always have to run."

"Yeah, Alan, do you have to go already? Can't you stay and have a slice before leaving?" Cheryl said.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm done for the night. I can stick around awhile."

"Great! Oh wait, it's early. Why are you off already?" Dale asked.

Alan didn't want to share the disappointment of his suspension, so he lied. "I wasn't scheduled but things got tight and I offered to help out for a few hours. Don't ask questions, detective. Let's just go inside so you can eat your pizza."

Cheryl looked down to the twins and said, "Did you hear that girls? Uncle Boogy is staying to have dinner with us." The girls cheered with excitement. Each grabbed a hand and dragged Alan into the kitchen.

Cheryl got the plates out and cut a slice into bite-size pieces for the girls.

"Go ahead, Alan, take some," Cheryl said.

"That's okay, you don't have enough. I'm not really hungry anyway."

Cheryl took a slice from the box, placed it on a plate, and handed it to Alan. "Now get yours, Dale. I'm not going to feed all of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Dale said as he eagerly took a piece from the box.

Alan took a bite and noticed lines etched into one of the doorjambs into the kitchen. One was about three feet high with the words "Little Man" written above it. He pointed to it and said, "That was right after Dad died."

"How do you know?" Dale said.

"Because that's when Mom started calling you Little Man."

"Really? I thought she called me that since I was a baby."

"No. She started calling you that after Dad died because you always mimicked him. You didn't stop when he was gone. Instead, you did it more."

"Really, I don't remember any of that."

"All I did was cry for a long time after he died. I wasn't Mom's little man. As the older brother, I should have stepped up, but I didn't."

"Stepped up? You were only seven. You didn't do anything wrong. And you shouldn't feel bad about it," Dale said.

Alan didn't want to make it about him, and the truth was that he never gave it much thought. The memory might still be repressed if Dale had painted over the markings on the doorjamb.

"Look, Boogy. I may have acted like Dad, but I barely remember him. You were older. Of course his death would be harder on you, but you should feel lucky to at least have some memories of him. That thing with the paint is a good example. I would give anything to be able to remember that."

Alan looked at his little brother and said, "If you want to know who Dad was, take a good look in the mirror. I'm not saying you look like him. You look more like Mom, but everything else about you is Dad. You even became a cop."

"I'm sure you're a lot like him too, Boogy," Dale said.

"No, Dale. Don't get me wrong. I'm okay with it. I'm happy about it because looking at you helps me remember Dad. I'm just saying it might help you to do the same. If you want to know him, you don't have to look far."

"Aw, that's so sweet," Cheryl said.

Her words snapped Dale and Alan out of it.

"We gotta stop talking like this, Boogy. We're starting to sound like women."

"Yeah, right. What were we thinking?" Alan added.

Dale picked up his soda can, stepped in front of the hallway mirror, and said, "Cheers to you, Dad."

Alan and Cheryl raised their cans as well.

Dale moved back into the kitchen. "So what have you been up to, brother?"

"Well, I started my job at the carnival. Oh, I almost forgot. Do you remember the old Krauss House?"

"Of course I remember Krauss House. That's the place you wouldn't get within a mile of."

"Fifty feet," Alan corrected.

"Yeah, sure—fifty feet—whatever. You were scared to death of that place."

"It was fifty feet, give or take. But I got much closer last night."

"Really? So did I. Well, it wasn't last night, but I was called out there about a month ago. The old Krauss couple left it to their grand daughter and she's—"

"Mary Krauss," Alan interrupted.

"Yeah, Mary. So you met her?" Dale said.

"Yes, that's what I was saying. Last night she ordered a pizza. I delivered it, and I was inside Krauss House."

"Did you go in the attic?" Dale asked.

"Go in the attic? Why would I do that? I was just delivering a pizza."

"Well, I went in the attic. And it was at night. She called to report noises and I went to check things out."

"You went into the attic?"

"Yeah. I couldn't find anything, so I had to be sure the place was clear before leaving. It wasn't a big deal." Dale noticed how his statement amazed Alan. "What, you're not still afraid of that place are you, Boogy?"

Alan didn't want to appear weak. "No, no. I was just bringing it up to tell you that Mary Krauss is fixing the old place up."

"That's twice you mentioned her first name. Am I sensing a love connection? Boogy and Mary sitting in a tree—" Without missing a beat, the twins chimed in, spelling "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Leave him alone, Dale," Cheryl broke in.

"Not likely, Dale," Alan said. "Why would someone like her have any interest in a middle-aged pizza delivery clown?"

"Alan! Don't say that. You're the nicest guy I know. Any girl would be lucky to have you as their boyfriend," Cheryl said.

"Yeah, bro, stop being so hard on yourself. Your problem isn't with your job. It's your self-esteem. And, maybe a little bit with your hair. You gotta stop cutting it yourself, dude."

"Dale is right, Alan. I keep telling you I'd be happy to cut your hair."

"There you go, Alan. Cheryl used to do hair for a living. Look at mine. She does a great job. She could help...modernize your style so you might be able to get a date."

All this attention on his dating life, or lack thereof, was uncomfortable for Alan. Even if he was interested in Mary, he couldn't do anything about it because he would never be able to get over his fears of Krauss House and the shadow spirit within. He wouldn't be able to work on his self-esteem or dating life while running away from all the ghosts. If he was going to make any changes, he first needed to deal with his Peepers problem. This spirit found him in Clown World. Then he lured him into the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. He sensed that avoiding that place wouldn't be the end of Peepers. There was only one thing that _might_ be able to help him.

"Are you guys going to church tomorrow?" Alan asked.

"Whoa! Where did that come from?" Dale asked.

"I was just wondering if maybe it would be okay if I joined you."

"Of course we're going, and you're always welcome to join us," Cheryl said.

"What's with the sudden interest in going to church? You haven't been since Mom died five years ago."

"I don't know. I'm not saying this will be a regular thing. I just think it's time to give it a try."

"Give it a try? What's that about? You know the drill, Boogy. You go every Sunday and pray. You hope someone is listening, but you can never know for sure. It's like an insurance policy. You pay in, and hope it pays off in the end."

"Dale! Stop that talk. Church is more than that and you know it," Cheryl said.

"Oh right, you also go because you want to pass your policy down to your kids and hope they don't need it."

"Dale!"

"Sorry, Cheryl, but you know how I feel about it. It doesn't mean I don't believe in God. I just don't think he cares where I am when I talk to him. I go for the kids. It gives them a solid foundation and belief in God. As long as they believe, I really don't care if they go or not when they get older."

Cheryl looked back at Alan and said, "We would love to have you join us tomorrow. And if you want to go after that, we would be happy to go with you as long as you want."

"Cool!" Dale said. "If you decided to go every week, you can sit in for me."

"Let's just plan on tomorrow for now," Alan said. "I'll meet you there."

### Chapter 5

Saint Helen's parking lot was nearly full when Alan arrived. They had agreed to meet in front of the church so they could go in together. From his parking spot, Alan could see he arrived before them.

The church was next door to the grammar school both Alan and Dale attended as children. Although it had been many years since he saw any of his old classmates, he didn't want to risk being recognized as parishioners passed him on the way into the church. This wasn't a day to reminisce or answer those awkward questions about where he'd been and what brought him back to church. His purpose for this day was to find the strength to cast the demons from his life. Specifically, Peepers and whatever thing he saw at Krauss House. Socializing wasn't on his agenda.

As he looked ahead to the church steps, his car began to rock back and forth. A quick look in the rearview mirror solved the mystery. Dale was parked behind him and held the family back so he could mess with his big brother.

Alan stepped out of his car and only offered Dale a smirk for his efforts. The twins instinctively ran to their Uncle Boogy, each claiming a leg to hug.

"What are you doing waiting in the car, Boogy? I thought we were going to meet at the steps," Dale said.

"That's right. When I saw you guys at the steps, I was going to meet you there."

"Fair enough."

The group walked toward the church and Cheryl told them to go on in. She would meet them inside. The four walked into the church and found a pew with space for five in the rear next to the center isle.

"I see Cheryl still has her problem," Alan whispered to Dale.

"Yup, she's still uncomfortable in crowded places. It's a wonder I can get her to come to church at all. She'll be out of here after the homily."

"I guess we all have our fears," Alan replied.

"I think you got mine and those of a few other people," Dale muttered below his breath.

Midway through the mass, Father Harris moved out from the altar to a podium to the left of the center isle and recited from Deuteronomy 31:6:,

Do manfully and be of good heart: fear not, nor be ye dismayed at their sight: for the Lord thy God he himself is thy leader, and will not leave thee nor forsake thee.

Then he began his homily.

This is one of many biblical references to fear as it relates to faith in God. Luke 8:50 breaks it down further: Fear not; believe only.

Sounds simple doesn't it? Fear not; believe only. Let's think about this for a minute. What does it mean to fear not, believe only? What if we reverse the order to read, believe only and fear not? Believe in God and you have nothing to fear. Again, this sounds so simple. With God on our side, why do so many of us live with fear? Believe in him and he will not forsake you.

I realize this sounds good in theory, but as humans we are designed to use fear as a protective mechanism. It's our way of recognizing and staying out of danger. So why would God instruct us to fear not?

What we need to understand is that God isn't expecting us to blindly walk naked into the jungle with your arms tied behind your back. He wants you to protect the gift of life that he gave you, but he also wants you to know that this life, no matter how important it may feel to you, is just a spec in time compared to your future in his kingdom. Our existence on earth is very short. Sooner or later all of us will die. There's no point in living in fear of the inevitable end of this life when God is waiting for us on the other side.

The fear of death is a destructive fear. As I said, it's inevitable. We should do our best to stay out of harms way, but at some point in time it will catch up to us. We will all experience it, and reunite in God's kingdom.

There are many other destructive fears we have that distract us from living life to our fullest. Now, I don't want to single anyone out by listing a few examples of fears and phobia's some of you may be living with, but I do want you to think about your own lives and ask yourselves if destructive fear paralyzes you from living a full life. If the answer is yes, please remember these four simple words: Fear not; believe only.

As father Harris continued speaking, Alan reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He wrote: _fear not; believe only,_ in the palm of his hand.

This day was more difficult than usual for Cheryl. She stepped outside five minutes before the homily began. Alan silently wondered if she would have benefitted from this particular sermon. It might have helped with her phobia.

The kids grew restless and Dale decided to make an early exit. He whispered, "Don't be a stranger," before the three quietly exited the church.

Alan didn't follow. Instead, he waited in the pew. The mass ended and parishioners quickly exited the building in a frenzied rush to beat the traffic. As the last elderly couple left, he sat staring down at the words scribbled on his palm.

Lost in concentration, he didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps until they stopped beside him. Father Harris stood watching him from the center isle.

"I'm happy to see you back in church, Alan. It's been a long time."

Not interested in giving excuses, Alan asked, "How do you know if it's a destructive fear?"

Father Harris moved into the pew and sat beside him.

"What's troubling you, Alan?"

"How do I know my fears aren't justified? Some people might think those fears can't hurt me, but how do I know for sure?" he asked without answering the priest's question.

Father Harris paused, as if sensing Alan's reluctance to share the specifics of his concern. "What were you looking at in your hand?" he asked.

Alan opened his hand, revealing the scribbled words.

Father Harris reached for Alan's hand and placed his thumb over the first two words. "There's your answer, Alan."

Alan looked down at the words: _believe only_.

"When the answer isn't always clear, believe only."

"Believe only," Alan whispered. The priest nodded and released his hand.

*****

The carnival opened three hours before Alan was scheduled to work. Throughout his drive, his thoughts were fixated on the words, " _believe only_." Would those words help him confront Peepers and cast the spirit from his life? He knew there was only one way to find out. He had to return to the Labyrinth and command the spirit to leave him alone. He had to face his fear and believe there was a higher power on his side, protecting him from such dark entities.

The answer was clear, but how would he go about its execution? His previous encounter took place before the carnival opened. It was daytime and the spooky parts of the Labyrinth weren't turned on. He would have to wait until the visitors were gone. Peepers surely wouldn't make himself visible to him with guests passing through the Labyrinth's chambers. However, this meant that it would be later, when it was dark outside. Facing his fear of ghosts was one thing, but doing it in the darkness of night, on the ghost's home field, would be a significant test of his ability to simply _believe_ in his plan.

Oblivious to his surroundings as he walked the distance from his car in the lot to his work zone outside the Labyrinth, his mind struggled with the unsettling dilemma. Looking at the building, he wondered how it would appear after eight hours of pent-up anxiety, void of people and in the dark of night. He knew he had to face Peepers again, but he also knew it would be easier in the light of day.

In typical Alan fashion, he found a temporary solution to his problem. He would put it off. He wasn't scheduled to work the next day, but maybe he could show up before the place opened, as he did on his last visit to the Labyrinth.

This plan was better, but whenever Alan got on a roll, justifying reasons to put off unpleasant situations, he could talk himself out of just about anything. Since he wasn't scheduled the next day, they wouldn't recognize him without his clown costume. They might not let him through the gates before the place opened to the public. And if he showed up dressed as Boogy on a day he wasn't scheduled, it would be awkward and somewhat embarrassing. They might think he had a screw loose. A better plan would be to put it off until Wednesday, when he was scheduled to start first thing in the morning. And, who knew, by then, Peepers might get the hint and just leave him alone. If so, he wouldn't have to go in at all. Maybe that was Father Harris's hidden message all along. He could just believe, and the problem would go away.

There it was. The answer to his problem was to believe that avoiding it would make it go away. Father Harris was right. Suddenly his renewed belief in God washed his fears away; in its place was a euphoric sense of calm, from what must have been an invisible army of newly assigned angels instructed to keep God's most recent returning soul safe from the dark forces lurking in the shadows of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. He felt as though he experienced the sensation people described when they claimed to be born again. He was at peace.

A tug on the back of his shirt snapped Alan out of his heavenly trance. For a second, he forgot where he was, surrounded by hordes of children and their parents, expecting Boogy the Clown to entertain them. He reached into his pocket for a balloon and turned to put a smile on tugging child's face. Stretching the balloon, he started into his routine.

"And what's your favorite animal, little—" The choice between boy and girl would come when he saw the child's face. Only this time, the choice wasn't that simple. A gasp was all that escaped as his expression turned desperate.

"Geno!" Alan stammered.

Geno looked around, then guided Alan's stunned body a few steps back to a more private spot away from the crowd.

"Alan, Peepers wants to finish the conversation. He wants to see you tonight, after we close."

_What's happening?_ Alan thought. _Where are my angels? What happened to believe only? This isn't how it's supposed to be. I went to church._

"Did you hear me, Alan? Peepers needs to see you after closing," Geno repeated.

"But—" Alan uttered. His brain was stuck, trying to find answers.

Geno grabbed his arms and gave him a good shake. "Tonight, you must come tonight!"

Alan finally caught up. However, he wasn't prepared to go from never facing Peepers again to seeing him that night.

"I can't do it tonight, Geno. How about Wednesday morning—before we open?"

"No, Alan. It can't wait that long."

"Okay, what if I show up before opening tomorrow morning? I'm not scheduled, but there's no reason why I can't come earl—"

"Alan!" Geno grunted. "What is it? Are you afraid? Don't you get it? Peepers is here to help you with that. There's nothing to worry about, but it must be tonight."

With all of his efforts to stall used up, Alan agreed to do his best.

Geno didn't appear convinced, but nonetheless, he accepted Alan's commitment and returned to the Labyrinth.

### Chapter 6

A gang of five thuggish-looking teenage boys entered the Labyrinth. The smallest of them stood out as their Napoleonic leader as he ordered and shoved the others out of his way so he could lead the pack through the maze.

Geno approached from behind as the last boy stepped inside. He whispered something to the ticket taker before walking around the side of the building to the back entrance. The ticket taker raised his hand to the next group in line and told them they would have to wait a few minutes because there were too many people inside.

The obnoxious crew whooped and hollered their way along the first section of the Labyrinth, a long and narrow corridor of mirrors. It was dark, but nothing happened along the inner entrance. The corridor darkened as the door behind them closed.

The leader was the first to stop, trapped inside the passageway at both ends. Mesmerized by their own reflections, the remaining boys didn't notice the blocked path. The resulting momentum of the lemmings pressed them like sardines into their pint-sized shepherd.

"Get the fuck off me, you idiots!" he yelled from beneath the pile.

As the last one backed off, the leader searched for an escape. His mindless followers waited for instructions.

"What the fuck is this?" he said.

"It's the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors," another answered.

"I know it's the fucking Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, you dumb fuck. But this is just a hallway to fucking nowhere. Where's the fucking exit?"

As if this was the command they waited for, the heads of the four boys turned at once in all directions, looking for the escape.

"I think we're trapped, T-Pot," said one of the boys to their leader.

T-Pot pounded his fist on one of the mirrored panels. The other four joined in and started pounding fists on the remaining panels in the closed space.

Their efforts were fruitless and the sound became deafening.

"STOP! Fucking stop hitting the fucking walls!" T-Pot yelled, his hands covering his ears.

The group finally stopped pounding and returned their focus to their leader.

"What the fuck," was the only thing T-Pot could say. He continued to study the room. He bent down to the floor and felt around the tracks, hoping to find a way to loosen a panel. The other boys started mumbling to each other. With his head close to the floor, the ringleader heard something. He raised his hand and shushed the others in an attempt to make sense of the sound. With his ear to the mirror he heard, "Ching ching."

"Did you hear that?" he said.

The others looked at each other before simultaneously shrugging and mumbling words like no, nope, and I didn't hear anything, T-Pot.

He shushed them again. "Ching Ching." The sound was a little louder this time.

"Did you hear it that time? You had to fucking hear it that time."

Again, the group turned to each other. In unison, they nodded and agreed to hear the sound.

"Ching Ching," the sound came again, louder than before. The leader stood. His followers got excited as each cheerfully yelled out that they definitely heard the bells.

"CHING CHING." Now it sounded like the bells were in the space with them. They all continued scanning the mirrors for the source of the chinging bells. Then, from the back of the corridor, a cartoonish voice called out, "Watch out, boys!"

They all turned to look. In the mirrored panel on the rear door they saw a funny-looking clown riding a tricycle. It appeared to be getting closer. With a few more thumb pulls on the bell attached to the handlebar, the clown hollered out, "Coming through!" The image moved from the door mirror to the left wall. It continued to rush from panel to panel through the room. The boys all stepped back to the opposite wall as the clown giggled his way past, chiming his bells the entire way.

At the front of the corridor, the image slipped from the sidewall into the mirror blocking their path. The sounds, along with the image of the tricycle-riding clown, faded into the depth of the mirror.

"What the hell was that?" said one of the boys.

"It was a fucking clown. I hate fucking clowns!" T-Pot exclaimed.

This drew a snicker from one of the adolescent boys.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?"

The boy tried to hide his amusement, but whatever tickled his funny bone wouldn't allow it. He covered his grin with his hand and lowered his head.

T-Pot saw this as an opportunity to strengthen his rank among his peers. He shoved the kid into the wall and commanded him to tell him what was so funny.

As the boy still struggled to stop laughing, T-Pot's hand pushed harder into the boy's chest, pinning him against the wall. He tried to get free by telling T-Pot nothing was making him laugh. This wasn't good enough for his marionette master, who snarled as he gripped tighter.

"You better fucking tell me what was so funny or I'll fucking kill you right here. Is that what you want? Huh?"

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to hit me."

"I'm not promising anything. Tell me now or I swear I'll—"

"Okay!" the boy said as he raised his hands in surrender. He chuckled again and said, "You said that you hate—fucking—clowns." Hearing it again out loud, he snorted in an attempt to hold back his amusement.

"Yea, so, I do. I fucking hate clowns."

"No, no. That's not what you said," the pinned boy said. "You said you hate _fucking_ clowns. Like you hate to _fuck_ clowns."

Hearing this, the rest of the boys finally caught on. It started with a low rumble of somewhat contained sounds of amusement. Before long, the bunch was laughing hysterically. Their leader let go of his grip and tried in vain to stare the others into submission. Mixed in their laughter, the parroted words "fucking clowns" whispered throughout the group. As their laughter began to subside, the panel at the end of the room opened.

"Are you fuckers done fucking around yet?" T-Pot asked. He stood, blocking the opening with an open knife held at his side, acting as a warning to all who dare defy him. The sight of the knife instantly sobered the boys. Their laughter halted and the group fell in line to blindly follow T-Pot.

"I thought so. Now, whoever wants to get out of this hallway and follow me out of this fucking place has to repeat after me."

They eagerly listened to his words.

"I hate—no, I fucking hate clowns!" he said

They looked to each other for someone to lead their chant. All at once, they said it.

"I fucking hate clowns."

"Good. Now that we're all on the same page, we can get the fuck out of here before that fucking clown shows up again."

T-Pot turned to lead them deeper. With their psychopath leader out of range, one boy whispered to the two closest to him, "He said it again. He said fucking clown." All three snickered as they followed T-Pot to the next room.

T-Pot turned the corner into a large round room with a small wooden chair at the center. His gang followed one by one to the center of the room. T-Pot stopped next to the chair; each boy stopped one at a time beside him until all five were lined up facing the curved wall of mirrored panels.

"Where are our reflections?" T-Pot said.

"Maybe the wall is just glass," another replied.

As they stared into the glass, T-Pot saw the chair beside him reflected in the mirrors. He kicked the chair and it tumbled to the side of the room; its reflection moved with it.

"It's not just glass!" T-Pot shouted.

The five boys stared at the mirrors for several seconds before one offered an explanation. "Maybe we're vampires." His suggestion prompted another boy to feel the sides of his own neck for bites. The others followed his lead as they felt their own necks and examined each other for telltale evidence of vampire feed marks.

T-Pot remained focused on the reflection-less mirrors when the boy beside him leaned in like a grooming monkey friend to examine his neck.

"Get the fuck off me, you ape!" he yelled, putting an abrupt end to the group's search for fang marks.

T-Pot returned his focus to the mirrors. His posse did the same. As they stared into the emptiness, circus music started playing and images began to appear. The images started as swirling clouds of white smoke growing from the floor. Human shapes grew from the smoke, one in front of each boy. The forms continued to sharpen and within seconds, the smoke dissipated, leaving five peculiar-looking clowns standing before them. Upon closer examination, the figures appeared to be creepy clown caricatures of each boy in the room. T-Pot's clown was a midget with a Hitler mustache, wearing a bicorn hat.

"Aw fuck! More clowns. I thought this was supposed to be a haunted fucking labyrinth. Clowns aren't scary and this is just a big room of fucking mirrors. Where's the fucking labyrinth? And what the fuck are you?" T-Pot said as he pointed down at his clown doppelganger.

The clown across from him matched his movements and pointed back at T-Pot.

T-Pot pulled back his finger. His clown also withdrew. Upon seeing this, the other boys started testing their own clown reflections. They started slow by moving their hands and arms. Their clowns did the same. With each motion accurately mimicked, they tried harder to stump the clowns. They moved faster. They jumped, twisted in circles, and made funny faces. One boy tried hiding behind another. When he peeked around him to see if it worked, he saw his creepy clown reflection peeking back from behind the clown version of his buddy. It laughed at the boy's curious attempt at deception. The clown's laugh broke the copycat behavior for all but T-Pot's pint-sized dictatorial clown. While the five boys stood still, their clowns scattered to other mirrors around the room, leaving unaltered reflections of the boys in their place.

Five equidistant and unique doors appeared, one beside each clown. One was bright yellow with a puffy purple trim. It spanned to the ceiling and had a tiny window at the top, too high for a person of normal height to peer through.

Another was shaped as an outline of a rotund clown. Multicolored polka dots randomly floated across its surface.

The third door wasn't a door at all. It was just an oversized doorknob in the mirror with a disturbingly happy, animated clown face smiling and winking back at them.

The fourth door was unusual in comparison to the others because it wasn't brightly colored or oddly shaped. It looked like a door you'd find on a typical house. What made it different was the fact that it hung upside down from the ceiling. In order to walk through it, the room would have to be flipped.

While those four doors were bizarre, to say the least, it was the fifth door that captured T-Pot's attention. It was a loose, mirrored panel in the room. With a flick from the clown's hand, the panel spun on its pivot. Reflected images from inside the room alternated with flickering reflections of people standing in line outside the Labyrinth. It was their way out.

"Hey, guys," T-Pot said. The boys looked at him and followed his raised eyebrow and tilted head toward the exit.

"On three, we get the fuck outta here," he said.

"But this is just starting to get fun, T-Pot. Can't we stay a little longer?" a boy pleaded. The others nodded in agreement. Their combined resistance to his command triggered the timer of an inevitable T-Pot explosion. Veins in his neck and forehead throbbed, flushing his head and ears red with blood. His midget clown moved to replace his reflection. Its face also turned bright red as the pressure intensified to the point where steam hissed from the mocking clown's ears.

"Do you fuckheads remember what you said before we came into this room?" T-Pot barked through gritted teeth. "You all said you hate fucking clowns. Did you forget already? Huh?" He moved into his drill sergeant position in front of the line of lemmings, facing away from the clown mimicking his every move from behind.

"But you told us to say that, Bobby—uh, T-Pot."

"I don't fucking care what I told you to say. You said it, and now we all hate these _fucking clowns_."

In the mirrors, T-Pot's Hitler clown bent over as another clown hobbled up behind and started humping him. With each hump, the midget Hitler clown would raise his hand in a heil Hitler salute.

Like a Mentos in a soda bottle, all four boys exploded in laughter. The two clowns quickly returned to their positions before T-Pot could discover what amused them. He spun to look behind him. His clown was looking behind his own back. T-Pot faced the boys again and demanded to know what they were laughing about. The two clowns got together again. This time, they faced T-Pot's back, unzipped their clown pants, and pulled out three-foot long balloons. The balloons flowed through the mirrors and the clowns started thrusting them to within inches of T-Pot's ass.

Two of the boys fell to the floor with sidesplitting laughter while the others desperately tried to contain their own amusement by covering their mouths and looking away from the display.

T-Pot was infuriated. He clenched his fists and grunted; his head snapped upward. From the perspective of his crew, it appeared that he just climaxed from the double doggy style clown shagging. That sent the two standing boys to the floor with the other two where they rolled into each other in hysterics as they wiped tears from their eyes.

T-Pot pulled the knife from his pocket and went from kid to kid, waving it inches from their tear-soaked faces and threatening to cut each of them. The boys did their best to stop laughing, but their frenzy was too powerful. The best they could manage was to shield their eyes from the clowns in an attempt to remove the source of their hysterical high. It helped, but they quickly discovered that the clowns were only half the problem. They couldn't look at T-Pot without seeing the image of the clowns reaming him from behind with balloon stiffies.

"C'mon guys." His threats didn't work, so T-Pot resorted to pleading. "Let's get out of here. I promise not to do anything if we leave now."

The clowns in the mirrors refrained from further provocation, allowing the boys to regain their composure. One by one, they shook off lingering effects of the clowning as they stood in line and avoided looking at each other.

"Okay, good, now let's get the fuck outta here," T-Pot said as he led his friends toward the spinning door. Five steps later, T-Pot stood in front of the door and the clown stepped aside.

T-Pot reached to stop the spinning panel. His hand touched the mirror but the spinning continued. The spinning and view of the crowd outside were an illusion—a projection inside the motionless mirror. The clown laughed and jumped into the spinning projection. His image flickered with the crowd, appearing as though he were standing outside amongst them. With his arm over the shoulder of a waiting guest, he waved back at T-Pot.

"This is wack!" T-Pot said.

The volume of the circus music lowered and a voice came over the speakers.

"Welcome to the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, home of— _The Guild of Fallen Clowns_."

T-Pot's clown joined the clown beside the upside-down door. He knelt to his hands and knees, and the other clown stepped up on his back and reached to open the door. Clowns outside the remaining passages followed suit and opened their doors. From all but the fake exit, creepy clowns flowed into the room.

They quickly filled the mirrors around the perimeter of the room. Honking sounds, buzzing, ringing bells, laughing, and whistles mixed with the vibrantly colored continuous motion of juggling clowns, acrobatic clowns, clowns riding bikes, clowns riding other clowns, all dancing inside the mirrored walls of the circular space.

It was a virtual clown sensory overload. T-Pot's followers responded like two-year-olds in Teletubby hypnotic trances.

T-Pot's reaction was a bit more dramatic. The scene before him triggered his fight or flight instinct. With no exits present, he resorted to fighting his way out. His explosive response to perceived danger was what had established his role as the gang's leader. That same short temper also resulted in his nickname. Once his fuse was lit, his head trembled and a low grumbling sound from deep in his chest grew to a loud growl, setting off a violent fit of rage.

His first target was the midget clown that had been shadowing him since they entered the Labyrinth. He took out his knife, flicked it open, snarled at his unrelenting harasser, and pulled his arm back before plunging forward with all his might. Fury clouded over the reality that the clown was just a projected image on the hard surface of a mirror. The force of his stab would likely result in his own broken hand. As the knife got closer, the little clown expressed fear. His hands rose to cover his eyes. The blade penetrated the mirror's surface and sank into the clown's chest.

Mortally wounded, the dying clown lowered his hands from his eyes and gazed up at T-Pot. Sadness filled his eyes, as his body grew weak. T-Pot reveled in his moment of conquest over his tormentor. He gave the knife an added shove and twist before yanking it from his body. To his surprise, the clown's translucent heart came out with the knife. Stabbed through the center, the Valentine-shaped heart continued to beat. The clown grasped his chest and collapsed to the floor inside the mirror.

Circus music was replaced with more somber funeral music as the remaining clowns stopped playing and gathered around their fallen comrade. As they stood with folded hands, quietly mourning over their friend, a voice from the back of the crowd ordered them to step aside to let him through. The clowns opened a path and a fat clown emerged. His clown suit was white and covered with dozens of hearts in every possible size. He knelt down in front of the dead clown, removed a ruler from his pocket, and measured the chest hole. Then he searched the hearts on his costume, plucked one from the fabric, and inserted it into the fallen clown. The music stopped altogether and the room fell silent.

Thump thump, thump thump. The sounds grew louder. The midget clown's eyes slowly opened as the thumping intensified. His head turned toward a stunned T-Pot. The clown smiled, then giggled and jumped to his feet. The other clowns cheered, circus music blared from the speakers, and the clowns returned to their frolicking and obnoxious celebration.

T-Pot was about to blow a second time. His growling turned to an uncontrollable mixture of grunts, screams, and howls. He ran around the room, pounding his fists on all the mirrors. Clowns pretended to be knocked down by his jabs. One placed his face directly in front of T-Pot's hand. As he struck the mirrored image of the clown's large red nose, it let out a loud squeaking sound. While T-Pot circled the room, a group of clowns formed a clown pyramid. The top clown was T-Pot's midget.

Upon seeing the unstable pile across the room, T-Pot darted for it. Before he arrived, two clowns walked across the mirrors carrying a metal fence to protect the pile from him. T-Pot stopped and stood in front of the barrier, looking for a way to topple the clown pile. His midget clown looked down at T-Pot from the top of the wobbly pyramid. The clowns below laughed as they covered their heads with colorful hats, mini umbrellas, and plastic films. Then T-Pot's clown lowered his pants and peed into the room. His hips twisted back and forth as he showered T-Pot and the four boys with clown piss. Before finishing, the clown focused his stream directly at T-Pot. The intensity was that of a garden hose, spraying him from face to toe. For a good five seconds, T-Pot circled the room in an attempt to find shelter. He ended up hiding behind the other four boys. The group huddled with their faces down until the urine shower stopped.

The little clown gave himself a few good shakes and zipped up before the pyramid fell apart and the clowns returned to frolicking around inside the mirrors.

All five boys raised their heads and sniffed their clothes to see if the prank used actual urine. Relieved, one said, "It's just water. It's only water, T-Pot. He didn't really piss on us. It's just water."

While this news calmed the four followers, the dousing didn't diffuse T-Pot's anger. To the contrary, he was more incensed, but he knew there was nothing he could do to hurt the images in the mirrors. As they stood and shook off the excess water, the music stopped and the clowns started exiting through the doors. Holding a metal bucket, T-Pot's clown calmly approached the gang.

"Before we let you go, we wanted to give you a going away gift," the clown said. He placed the bucket in front of him, reached both hands in, and raised them above his head. Paper money flowed from his fingers. The bucket was filled with cash.

"Who will receive our gift?" the clown asked.

The boys were ready to step forward when T-Pot raised his hands to stop them.

"I'll take it," T-Pot said as he stepped up to the mirror.

The clown smiled and said, "Very well, but the bucket has to stay with us. I'll have to pour it out to you. Then you can leave through the door behind you." A door panel opened and daylight filled the room. From the darkness inside the mirrors, two clowns carried a six-foot stepladder and set it up in front of T-Pot. They left and T-Pot's clown climbed up the first four steps with the bucket in hand.

"Okay, gimme the money," T-Pot said. He reached his hands over his head to receive the bills.

"A little closer. My arms are short and I can't throw that far."

T-Pot complied and stepped closer to the mirror.

With both hands on the bucket, the clown raised it high above his head.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked.

"Yes, I want it. Gimme the money."

With a firm grip around the bottom of the bucket, the clown tilted it forward. T-Pot reached up, but instead of feeling paper currency flowing over his hands, warm water rushed over him. It flowed through his fingers into his face and open mouth. The clown jumped off the ladder and ran off laughing. He was the last one to leave the room.

T-Pot choked on the liquid. He coughed and bent down to catch his breath. The other boys stepped up to his aid, but were quickly repelled by the odor.

"It's piss!" cried one of the boys.

"It was a bucket of piss he threw at you, T-Pot!"

Still coughing and spitting, T-Pot turned and raced for the door. The other boys followed at a distance. This time the door wasn't a fake. They exited the rear of the Labyrinth. T-Pot turned and prevented the group from walking to the front, where crowds of people would see and smell him.

To their right was a cluster of Porta Potties. T-Pot spotted a length of hose near them and sprinted to it. Out of direct view of the public, he grabbed the hose and ducked behind the toilets. He handed the hose to one of the boys and instructed him to spray it on him until he told him to stop.

He blasted out a contentious stream of obscenities as he aggressively scrubbed every inch of his body.

"I don't know what the fuck those things were, but it's not over. Those clowns will pay for this. Nobody pisses on T-Pot and lives to tell about it." His words alerted him to an unthinkable possibility. He temporarily stopped scrubbing and looked around at his buddies.

"Same goes for all of you. If any of you say a word to anyone about this, I'll fucking cut off your head and piss down your neck. Don't even think about it."

"You really don't have to worry about that, T-Pot," one boy said. "We believe you would kill us. Besides, who would believe us anyway?"

Knowing that T-Pot would keep his promise, they all agreed to take this secret to their graves.

T-Pot yanked the hose from his helper and turned it off. Then he removed his shirt, wrung it out, and tucked it in the back of his pants to air dry. He led the group through a narrow alley between attractions. Before emerging into the crowded midway, he halted the group. With foot traffic in both directions, intermittent images of a clown flashed between the moving bodies. It was Boogy, twisting balloons into cute animal shapes for a little boy.

"A fucking clown," he whispered.

The boy behind him asked why they were stopped. T-Pot pointed. With all the people walking in both directions between them and the clown, the boy followed T-Pot's aim as well as he could. A chubby girl wearing stretchy orange shorts and a red tube top was the assumed target of T-Pot's aim.

"Aw, man! She's gross, T-Pot. You can't be serious."

T-Pot turned back to see what he was looking at when he also spotted the girl.

"No, you idiot! I'm pointing to the clown across the way," T-Pot said.

"Oh, thank God. I thought that piss messed up your head or something."

The other boys inched closer to get a glimpse of the clown.

"What are you thinking, T-Pot?" one asked.

"I'm thinking it's time to get even with those clowns. We need to take him out."

"But he wasn't in the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors T-Pot. Why you wanna hurt him?"

"Because he's a clown. He's one of them and we hate fucking clowns."

Muted laughter came from the boy at the rear of the group, the same one who couldn't hear those words without seeing mental images of clowns having sex. Fortunately for him, T-Pot didn't hear him.

T-Pot turned to the group and told them to back up. They moved out of the alleyway, behind one of the tents. T-Pot huddled them together and started making plans for their clown bashing.

"We need to fuck that clown up. But we can't do it in front of all the people. How are we going to get him away from the people so we can kick his ass?"

The boys all looked to each other for ideas when one blurted out, "Maybe we can wait till he leaves and get him in the parking lot."

T-Pot paused to consider the idea. He put his hand on his chin to demonstrate to the others that he was deep in thought.

"Yeah, T-Pot, we can wait till he goes to his car," another chimed in, hoping to somehow share in the credit.

T-Pot started nodding his head. Surprisingly, he wasn't able to see any flaw in the plan.

"It won't work!" came the voice of a hidden eavesdropper.

"Who said that?" T-Pot said.

From the other side of the material wall, the voice came again. "It won't work. Your plan won't work."

The five boys all looked at the tent. A flap opened and The Ringmaster stared back at the shocked teens.

"Us carnival workers stay in the trailers in the field. He won't go to the parking lot," Ringmaster lied.

"Why are you telling us this?" T-Pot asked.

"I'm telling you because I share your desire to get rid of the clown. That job will be mine. I've been waiting fifteen years for it and I won't let him take it from me."

T-Pot realized Ringmaster had his own agenda.

"So, you want us to help get rid of him for you?"

The Ringmaster scanned their surroundings to be sure they weren't being overheard. He leaned in and whispered, "I want him to quit and be out of my way. I can get him back here where nobody will see, but I don't want you to kill him. Just scare him—threaten him, but don't hurt him." He rose and turned in a circle to be sure their discussion was still private.

"You don't want us to hurt him? I don't understand."

"I only want him to leave so he can't take my job."

"Okay, pal. What if I tell him he better fucking quit or else we will hurt him? If he refuses to quit, we'll have to hurt him, but it won't be your fault. It'll be his because it's his choice. If he doesn't want us to fuck him up, all he has to do is quit."

The Ringmaster looked puzzled by T-Pot's plan. "So, if he gets hurt, it's not my fault?"

T-Pot put his arm over The Ringmaster's shoulders. "That's right. It's his decision. We don't want him to take your job, but if he doesn't quit, it'll be like he's telling us he wants your job. We can't let him do that to you. That job is yours, right? You earned it. Anyone who can do something like that needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to learn that you can't do that to people." Behind his own back, T-Pot motioned to elicit support from his buddies. They all chimed in at once, agreeing with T-Pot.

"Yeah, you're right. If he doesn't leave, that means he wanted my job all along. If you have to rough him up a little, maybe he'll learn from it and become a better person."

"That's right! You'd be doing him a favor."

T-Pot's distorted logic swayed The Ringmaster into action. He shared his plan with them and returned inside the tent.

### Chapter 7

Entertaining guests was particularly difficult for Alan that afternoon. One minute he thought he had control over the whole Peepers situation. Then Geno showed him that he was never in control at all. The only thing he controlled was a desire to avoid Peepers altogether. He was back to thinking up excuses to avoid Geno, Peepers, and the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors.

_Maybe this is another test,_ Alan thought. _Father Harris didn't say anything about facing my fears. He only said, "just believe."_

In his mind, he rationalized his way out of another encounter. He thought that in order to take control, all he had to do was stand up for himself by not allowing Geno or Peepers tell him what he had to do. He didn't have to answer to them.

_Who the hell do they think they are ordering me around?_ As long as it meant he wouldn't have to go into the Labyrinth and face Peepers, his thoughts empowered him to a new level of internal defiance. The only downside was that he might never be able to play his beloved Clown World game again, because Peepers might be there. If only there were a way to take out a restraining order on ghosts, he would finally be content.

From across the midway, Alan heard his name being called out. The Ringmaster was waving him over to his booth. Alan broke away from the crowd and went to see what The Ringmaster wanted.

"Hey, Clown. I need your help. Sammy next door had to take a leak. Nobody was there so I told him I would keep an eye on his booth. Now I have customers and those two delinquents are nosing around his booth. I think they're looking for an opportunity to steal something and I can't watch them while I'm taking care of things here. Could you just stand inside his booth? With someone in there, they won't steal any of the prizes."

Alan glanced over. Two mean-looking boys hovered in front of the vacant booth. The Ringmaster was right. They looked like they were up to something so Alan agreed.

The Ringmaster guided Alan between the tent booths and told him he could access it from the rear. Alan headed down the narrow passage and the boys slipped in behind him. As Alan reached the back of the alleyway, the two boys along with a third one were waiting for him. Alan turned to leave but was blocked and surrounded by the thugs.

"What is this?" Alan said.

"This is an old-fashioned clown bashing," replied one of the boys, who looked to be the leader.

Before Alan could ask why, the leader started the beating with a punch in the gut. Alan folded and fell to the ground. The other boys joined in by kicking him as he curled up in a fetal position to protect his face and midsection.

Looking on, The Ringmaster knew that T-Pot broke his side of the agreement. The commotion happened too quickly for any sort of negotiations with the clown. The shaking tent, shouting aggressors, and moans from Alan also drew attention from passing guests. It was too much for The Ringmaster. One of his customers asked what was going on. The Ringmaster didn't reply and barked out to the crowd in an attempt to mask the sounds with his own voice.

Ringmaster grew fearful that the beating might be pinned on him. He decided to go for help and divert suspicion from him. Leaving two active customers, he jumped over the table and abandoned his position as he made a mad dash to the ticket booth. Within seconds, he arrived, pounding on the side door. Cracky turned to see him and opened the door.

"Cracky, you gotta come quick. They are beating up the clown. They are hurting him."

Cracky didn't ask for an explanation. He stepped out of the booth and ran past Ringmaster toward his booth. As he got closer, he could see people stopping to look at the swaying tent. He didn't slow down as he passed between the tents and tackled three of the five boys to the ground. T-Pot watched his three friends disappear under the giant clown-faced meteor. He took off over the back border fence with the other lucky hooligan tight on his heels.

Cracky stood. The three boys remained on the ground moaning from the unexpected collision. Alan peeked through folded arms over his face and saw Cracky begin to pace beside the twisted pile of teenage garbage.

"What da hell are you kids doing?" Cracky said. "Get up!"

The boys slowly stood to their feet. Cracky looked relieved that they all survived his blow and that they didn't appear to have any broken bones. Even though he was justified in taking them down, he knew how bad this could go if they decided to sue.

"Answer me, boys. What da hell is dis about?"

"We're sorry, mister."

Cracky stared them down and said, "Don't say you're sorry to me." He looked down at Alan. "Hey Boogy, you okay, pal? Did dey break anything?"

Alan carefully stood to his feet. He bent down for his clown hat, shook out the dust, and put it on his head.

"I'm okay—I guess. Why did you guys do this? What did I do to you?"

"We're really sorry, mister...clown. It wasn't our idea."

Cracky wasn't the type of person to dwell on anything. The boys weren't damaged and Boogy appeared to be in one piece.

"Follow me, boys," Cracky said as he stepped toward the fence. They obeyed. Cracky lifted each one over the fence. When the last one was over, he told them to pass the word to the two that got away that he better not see them again. They apologized again and ran away.

"You sure you're okay, Boogy? Do ya think you need to go home early?"

Alan was just a little bruised and said it wasn't necessary. Cracky returned to the ticket booth and Alan brushed the straw and dust off his costume and headed back to his position.

As he came out from between the tents, The Ringmaster said, "I didn't have anything to do with it. I was the one who went to get Cracky to save you."

"I never thought you did have anything to do with it, Ringmaster. But thanks for getting Cracky."

"Are you going to quit now? I mean, I'm guessing you would want to quit in case those kids show up again."

Alan looked puzzled by The Ringmaster's logic.

"No, I'm not going to quit. Cracky told them not to come back. I don't think they will try it again."

"Are you sure you want to take that chance? What if Cracky isn't around next time?" The Ringmaster said.

Alan thought The Ringmaster's line of questioning was bizarre. He just got roughed up by a gang of teenage boys and the only thing this guy could think about was whether or not he would quit. He didn't wonder why they targeted him or if Alan was okay. Then he remembered that The Ringmaster viewed him as a contender for Geno's job.

"Don't worry, Ringmaster. I'm really not interested in any other jobs around here. I live here, and I'm just a temp while the carnival is in Riverside." Alan didn't wait for a reply. He continued walking toward a group of young children.

The Ringmaster studied the clown as he walked off. The words sounded sincere, but The Ringmaster squinted his eyes and sneered before returning to a waiting customer.

*****

In the catwalk structure above the Labyrinth, Geno climbed a metal ladder to a hatch in the roof. Daylight temporarily filled the blackened control center as he crawled out to the roof. From his elevated vantage point, he had a view of the entire carnival. With his back to the carnival, he searched the field and parking lot beyond the fence. Fifty yards out, he spotted T-Pot and his gang hanging out by a large shade tree. He turned and climbed back through the hatch into the Labyrinth.

Behind the Labyrinth, a small garage door rolled up. Geno exited and pulled a rope to close the door behind him. He unlocked the back fence and left the carnival grounds.

*****

T-Pot circled the four boys lounging beneath the tree.

"I still don't know where that freak came from," T-Pot said.

"I know, TP! That guy came out of nowhere. At least you didn't get run over by him."

T-Pot continued pacing, trying to figure out what went wrong. "I'm fucking pissed because we barely got started. I probably only got three good kicks in."

"I hope you're not planning to go back, T-Pot. That giant with the clown face will kill us if we get caught again."

As T-Pot weighed his options, he noticed Geno approaching.

"Hey, guys, look at this," T-Pot said as Geno closed the gap between them.

The boys stumbled to their feet. As the chief of his tribe, T-Pot stood in front.

Geno slowed as he got closer to the group. He looked directly at T-Pot and said, "I'm glad I found you."

"Who the fuck are you?" T-Pot replied.

Geno stopped and smiled. "I saw what you were doing to Boogy."

"Who the fuck is Boogy?"

"The clown—the clown you guys were beating on inside. I saw it all."

T-Pot stepped to within inches of Geno's face. "Yeah, if you got a problem with it, we'll fuck you up too, freak!"

"No! No! No! I don't have a problem with it. Not at all. As a matter of fact, I thought it ended too soon."

T-Pot stared into Geno's dark eyes. Then he looked to his left, then right as he shook his head in agreement. "That's what we was just talking about. We didn't finish the job."

"Exactly, that's why I'm here. I can help you finish the job," Geno said.

"Oh, wait a minute. Why are you guys all so eager to help us fuck that guy up? First that freaky top hat guy said he would get the clown over so we could pound him. Now you come over offering to help us. Why don't you do it yourself? Why do you need us?"

"Very well," Geno said as he began to turn. "I thought you might be interested, but I can see that the big guy scared you off. I'll take care of it myself."

"Hey, wait a second. We ain't afraid of that big fucker. He just caught us by surprise. He ambushed us." T-Pot pulled his knife from his pocket and flicked it open. "We'll fuck him up too, but first we want the other clown."

Geno looked at T-Pot. "Are you saying you want my help?"

"I'm listening," T-Pot said.

"Okay, as you discovered, people will hear you if you do it outside. They won't hear you if you mess him up inside the Labyrinth."

"Whoa! You the guy in charge of that thing?" T-Pot said.

"Yes, I'm in charge of it and I can make it so you can make as much noise as needed and nobody will hear it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" T-Pot said as he raised his knife to Geno's throat. "Are you telling me you're the guy who dumped a bucket of piss on me?"  
Geno's eyes cautiously looked down at the knife against his throat.

"Wait, that wasn't my doing. I was on a break. I _never_ let them out. They never come out when I'm around. You have to trust me. I'm the only one who can help you," Geno pleaded.

T-Pot lowered his knife.

"Are you saying those things were real?"

"Real? Well, yeah, sort of. They are spirits trapped in the mirrors. I'm, eh, their master. When I'm there, they won't come out."

"You better not be lying to me, freak! If we see any clowns in there, I'll—"

"He'll kill you!" one of the boys shouted. "He really will. You really don't want to piss off T-Pot. He'll cut you. We've seen him do it." He looked around the group. The other boys nodded along with him.

"He's right," said T-Pot. "You better not be screwing with us because it's no joke. I'll kill you."

"Trust me! Boogy will be the only clown you see in there," Geno said.

### Chapter 8

The sun faded over the horizon. The carnival was still bright from pole lights, flashing neon in every color, and strings of lights outlining the attractions. With less than ten minutes remaining before the place closed for the night, the line for the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors dwindled to a handful of diehard fans.

Earlier that afternoon, Alan convinced himself to take a stand. He wouldn't succumb to pressure from Geno or Peepers. This was the second time that he talked himself out of going inside the Labyrinth. This plan was stronger than his first because it gave him complete control. He didn't have to do anything against his own will. He was feeling stronger already.

Although he felt empowered to stand up to Geno, he thought it might be best to play it safe by staying out of Geno's sight. It was too early to leave, and he couldn't risk being noticed hanging out near the entrance waiting for quitting time to arrive. His instructions were to work outside the Labyrinth. However, as soon as Geno shut it down, he would call for Alan to come inside. Alan didn't know Geno. For all he knew, Geno might be the type of person who wouldn't take his decision very well. He didn't want to risk getting beat up again. Hiding was the logical solution. Where to hide was the question. He had better figure it out soon.

The clock was ticking and he became more anxious with each passing minute. Lights gradually turned off around him. He stood directly across from the Labyrinth and only a handful of lingering guests remained. This was a bad place and Alan knew Geno would confront him if he remained in that spot any longer. To his right, he could see The Ringmaster exiting the pathway from the Porta Potties. _That's it_ , he thought. _I'll spend my last few minutes going to the bathroom._ It wasn't as if he'd be hiding out from Geno because he actually did have to pee. He might as well do it before the drive home.

Without further consideration, he removed his clown shoes and rushed to the Porta Potties. Nobody was around and he still had about five minutes on the clock. He could take his time and then head toward the front gates and leave. He thought that he might even take the longer way to the exit so he wouldn't have to pass in front of the Labyrinth on the way to the front gate. It was a perfect plan.

He stepped inside, placed his giant shoe covers in the sink, latched the door, and started working himself free of his costume. Before he was able to start relieving himself, the structure started shaking. He could hear low whispering voices outside the plastic walls. The unit was lifted off the ground. He braced himself and called out, "Occupied!" The rocking continued but he managed to pull his costume back on. By now it was obvious that whoever it was outside had no intention of stopping. He unlatched the door and pushed, but it wouldn't open. He pushed a few more times. When that failed, he shoved his shoulder into it. Again, the door was blocked. He was trapped inside. While the activity outside was extremely disconcerting, it was the sloshing of a full day's worth of human waste inside the toilet between his legs that posed a potentially more disturbing outcome.

The rocking stopped. Alan's hands remained braced against the walls, prepared for additional jolting.

"Hey! What's going on out there? Let me out."

It was silent. The door opened. Standing in front of him was T-Pot.

"Hello again, Clown," he said as he clenched both fists; the rest of his gang stood behind him.

"Back up!" Geno shouted. The boys moved aside. "Come out, Alan."

Alan looked beyond Geno and the teenagers and noticed he wasn't outside. They had carried the Porta Potty into the Labyrinth.

"What did you do? Why...how did—"

"Step out," Geno demanded a second time.

Alan grabbed his shoes and stepped out. Geno then instructed the boys to return the unit outside before anyone noticed it missing. Four boys picked up ends of two long boards slid underneath and lifted up the big container as T-Pot supervised. They walked it out and Geno quickly pulled the rolling door closed and locked it behind them.

Outside, T-Pot, sensing that Geno had double-crossed them, commanded the others to put the Porta Potty down short of its original location. With it back on the ground, T-Pot ran back to the Labyrinth door and started pounding.

"Hey! Let us in, freak," he yelled. Cracky rounded the corner as T-Pot continued banging the door. The sight of the huge clown scattered the other boys like roaches. T-Pot turned to see Cracky reaching down for him. He ducked and escaped between Cracky's legs. He jumped the fence and within twenty yards overtook his slower friends.

Cracky watched as they escaped a second time. He glanced back at the door of the Labyrinth. It was still locked tight with no signs of damage. Cracky slid the Porta Potty next to the others, went inside, and flipped the latch to the occupied position.

*****

Inside the Labyrinth, Alan stood motionless as Geno returned.

"We knew you wouldn't come on your own. And don't worry about those idiots. They won't be back," Geno said.

"How did you know I wasn't going to come? And even if I didn't, what gives you the right to kidnap me?"

Geno ignored Alan's questions and exited the room as he did before.

"Peepers here to help Alan. Do not fear my image," Peepers voice came from the darkness.

"Where are you?" Alan asked as he scanned the dimly lit mirrors in the room.

Peepers gradually appeared in the mirror in front of Alan.

"Please let me go. I don't want to be here and you don't have the right to keep me."

Peepers smiled and stepped through the mirror. His ghostly image floated around Alan. Alan turned with him. Peepers stopped and floated back in front of a different mirrored panel.

"Alan is free to leave. Your door is behind Peepers." The panel behind Peepers pivoted, creating openings on both sides.

"Okay, step aside and I'll leave," Alan said.

Peepers smiled again and said, "Peepers cannot stop Alan. Alan can walk through Peepers."

Alan looked at Peepers' translucent image and considered his offer. It made perfect sense. Peepers was a ghost. Outside the mirrors, he didn't have a solid form and Alan should be able to walk right through him. It should work, but there was no way in hell he would purposely walk through a ghost. Even if it meant he would be free of Peepers and the Labyrinth.

He was imprisoned by his own lack of willpower. Once again, cracks formed in his perfect plan. It was time to revert to plan "A," which was to face his fears. With every ounce of power he had, he closed his eyes, raised his hands in Peepers' direction, and said, "I command you to leave me alone!"

There was dead silence. Alan's eyes remained closed. He didn't know if it worked. If he opened his eyes and saw Peepers still standing there, he would be out of options. On the other hand, he couldn't stand there all night with his eyes closed, hoping it worked.

After about thirty seconds, he decided to peek through a squinted eye. The door was in front of him but through the tight view of one eye, he wasn't completely sure if Peepers was gone. He slowly opened the eye a little more. There was no sign of Peepers in front of him. This was a positive sign and he fully opened both eyes. Peepers was gone, he thought. It worked. Now all he had to do was slip out the door, and this episode of his life would finally be over.

He dropped his arms to his side and eased forward. He took one-step toward the door. _So far so good._ He took another step. The door was a good ten steps away. He could take off running, but he feared that the sudden movement might reawaken Peepers' spirit. He thought it would be best to slip out as slowly and quietly as possible.

He took another step forward. With each step closer to the exit, he felt more relieved. He was halfway with no signs of Peepers' return. Just to be sure he was successful in casting Peepers from his life, he took his focus off the exit door and turned to look at the mirrors behind him. The mirrors were dark but not completely empty.

Peepers wasn't inside the room or the mirrors, but something else was. As he stared over his shoulder, images in the mirrors became more distinct. They appeared to be faces without bodies peeping out at him. He turned to look over his left shoulder and more faces appeared. The images sharpened and became animated with smiles, grimaces, and rolling eyes.

Dozens of disembodied, grotesque, caricature clown heads watched from inside the mirrors. The mob of freakishly evil faces silently staring back at him was more frightening than anything he had ever witnessed—including Peepers. He abandoned his soft-step approach to exiting the building as his feet leapt two steps forward. Once his head caught up to his feet and he faced the exit, the sight of Peepers blocking his path made him skid to a stop. He looked to the faces behind. Then he looked at Peepers in front of him.

Peepers scanned the faces of his guild and waved them back into the darkness. As they faded, Alan stepped back into the room, slightly relieved to be back to his original dilemma. Plan A failed. You couldn't cast ghostly spirits from your life by simply shouting at them. Unfortunately, he didn't have a plan B.

"What do you want from me?" he said.

"Peepers not here to frighten Alan. Peepers help Alan overcome his fear," Peepers said.

"What does that even mean?" Alan replied, exhausted and weakened from his efforts to escape the situation.

"Alan help Peepers, and we help Alan trust Peepers and fear not."

Alan's shoulders slumped in surrender. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me. Can't you just make this easy and tell me what you want from me? Please?" he said as he fell to his knees pleading.

Peepers grinned. "Alan possesses power of messenger spirit. Life energy and masked talent needed to help Peepers earn the light."

"Yeah, you said something about my strong spirit before. I still don't know what it means, or why you think someone like me can help you. This must be a mistake. I'm not the same person from Clown World. My only talent is that I'm a pretty good player in the virtual world. But that's only a game. Look at me." He held his arms out to his side for Peepers to get a good look. "Do I look like some strong-spirited person with an ability at all to help you? Clown World isn't real. It's safe, and nobody can hurt me there. It's easy to act like someone I'm not in the real world. What you need is someone who's strong in the real world, someone who isn't scared of you. I think it's obvious that I'm not that guy."

"McGiggles never wrong. Spirit is in Alan. Peepers help discover talent. Alan used to help Peepers and guild earn forgiveness. Show Alan how he helps others like him grow strong in life."

"McGiggles? Is he one of those freaky faces I saw in the mirrors? Are they 'the guild' you keep mentioning?" Alan asked.

"Peepers and the guild once like Alan. Were clowns. Never discover our talents. Hide behind painted faces. Crave acceptance. Shunned, path of sin opened. Death deprive chance for atone."

"The guild? You're just one of them? How many are there?"

"Many. Our sins display ugliness outside. Fear not. We seek atonement. Alan able to help guild escape ugliness, earn light."

"Are you suggesting there's a way for me to help you and all those creepy characters get to heaven?"

"Heaven—yes! Alan help guild earn light. Escape darkness through his talent and powerful spirit."

"So, I can help you with this supposed talent of mine? What might that talent be?"

"Alan great sculptor. The guild can help people through Alan's talent."

"I'm a sculptor? No way! I've never sculpted anything. I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I really think you have the wrong person. Please, just slide away from the door and let me go now."

"Alan free to walk through Peepers. Peepers move if Alan trusts and promise to sculpt Peepers' likeness."

"Are you saying that you'll let me out if I promise to try sculpting you?" Alan said.

"Yes. Peepers share with Alan his gift, but Peepers must earn light. Alan sculpt Peepers and return tomorrow night. When you return, Peepers helped Alan overcome his fear. Peepers help Alan believe only."

Alan recognized these words. He removed the white clown glove from his hand; the words were still written on his palm. This was an interesting twist. All this time, he thought that Peepers was the evil he needed to fight. Now that he used the words, "Believe only," he was seeing things in a new light. Maybe Peepers was the thing he needed to believe in. Maybe in order to overcome his fears, he needed to do more than just face them. He had to understand and help them. Sure, Peepers and the guild were freakishly ugly, but if Peepers was telling the truth, they wanted to help people. They wanted to earn forgiveness and go to heaven. Was it possible Father Harris was telling him to believe Peepers, and he would find much more than a solution to his problem? Might he be able to bring peace to the poor souls who felt the need to hide behind masks in life? Whatever their sins, Alan appreciated their desire to repent.

He considered what Peepers told him. His trust for him grew, but he still didn't believe he had a talent for sculpting.

"Okay, Peepers, I will try it. But, if you are wrong and I can't sculpt you, I won't come back. I promise to only come back here if you are telling me the truth. Now, will you please let me out?"

Peepers smiled and bowed as his body glided away from the door. Alan cautiously moved through the opening and found himself outside.

### Chapter 9

Monday morning, Alan waited in his car for the local art supply store to open. The store's window displays were packed with artistic samplings from a variety of mediums. Paintings were propped up on wooden easels. Partially completed sculptures displayed on tables and temporary shelves were used to demonstrate stages of completion. Filling in the spaces between the works was an assortment of colorful posters, advertising paints, drawing supplies, brushes, and a host of other products with manufacturers' names unfamiliar to Alan.

An employee unlocked the door and flipped the door sign to OPEN. They were open for business but Alan remained in his car. He didn't want to be the first, and possibly the only, customer in a store full of pretentious employees looking down at the artistically challenged wanna-be sculptor, an obvious intruder to their close-knit community of talented artists.

Five minutes passed before the first customer entered the store. One person wasn't enough. She might not require assistance from an employee. If not, her arrival just added one set of potentially mocking eyes leering at him, the outsider. He suddenly realized the flaw in his plan. More customers translated to more _real_ artists ridiculing the poser with rolling eyes and snubbed noses.

It wasn't that he was scared to enter the store. He just looked for the most comfortable set of circumstances that would lessen potential attention to himself and his obvious lack of knowledge for anything relating to art. With valid arguments to make for all possible scenarios, he decided that that moment was as good a time as any to make his move. He got out of his car and walked to the door. Reaching for the handle, he looked up to see if there were any bells to announce his entrance. If he saw the bells, he would pull slowly to reduce the sound. He was in luck; no bells above the door. He gave the door a standard pull and stepped into the store. His entrance triggered an electric buzzer sound, foiling his attempt to go unnoticed. To his surprise, his entrance didn't draw any attention. In addition to the one customer, Alan could only see two employees, one stocking shelves as the other broke down his empty boxes. Both were engrossed in conversation, so Alan was free to browse.

The store was separated into sections, with wall signs indicating the types of supplies in that area. Alan spotted the sign for sculpting materials in the back right corner. Making his way, he felt as out of place as a nun in a gun shop. Everything was very interesting but foreign to him.

He turned right and found himself surrounded with options. Shelves filled with dozens of metal and plastic carving tools, all shaped for specific purposes. Jugs of chemicals and dry mixes for mold making. Countless blocks of clays in a variety of sizes and colors. The choices were overwhelming.

He leaned over and pressed his finger into a large, loosely wrapped block of clay on the floor. It was soft and looked like the sort of clay used on a wheel to make bowls. Another shelf had smaller, brick-size materials. He pushed a finger into one of them, but it barely made a dent. He picked it up in an effort to appear a little less lost if someone happened to see him. Glancing to the top shelf he noticed human-shaped wood and wire figures, also offered in multiple sizes.

Lost in choices, he whispered, "Where are you now, Peepers?"

"Excuse me." A woman's voice interrupted his concentration. He turned to see if he was in her way.

"Alan. Right?" the woman said. Caught off guard, Alan looked at her a few seconds before recognizing the face.

"Mary," he replied nervously. His hand returned the product to the shelf as if he were caught red-handed.

"I thought it was you," Mary Krauss said. "Hey, I loved the pizza you brought the other night."

"Oh, yeah, the pizza. I'm glad you liked it. Vince's is the best in town."

She looked at the clay he returned to the shelf. "You're an artist too?"

Alan looked back at the block and shook his head. "No, no, not me. I'm not an artist."

"Really? Then what brings you to an art store? Are you buying a gift for someone?"

"Um, no. Not a gift. Well, I guess I was thinking about giving sculpting a try. But who am I kidding? I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Don't let that stop you, Alan. I think it's great that you want to try something new."

"But I'm not artistic. Nobody in my family is artistic," he said.

"Have you ever tried sculpting, Alan?"

"No—well, Play-doh, but I don't think that's what you mean. I'm not talented," he said, squirming. "It was a bad idea. I don't belong here."

"Nonsense. How would you know if you've never tried? I'm not saying you do have a talent for sculpting, but you'll never know unless you give it a try."

Alan thought about her reply for a few seconds. "Are you a—sculptorist?" he said.

Mary laughed. "Yeah, I guess you can call me a _sculptorist_. I've been sculpting since I was a teenager. And guess what, Alan? I'm the only artist in my family."

"Well, how did you know you had the talent?" he asked.

"I took an art class in high school. My first piece was a dancing girl. I didn't think it was anything special because it was so easy, but my teacher was really impressed with it. She said I had a God-given talent and I should keep working on it. While the rest of the class went on to work on other artistic mediums, she allowed me to continue working on my sculpting. I owe it all to Mrs. Dailey. I don't know what I'd be doing now if she didn't push me."

"You didn't even know you could sculpt?" Alan asked.

"I didn't even have an interest in it," Mary said. She paused and looked at Alan. Her eyes squinted as she put her hand under her chin and said, "Alan. Let me help you."

"Oh, no, Mary. I shouldn't even be here—"

"Stop, Alan!" she ordered. "I want to help you. I'm going to help you and I won't take no for an answer." Her eyes scanned the shelves full of materials. "What were you thinking of sculpting?"

"Well, I guess it's sort of a person," he said.

Mary looked at him and asked, "Sort of a person?"

"Yea, a person dressed—like a clown. It's a clown. I was thinking of sculpting a clown."

Mary's eyes returned to the shelves. "A clown, okay, how big?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"Let's start with an armature," she said, reaching for one of the human-shaped wire figures on the top shelf.

"An eight-inch armature should do," she said

She picked up the block of clay Alan returned to the shelf and said, "You were on the right track with this, but let's get a few more." She filled his hands with the items.

"This stuff won't dry, _ever_. So you can take your time working with it."

Looking at the blocks in his hands, he asked, "What can I do with a soft sculpture?"

"This is how it starts. When the sculpture is finished, I'll show you how to make a mold and we can cast as many solid pieces as you want."

Mary handed Alan five shaping tools. Looking at his hands full of supplies, she said, "There you go. This should be enough to get you started."

"Started how?" Alan asked.

"Are you free this afternoon?" she said.

"Yes."

"Good! Bring these supplies to my house at two-thirty and I'll help you get started."

_Her house,_ he thought. That would be Krauss House. At that point all he wanted to do was prove that he didn't have any special skills so he wouldn't have to face Peepers or any other spirits again. He never considered Krauss House would be the location of his artistic education.

"Oh, if you have a picture of the clown you want to sculpt, bring it with you. And if you want to get started before then, you can slap a bunch of the Plasteline on the armature. It takes time bulking it up to the point where you can start sculpting detail. Just build it up with strips until it resembles the rough shape of a person."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mary?"

Mary placed her hands on his arms below the shoulders, looked him in the eyes, and said, "Are you kidding? It will be my pleasure to help someone the way Mrs. Dailey helped me."

"I don't want to disappoint you," he said. "There's a good chance I might suck at this."

Mary grinned and said, "You'll do fine. I'm glad you're letting me help you discover sculpting. It's going to be so much fun."

That was it. He knew then and there that he was physically incapable of denying this woman. That afternoon he would be in Krauss House and if he showed any talent for sculpting, he would be back in the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors facing Peepers for a third time. There was no way out of this situation and he surprised himself for not trying harder. Either Peepers was correct, and somehow he was helping Alan get over his fears of haunted things, or he was just worn down and too weak to fight.

Mary let go of Alan's arms. Saying she had a few more things to pick up, she smiled and walked away. Alan took his arm full of supplies to the checkout.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the clerk asked.

"And then some," Alan replied.

*****

Standing at his kitchen table, Alan tipped the bag and lifted it from the bottom, emptying the contents in a heap. "Is this what Peepers wanted me to do?" he muttered.

He picked up the armature and examined it before setting it aside. Next, he looked at the blocks of clay. He rapped his knuckles on one and wondered how he was going to combine them with the wire to create something that resembled Peepers.

"Well, I have a feeling Peepers will be disappointed when I don't show up—but I did tell him I wouldn't be back if he was wrong about me," he said to himself.

He started by peeling the plastic wrap from the blocks. They were too hard to squeeze off chunks so he retrieved a steak knife from his utensil drawer and sliced off sheets. Then he slit the sheets into thinner strips. Applying the material was difficult at first, but as it warmed from the friction of his hands, it became more pliable. Building layer after layer, he instinctively trimmed off the overbuilt areas as he smeared the layers together with his warm thumbs.

Within an hour, the rough form was complete. He propped it upright and stepped away from the table and looked back at his work. He did it. It didn't look like much, but it was much better than he ever thought possible. He still had a few hours to kill before two-thirty so he kept at it and fixed a few of the rough spots. He added Peepers' top hat and decided to spend more time working on the face. He jumped around, smoothing and shaping all areas of the sculpture.

Forced by his bladder to take a break, he left the table. Relieved, he turned out of the bathroom and stopped to view his creation from a macro perspective. Up till now, his only view was close up. He knew it was okay, but it wasn't until he looked at it from a slight distance that he realized Peepers was on to something. In only a few hours, he transformed bricks of hard clay and wire form into a near perfect replica of Peepers. How was it possible that he never knew about this talent before now? How did Peepers know he had this capability within him?

As he stared in awe at his first sculpture, it took him a minute to realize what it meant. He had to return to the Labyrinth to learn what Peepers planned for him. While the talent was probably always inside him, Peepers was responsible for giving him the gift of discovery. He wanted to get over his original feelings and fears and believe Peepers would help him. He had an obligation to learn how he could help Peepers and the guild earn their way to heaven.

*****

With his clay figure of Peepers carefully wrapped in a towel on his passenger seat, Alan was on his way to Krauss House for his first sculpting lesson. Thoughts of the dark spirit that lived in the house were temporarily displaced by the possible implications of his newfound talent. First, it meant that he'd have to revisit Peepers and possibly the rest of the guild in the Labyrinth. He managed to get his fear of Peepers under control; however, with only visions of the other characters in the mirrors, he wasn't sure if he could handle a full-fledged introduction to the guild yet. He hoped Peepers would show up alone.

He was also confused by recent events. How could his sculpting ability possibly help ghosts get to heaven? Peepers said something about the guild members craving acceptance. Sure, they might get attention in the form of small sculptures, but maybe they weren't aware of how creepy they looked. People might not accept them. Besides, how would sculpted replicas be connected to the ghosts in the Labyrinth? None of it made sense.

Another thing Alan couldn't understand was what Peepers said about him and how they could help others like him. What did he mean by that? As far as Alan was concerned, his only problem was that he had to cope with some ghostly spirits, which had only appeared within the past few days. Who wouldn't be freaked out by that? What did Peepers think he could do for him?

Engrossed in those and other thoughts, Alan drove the distance of the Krauss House driveway without hesitation. It wasn't until he was a hundred feet from the house that he noticed Mary's car wasn't parked out front. For a split second, he envisioned himself alone at Krauss House, just him and the dark spirit. That thought was quickly extinguished when her car came into view, parked in the side yard.

With his confidence restored, Alan parked his car and carefully lifted the towel, supporting his sculpture. He stepped out and closed the door as Mary stepped out to the porch.

"Right on time, Alan."

He cradled his blanketed sculpture and smiled. "I hope you don't mind, but I kinda went farther than you wanted me to," he said.

"Great! C'mon in," she said, holding the door for Alan as he stepped inside.

"I converted two bedrooms upstairs into my studio. It's up on the left."

He stopped and waited for her to lead the way.

"Go on," she said, waving a hand up the stairs. "I'm going to get us some iced tea. I'll be right up."

She retreated into the kitchen while he stood holding his sculpture, gazing up the narrow stairway. Looking down at the towel-wrapped form, he couldn't help but wonder if Peepers understood the scope of his promise to help Alan with his fears. "More to do, huh, Peepers," he whispered as he cautiously made his way up the creaky steps.

The upper level of the house was nothing like he imagined the old haunted house would look like. There weren't any old portraits with following eyes. It wasn't dark and dreary with dim sconce lights lining a claustrophobically long hallway with a dozen closed doors, each hiding horrific secrets and ghostly inhabitants from another time.

The first thing that defied his expectations was the absence of a hallway. Old farmhouses are known for low ceilings and loads of bedrooms lining a center hall to accommodate traditionally large families. Instead, the top of the stairs opened to a large central hub. Ceiling joists were removed and large skylights filled the vaulted space with daylight. Choices were minimal, with two open doors to bedrooms, a bathroom and a wide opening to her studio. He managed to get three steps into the studio before stopping to take in Mary's artistry. Looking past the clutter, he stood in awe, viewing what to him were museum quality masterpieces. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to appreciate art.

Clinking ice cubes suspended in tall glasses announced Mary's approach. "What do you think?" she asked as she slipped past him and placed the drinks on a table in the center of the room.

Still speechless, he was only able to muster a single word reply. "Wow!" His gaped as his eyes drifted from masterpiece to masterpiece.

Mary followed his eyes to a half-finished sculpture of a trout propped up with a support pole in its belly. "Not that!" she shrieked with embarrassment as she hastily covered the piece with a nearby cloth. "That's not art. What I meant to say is what do you think of the house?"

"The house?" he asked.

"Yes, the house. I completely gutted the upstairs and modernized it."

Alan looked around the room again, but this time his focus was on the structure of the house. "It looks great. Did you do it all yourself?"

"Lord, no!" she replied. "I did a lot around here, but I had to hire some muscle for the bulk of it."

Looking up to the cathedral ceiling, he asked, "Got rid of the attic?"

"Sure did. Nothing up there but spiders and ghosts," she laughed. Quickly changing the subject she said, "Now let's see what you have there, Alan. Bring it over to the table and do the unveiling for me."

He brought his creation to the table and asked her to turn away so he could unwrap the covering and stand the sculpture upright. Eager to impress Mary with his raw talent, he pulled away the cloth for a quick inspection before the unveiling. The house began to shake as if there was a minor earthquake.

Mary was still turned away. The tremor didn't faze her.

"What was that?" Alan asked.

"I'm not sure—but I use to live about a mile from a quarry and we always felt that when they were blasting. Maybe there's some blasting going on somewhere nearby. Can I turn around now?"

Alan turned his attention back to his Peepers figure. Suddenly, the sculpture he was so proud of paled against the backdrop of Mary's works positioned throughout the studio.

"Ready yet?" she asked again. "What's taking so long? I can't wait to see it."

Alan rushed to lay the sculpture down so he could cover it with the towel. "I'm sorry, Mary. It's not ready. I can't do this."

Mary turned around to see him rewrapping the sculpture. "No Alan. No, no, no," she said. She grabbed his hands, looked at his face, and shouted, "Alan!" Her command got his attention. He looked into her forceful eyes.

"Alan. Let go," she insisted.

He relaxed his arms and she let go of his hands. He watched as she delicately unfolded the towel to reveal his sculpture. Alan turned away to avoid facing her during the uncomfortable moment of truth.

They ignored the low rumbling of a second tremor.

Mary gasped. "Oh, Alan."

There it is. She's looking at my amateurish attempt at sculpting.

Uncomfortable with the situation, Alan thought she was struggling to find something nice to say.

Again, she said, "Oh, Alan." Alan couldn't take any more, so he decided it was time to end her discomfort. He turned to grab the figure when two more words stopped him.

"I'm impressed," she said with her eyes fixed on his sculpture.

Alan lowered his hand. _She said she's impressed. That didn't sound like faint words of encouragement casually tossed out to make me feel good about myself,_ he thought.

"I'm _very_ impressed," she said. This time, she added the word _very_ to her statement before turning to look at him with a gleaming smile.

"C'mon, Mary. You can't be serious. Look at your sculptures. Mine looks like a child made it."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," she replied. "But you're wrong, Alan." She turned back to look at his sculpture. "I can't believe this was your first—" Mary paused and examined the figure closer. "Wait—is this—no way," she said.

"What's wrong with it? Did I do something wrong?" Alan asked nervously.

"Is this Peepers?" she blurted. The mere mention of his name triggered another tremor. "Must be aftershocks," she said, waiting for Alan's reply.

Stunned that she would recognize Peepers, he rushed to cover the figure. Mary backed out of his way and said, "It is, isn't it? It's Peepers from Clown World."

Alan stepped away from the covered figure and gave Mary a puzzled stare. At first he thought maybe she recognized Peepers as a spirit in her house. But when she mentioned Clown World, he couldn't connect the dots fast enough.

"Do you play Clown World too?" she asked.

Now he knew where she saw Peepers. Apparently, Peepers didn't only appear to him. He was well known in Clown World.

"Yeah, well, I used to play it," he replied.

"Oh my God! I can't believe I've found a real person like me who's into Clown World. What's your character's name?" she asked.

"Well, my character was killed off. Actually, Peepers killed me."

"You're not alone, Alan, he's been killing off all the powerful players. I guess that's why I'm still alive. I'm not very good at it yet." Then she realized that Alan must have been one of the game's leaders.

"Who were you, Alan? You must have been one of the top players for this Peepers character to take out. Like I said, he's been killing off the stronger players. He's ruining the game for everyone."

"I was a character named Boogy—" he said.

Before he could say another word, she cut him off. "No way! You were Boogy?" She punched his arm. "No way—you were a God in Clown World. You were the first one Peepers killed. Oh my god! You're Boogy!"

"Wow! I've never had that reaction before. Usually people smirk and tell me to get a life," he said.

"Well, I'm not most people. I guess you already figured that out when I told you that I also play Clown World. Wow! You're Boogy!" she said with a huge smile. Then she looked back at the covered Peepers and removed the towel. A door slammed in the hallway.

"What was that? Is someone else here?" Alan asked.

Mary stepped out of the room and looked around while he remained in her studio. When she returned, she smiled and said, "Nobody's there. It must have been Lailah."

Alan was spooked. _Why would her guardian spirit slam a door? That didn't sound like a soft, comforting spirit. It sounded angry,_ he contemplated.

Mary didn't give it another thought and looked back at his sculpture. "Seriously Alan—or Boogy—this is unbelievable. It looks just like Peepers. I do have one question though."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Why Peepers? I mean, this guy killed your Boogy character. Why would you choose to sculpt him as your very first sculpture?"

He wasn't prepared to share his encounters with Peepers in the Labyrinth. He knew she believed in ghosts, but if he were to share the details of his connection with Peepers, she would know about his fears. It felt really good to have Mary admire him, or at least his Clown World character. He needed to come up with an answer that wouldn't point out his flaws, while at the same time, not be a complete lie.

"Why Peepers?" he repeated.

"Yes, why would you honor that jerk in this way? He killed Boogy."

"Well, I guess I did it because he helped me."

"Helped you how? He destroyed Boogy."

"True, but in a way he did me a favor. As you know, I was the top player in Clown World. In order to get to that level, I had to play the game all the time. And I mean, _all the time_. I spent most of my waking hours in the game. When he killed my character, he freed me from my addiction to the virtual world. In a way, Peepers helped me live in the real world."

As soon as he said it, he realized there was truth in his words. He thought he was making up a story that Mary would buy and drop the subject. But, after hearing what was to be a fake explanation, he discovered truth in what Peepers was telling him. Peepers really did help him. And, apparently, Peepers was helping others like Alan within the game by killing off other addicted players. This enforced his belief in Peepers, but now he was more confused with Peepers' need for his sculpting talent. _Peepers can help people without me. What does he want from me?_

Mary was still absorbing Alan's words as she continued admiring his work.

"You are a better person than me, Alan. If Peepers killed off my character, I don't think I'd be grateful. But I only play for maybe twenty minutes a day. Sculpting is my addiction."

"So I take it you think I have some talent for this?" Alan asked, eager to change the course of their conversation.

"Are you kidding? This is the best effort I've ever seen from a complete novice. I don't know how I can teach you anything. I could probably learn from you."

Alan looked around the room again and rolled his eyes. "You're crazy. Just look at your work. I'm probably not smart enough to comment on art, but I love your pieces."

She blushed. "Well, I'm not saying I'm bad, but it took me many years to get to the point where you are on your first day. Besides, each of my pieces took many weeks to complete. You've only had a few hours to work on yours. You can't expect it to look like mine, but if you spend more time on the details, I'm sure it would look perfect. You are a natural, Alan. And I'm your first fan."

Alan was still looking at her works. He spotted the piece she covered when she walked in the room.

"What's the deal with the fish you didn't want me to see?"

"Oh, that. Well, the fish is a consumable product idea I've been working on. Unfortunately, the one-up gallery pieces don't sell like hotcakes. To supplement the art side, I sell inexpensive consumer pieces like the fish here," she said, retrieving the fish from hiding. "I'm going to make three or four of these guys. I'll create molds and cast dozens, or hopefully hundreds, and sell them at art shows to people with dry creek beds. The idea behind them is that they will give the dried rock bed the illusion of being full with water as the fish stick out of the ground appearing to swim above the ground."

"That's a cool idea. I bet my brother would buy some," he said.

"Really? Like I said, things like this pay the bills. It's not my best work. I wouldn't even call it art."

"Where did you come up with the concept?"

Mary smiled. "An old picture. It was taken the last time I was here, before my grandparents moved. It was of me fishing with my grandfather in the creek behind the house."

"What creek?" Alan said.

"There use to be a creek out there. It's dried up now, but I thought I could pay tribute to my grandpa by clearing out the weeds, filling it with stones and stocking it with my sculpted fish." Her eyes welled up. "Gramps would love it." Mary wiped her eyes in her sleeve and attempted to regain her composure. "So your brother has a dried up creek bed?"

"Uh, well, it's more of a ditch across the back of his yard, but I don't think it was ever a creek." Alan said as he continued studying the fish sculpture. It appeared to be complete. He wondered how she would go about turning it into a cast piece.

"Is that piece ready for mold-making and casting?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll probably start on it tomorrow."

"Can you teach me how to do that with my sculpture? I know it still needs work, but I' don't want to miss out on this opportunity." he said.

"Sure. Actually, that's a great idea. Come back tomorrow and I can show you what I do to make the mold. If you want, you can copy me with your Peepers sculpture. The only thing is, I don't have much silicone left, only enough for the fish. If you want to make yours, you'll have to buy silicone. It's expensive, but if you plan to make more pieces, be sure to buy it in bulk. You'll save money in the long run."

"Great. I'll get it on my way home. I'm looking forward to learning more tomorrow."

"Learning more? So far I haven't been able to teach you anything."

He gently wrapped his sculpture and carried it toward the stairs. The whole way, he looked around for signs of the shadow spirit. He started down the stairs when Mary called out, "You didn't drink your iced tea."

As he turned to tell her he wasn't thirsty, something pulled the sculpture from his hands. The Peepers figure tumbled down the steps. The soft clay bent, and the figure landed at the foot of the stairs, all banged up.

"What was that?" Mary yelled. "Are you okay?" She rushed to the top of the stairs and saw Alan at the bottom reaching down to pick up his sculpture.

"Oh no, Alan! What happened? Did you drop it?"

All he wanted to do was run for his car, but he had to answer her question first. He knew it didn't just slip out of his hands. Something pulled it and flung it down the stairs. However, the guilty spirit was one that Mary felt safe with. If he told her it had a violent streak, it might frighten her. He couldn't tell her the truth so he agreed with her assessment. "Yeah, I turned and it slipped out of my hands."

She raced down the stairs. Alan placed the damaged sculpture back in the towel.

"Oh no, Alan, it's ruined. I'm so sorry."

"It's not so bad. I'm sure I can fix it." He opened the door and stepped out to the porch. Mary followed.

"I feel so bad. It was perfect."

"It'll be fine," he said with his back to her as he left the porch and rushed toward his car.

"Well, if you can't fix it by tomorrow, you're still welcome to come by and learn how to make molds. Or we could reschedule."

"No, I'll get him fixed up. I'll come back again tomorrow." By now he was opening his car door and reaching the towel-wrapped figure across to the passenger seat.

"Okay. I'm so sorry, Alan," she called out from the porch as he drove away and waved out the open window.

### Chapter 10

Alan stopped at the art store for silicone molding materials. He was still shaken from the stairway incident at Krauss House, but it wasn't enough to deter him from repairing his Peepers sculpture and returning the next day for Mary's lesson on mold-making.

Thanks to Peepers, Alan no longer felt a void in his life from the death of his virtual character in Clown World. He was invigorated and glowed with confidence in his new passion.

*****

Damages to his sculpture were more minor than he had thought. He was able to make the repairs prior to leaving for his shift at the carnival. As he approached the entrance in full clown attire, he bounced from group to group, entertaining children and families before passing through the carnival gates. Boogy the clown became a magnet, drawing people toward him as he playfully guided his mesmerized flock toward the ticket booth.

Cracky watched as Boogy led at least thirty guests to him. As soon as he arrived, Boogy slipped to the side of the booth and leaned his gloved hand high against the wall, motioning his followers to form a line. Cracky opened the side door and said, "Nice work, Boogy, What got into you?"

"Nothing, Cracky. I guess I'm just feeling pretty good today."

"Well you look like the Pied Piper of Clowns. Keep it up, pal."

Alan smiled and continued on to his position outside the Labyrinth. Before closing the door, Cracky called out to him and said he wanted to talk to him later. He said he would stop by as soon as things slowed down.

Still flitting about the crowd as he neared the Labyrinth, Alan spotted Geno repairing a loose metal panel near the exit of the structure. He wasted no time and slipped up the exit path toward Geno, clowning with exiting customers the whole way. Patrons laughed as Boogy pulled multicolored handkerchiefs from a young girl's ear. The frenzied laughter drew the attention of Geno. He stood and watched the clown as Boogy broke free and walked up to him.

"Hey, Geno, how's it going?"

Geno looked puzzled by Alan's new confidence. He cautiously replied, "Good."

"Great! Oh, I just wanted to let you know that you won't have to kidnap me tonight. I'm looking forward to seeing what—" Before he finished, he looked around to be sure nobody could hear him. Then he whispered, "Peepers has in mind for me."

Geno still looked confused at the sudden change in Alan. He slowly nodded and Alan hopped back to the crowded midway.

About an hour passed before Cracky caught up to Alan.

"Hey, Boogy, there you are."

"Hey, Cracky, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I just wanted ta see if you were alright after dose rotten kids beat on you da other day."

"I'm fine, Cracky. Surprisingly, most of the kicks didn't hurt at all. I don't think they really wanted to hurt me. They were just stupid kids acting tough. No harm done."

Overhearing their conversation from the nearby booth, The Ringmaster said, "I think Geno put them up to it."

"Whuchya talking 'bout, Ringmaster?" Cracky said.

"Yeah, Geno is to blame. I saw him behind the fence talking to them in the field after you chased them away."

"After I chased dem?"

"Yeah, Geno was out there talking to them. You should fire Geno and give me his job. It will be so much better with me in charge—"

"Wait a sec, Ringmaster. If Geno was out dare _after_ dey beat on Boogy, what makes you think he put dem up to it? Besides, Geno recommended Boogy for dis job. Why would he wanna get him beat up?"

"I don't know. I just know he's probably responsible. You can't take chances. You should fire him and give me the job."

"I'm not firing nobody. For all I know, he could have been telling dem to stay da hell away from here. You just want him fired 'cause you think I'd give you his job. You gotta give it a break, buddy."

Alan broke in. "Seriously, it's nothing. I'm not hurt. A little bruised, but it's nothing. Kids will be kids. Everyone just needs to forget about it."

Without another word The Ringmaster turned away to help a customer.

"If you say so, Boog," Cracky said. "But you won't have ta worry bout dose kids again. I'm on da lookout. If dey are smart, dey won't come wid-in a mile of dis place."

Cracky continued his rounds and Alan returned to his job entertaining the crowds outside the Labyrinth. The hours flew by as he waited for the carnival to close so he could visit Peepers. As time drew closer, he spotted Geno peeking out to see if he was keeping his promise to enter unassisted. It was obvious Geno didn't trust him and he smiled each time he caught Geno spying on him.

The last visitors made their way toward the exit. Geno released the ticket taker and motioned for Alan to come inside. Without hesitation, Alan marched over and followed him inside.

At the end of the first corridor, Geno stopped and turned. "Wait here. I need to collapse the walls."

"No problem," Alan replied as Geno disappeared around the bend.

Soon Alan heard the loud sounds of mirrored panels sliding in the tracks of the floor and locking into new positions. When the noise stopped, Geno poked his head around and motioned Alan in. He entered the room where Peepers' image was already waiting inside the mirrors.

"Hi, Peepers. How are you?" Alan said awkwardly. He didn't exactly know the protocol for greeting a ghost.

Peepers glanced down at Geno. Geno took his cue and excused himself to work on a broken mirror in the far end of the open room. Peepers returned his focus to Alan, who by now was starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

"So, uh, Peepers, I want to thank you. As I'm sure you probably already know, you were right about my talent. I gave it a try, and as you requested, I sculpted you. It turned out really good."

Peepers smiled and stepped out of the mirror in front of Alan.

"Peepers help Alan. Alan now trust Peepers."

"Well, I guess so," Alan said. "You were right about my ability to sculpt and I also figured out how you helped me break my addiction to Clown World. And, since I'm standing here now, you must have helped me with my fear—which was you, until now. So, yes, Alan trusts Peepers."

"Good. Now Peepers need Alan's help. Alan can help Peepers and the Guild earn light."

"Yeah, okay, but how exactly can I do that?"

"Peepers need Alan's strong spirit and life energy to free us from the mirrors."

"Wait, what does that mean, free you from the mirrors? And how will this be accomplished?"

"Through Peepers figures, Peepers can enter Alan's world and—help people."

Alan tried to understand what Peepers was saying. He repeated his words back, filling in the blanks with his understanding.

"So, are you saying that—if I make replicas of your sculpture, you can get out of this place and be able to help people?"

"Yes! Peepers can help fearful people—like Alan once was."

Alan smiled when he heard Peepers' words. He said them in past tense. No longer did Peepers consider him to be weak and afraid of spirits. Peepers was responsible for this and Alan felt like he was going to be empowered with some sort of clown superhero powers to help other people reclaim their lives and live without fear. A new strength swelled inside him, but he had more questions.

"What about the rest of the guild? How will my casting of your figure help them earn the light?"

Peepers grinned. "Begin with Peepers. The Guild, in time. Alan help all of us soon, but begin with Peepers. Peepers will help others."

From a mirror behind Peepers, Alan noticed the face of one of the guild clowns show through. It was a concerned face shaking his head. His arms came into view and waved him away. He appeared to be saying the word "no," but Alan heard nothing. Peepers turned to see what diverted Alan's attention when multiple arms wrapped around the strange clown and pulled him back into the mirrors.

"What was that?" Alan said.

Peepers had only gotten a glimpse before the clown disappeared. He shrugged. "Clowns play. Poppy broke game rules."

"He looked scared. It also looked like he was trying to tell me something."

"Ignore Poppy," Peepers said in a more agitated voice. "Peepers earn Alan's trust. Together we help others."

"Okay, we can help people. That sounds great, but how will it work? I make some copies of your sculpture and do what with them? How can they help people?"

"Present them as gifts to troubled souls—those who live with fear. Peepers will have power to help set them free."

Instantly, Alan thought of old lady Henderson. If Peepers could help her, Alan would be a believer.

"What is it—like some sort of lucky charm or something? Will your figure prevent people from having destructive fears?"

Peepers considered his response, then said, "Yes, Peepers free people from life with fear."

"What if people are scared of your figure? I mean—please don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of scary looking. People who fear such things won't want to live with something that scares them."

"Alan once fearful of Peepers. Alan no longer afraid. Trust Peepers."

"Okay, I guess you know what you are doing. I just want to be sure I'm not making people more scared by giving them your figures, or those of the other guild clowns. You all look pretty creepy. People might not be as understanding as I am."

"Begin with Peepers. Trust Peepers and we will help others," Peepers said as his image floated back inside the mirror and faded to black.

"Is that it?" Alan asked.

Geno responded from the corner of the room, "With your help, Peepers will be stronger. He doesn't have enough energy to appear for very long. That will change soon, with your help, of course."

Alan walked toward Geno near the exit. Geno tossed a broken piece of mirror glass in a banker's box and closed the lid.

"Could you do me a favor and take this to the Dumpster on your way out?" Geno asked.

"Yeah, sure," Alan replied as he bent down to pick up the box. His hands slipped through the box handles. As he gripped to lift the container, a shard of glass cut his left hand. He let go of the box and jumped back. Blood soaked his white glove.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Geno said as he jumped to his feet. "Oh no, your hand is cut. I'm so sorry, Alan. You should wrap that up to stop the bleeding."

Alan eased his clenched fist and removed the blood-soaked glove to examine the cut. It was deep and about an inch wide. To stop the bleeding, he balled up the glove and pressed it into the cut and clenched his fist again.

"It'll be okay. I'll just keep pressure on it and bandage it when I get home."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should see if the first aid station is still open. They might be able to bandage it before you leave," Geno said.

"No, it should be fine. I don't live that far away."

"Okay, if you say so. Don't worry about the box. I'll take it to the Dumpster. You just take care of your hand."

"All right, I'll see you later, Geno." Alan left with the thumb of his right hand pressed into the fabric over his wound.

Geno carried the box of glass behind the building and mumbled, "Glass mirrors. What an idiot."

### Chapter 11

Alan placed two buckets of silicone on the porch of Krauss House and confidently knocked on the front door. The repaired Peepers sculpture was secure in his other hand. He was ready to learn, and he wouldn't let Lailah scare him away again.

Mary opened the door and saw the two buckets beside him.

"Oh wow!" she said. "You really did get the economy size, didn't you?"

"Well, I was just taking advice from my teacher. You said I would save money by buying in bulk."

"Yes I did, but this means you'll have to stick with it and make more sculptures," she said. "I also see that you brought your Peepers sculpture back. Were you able to fix it?"

Alan looked down at the wrapped figure. "Yes, it wasn't that bad. Ten minutes and he was good as new."

"I'm so glad to hear that. I was heartbroken when it fell down the steps. You did such a good job on it. I would have been crushed if you weren't able to fix it."

Mary held the door open, took the blanketed sculpture from him, and let him lead the way upstairs to her studio with the heavy buckets. He placed the buckets on the floor as Mary gently rested his sculpture on the table.

"I timed this perfectly, Alan. I just opened my two-part silicone containers and I'm ready to start mixing. We'll get your sculpture secured and you can follow along with me. You can start by opening your buckets. We'll be mixing a one to one ratio. For later stages we'll add a thickener, but for now we just need to measure out equal parts of A and B."

Alan peeled the plastic strip securing the lids to the buckets while Mary set up some cups, mixing sticks, brushes, and a scale. With the strips removed, Alan grabbed the lid of one bucket and started pulling up sections until the lid was free. He placed the lid on the table and started working on the lid to the second bucket. Mary unwrapped the Peepers sculpture and set it upright on a flat board.

Suddenly, the house trembled as it did the previous day and the lid Alan placed on the table slid off and landed on his hands as he was opening the other bucket. Jolted from the lid hitting his hand, he quickly pulled away. The bandage over his injured palm stuck to the bucket and his cut re-opened. Not realizing what happened, he didn't notice when blood dripped into the open bucket.

Mary looked at his bloody hand and rushed to his aid. She grabbed his hand and reached for a paper towel to cover the wound.

"Oh my god, Alan, what happened?"

Alan was still trying to figure out why she grabbed his hand. Then he looked at it and realized the bandage had come off.

"Oh, that didn't just happen. I cut it last night at the carnival. The bandage must have come off while I was taking the lid off the bucket."

Mary took his other hand and pressed his fingers into the paper towel. "Rinse it clean in the bathroom. I'll be right back with a Band-Aid." She guided him into the hallway and aimed him toward the bathroom as she continued downstairs.

Alan turned the handle and held his hand under the flowing cold water. As the fresh blood washed away, he noticed a pair of dancing porcelain Japanese figures on the counter beside the sink.

"How's it look?" Mary asked as she stepped beside him and started opening the bandage.

Alan looked back to his hand. "It's fine, I'm just a klutz."

She turned off the water, grabbed his hand and dried it with a clean washcloth. "Nonsense. It could have happened to anyone," she said.

As she tended to his cut, Alan looked back at the Japanese dancers. "Did you make those?" he asked.

Mary followed his gaze. "Oh god no!" she said. "I bought those for my grandmother. I don't make tchotchke." She stuck the Band-Aid into his palm and tossed the washcloth in the corner.

"I don't get it. Why would you buy something for your grandmother when you could make things so much better?"

Mary scooped up the bandage wrapper and tabs and tossed them in the waste can. "I didn't buy them for their quality." she said as she picked up the male figure and examined it. "I bought them to show my grandmother Japan through my eyes."

Alan looked puzzled. She continued before he could ask her to clarify. "She was very sick the last ten years of her life. Before that, she always said that she would travel the world one day. She had dreams of stepping out of her simple life and exploring the world. She wanted her mother to be proud of her."

"Her mother?" Alan asked.

"I know, it sounds crazy. Her mother died when my grandmother was twenty. But that didn't stop her from trying to measure up to the powerful woman she was. Her mother was thirteen when she came to America from Poland. She didn't even come with her family. Her parents gave her to a wealthy family who used her as a slave. They took her with them to America. After that, she ran away and lived with distant relatives until she married and started a family of her own. Then she moved back to Poland with her husband and first child because he wanted to fight for his country in World War Two."

"Did he survive?" Alan asked.

"Surprisingly, yes. The war ended, and he and my great grandmother had three more kids together. They were very poor and the conditions there were horrible. She wanted to return to America, but he wasn't ready. So, she took the youngest child with her. The plan was to have him and the other kids come later when she could afford to pay for their trips. Once she got the money to bring them over, he backed out and stayed in Poland with the other kids. She knew she couldn't go back, so she stayed here with my great grandmother. Can you imagine how hard it must have been for her to give up her own children?"

"That's awful!" Alan replied.

"I know. She was so brave. That's why my grandmother felt so weak compared to her. She never left the farm, so to speak. She spent her entire life in three houses. She never travelled more than three hundred miles from where she was born."

"So you helped her see Japan with those figures?" Alan asked.

"Sort of. I travelled the world in her place. When I returned from all the countries I travelled, I brought her souvenirs and told her every detail about my trips. Near the end, she would look at the figures and recite the stories back to me as if the experiences were her own. I like to think I was able to give her the thing she wanted most. I just wish she could have been there with me. She was every bit as strong as her mother, and we would have had a blast together."

"Sounds like you take after them." Alan said.

"Actually, I'm not like them at all. I'm a homebody. I only did that for her sake. I would never be able to do that for myself. All those trips were with tour groups. I'm perfectly comfortable living a simple life." she grabbed his arm and pulled. "Now lets get back to work."

When they returned to the studio, Alan noticed red drops in the creamy white silicone of the open bucket. "I got some blood in the silicone. Will that be a problem? Should I try to scoop it out?"

Mary looked at the handful of tiny drops on the surface of the silicone. "We'll just mix it in real good and it'll be—well, drops in the bucket." She smiled. "By the way, how did you cut your hand at the carnival?"

"Oh yeah, well, I work there part time."

"You do? What do you do there?"

Up till this point, Alan thought he did a good job of portraying himself in just a moderately geeky way. He wasn't forthcoming about his other gig as a part-time clown because he didn't want to totally blow her impression of him. The Clown World Boogy character was one thing. He was an admired and powerful virtual character, but he feared the real world Boogy might raise warning flags in her mind. He didn't want to tell her, but he couldn't ignore her question.

"I'm a clown there. Actually, I'm Boogy the Clown." _Oh great,_ he thought. Now she knew of his connection to the dork side. He couldn't believe he just threw it out there without trying to change the subject.

"Oh my god. So you're not just Boogy the Clown in Clown World? Are you telling me you really dress up that way and act as Boogy at the carnival?"

Suddenly, he felt like he was back at Paula's house delivering a pizza while she tried to hide her pity for his pathetic life. Why did he believe Dale when he convinced him that he had a chance with Mary? She was a normal person, which naturally put her in a league way above his own. Mary was just a nice person. She couldn't possibly have a romantic interest in someone like him. Her only interest was in being his friend and sharing an interest in sculpting. He was delusional thinking it could ever turn into something more.

Now that the cat was out of the bag, he had nothing more to hide. He might as well accept the fact that he and Mary would just be friends and get on with the lesson.

"Yes. I also do kids parties," he replied.

Mary smiled wide—more proof that she was never interested in the possibility of dating him. If she viewed him in any other way, she wouldn't be smiling back at him in amusement over his lifestyle.

"You're kidding me," she said as she punched his arm.

"No, I'm your mild-mannered pizza delivery guy by night and a stumbling clown on weekends. Well, actually I do both, day and night, but you get the idea."

Still smiling with great amazement, she punched his arm again. Alan covered the spot with his hand. "Ow! You're gonna have to stop doing that."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. She reached over and rubbed his hand, still over the tender area. "You amaze me, Alan."

"What?"

"Seriously, you are a very interesting person. I think it's awesome that you work as a clown."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"It's been right there in front of you the whole time. You have the soul of an artist, Alan. You are a free spirit. You find something you're passionate about and you live it. I can't believe you never realized this about yourself."

"Still not following you here," he said.

"Alan," she said as she grabbed both of his arms. "You are a creative person. You're an artist at heart. I think it's awesome that you've found an outlet for your dreams. And now I'm going to help you express yourself even more, through your sculpting."

"Okay, sounds like a plan," he said. He still wasn't sure why Mary was so excited over his clown gig at the carnival. By now he wasn't even sure if he had blown his chances with her romantically. She said she admired his loser lifestyle. This was all too strange for him.

"Oh, before we get into the lesson, you need to promise me something," she said.

"What's that?"

"You need to take me to the carnival. I love carnivals but I don't know anyone here and I wouldn't want to go alone. I'd love to see you dressed as Boogy there, but I'd rather go with you—when you're not working."

"Sure," he said. _Did she just ask me out on a date?_ He wondered.

"Great! Oh, I can't wait. When? When can we go? I'm free whenever you are."

"How's Saturday night sound?" he asked.

"It's a date!" she said.

"It's a date," he confirmed. Wow, a real Saturday night date with a cute girl. Dale was a genius.

They spent the rest of the afternoon with Mary teaching Alan everything he needed to know in order to make his first mold. The initial step was to brush on the first of multiple coats of silicone over his sculpture. He assumed Lailah was growing more comfortable with him because the quakes stopped and there was a feeling of calm in the house. Mary had said she felt safe with Lailah around. Maybe Lailah was just being a bit overprotective of Mary. Now that she accepted him and realized he wasn't a threat to Mary, she backed down.

The cure time between coats of silicone and the subsequent fiberglass shell was long. Mary took advantage of this time by demonstrating the casting and finish painting processes on some of her finished molds. With hours to go before his mold was ready for use, Alan made a shopping list of the various products he lacked in order to cast and paint his first piece. On his way home that afternoon, he stopped at the art store to stock up on the necessary materials to complete the first replica of his Peepers sculpture.

It was midnight when Alan gazed at the figure in his hand. The image of Peepers, which had so frightened him days earlier, now acted as an inspiration and turning point in his life. He was proud of the results and he looked forward to getting Peepers' approval the following morning.

*****

Admiring his work before presenting it for approval, Alan stood in the mirrored labyrinth waiting for Peepers to appear. Geno left him in the center of the room as he secured the entrance door from the inside, then exited to the catwalk structure above.

Lights in the chamber dimmed and the familiar swirl of smoke in the mirrors gave way, revealing Peepers. His eyes fixated on the object in Alan's hand.

"Oh, hey, Peepers," Alan said. He held the figure out so Peepers could get a better view of his work.

"I finished it. What do you think?"

Peepers floated through the mirror. His translucent body stopped and bent down for a closer inspection.

"Peepers wise in choosing Alan. Talent greater than Peepers know."

Alan smiled. "I guess that means you like it?"

"Like, yes. Peepers now able to free fearful humans. Alan must help Peepers earn light."

Alan returned the figure to a paper bag. "I'm ready, Peepers. I already know who you can help."

"Alan give Peepers likeness tonight. Then Alan make more. Help others. Help Peepers earn light," Peepers said.

"Hold on, Peepers. The person I want to help with this is scared. She won't even open her door to me. I have to wait for her to order a pizza. Then I can leave your figure with the pizza."

"Must be tonight," Peepers commanded.

"I can't promise anything, Peepers. If she orders a pizza tonight, great, but if she doesn't call for a few days—well, we'll just have to wait. You have to trust me on this."

Peepers slumped and said, "Alan right. Peepers eager to help."

"I understand. I'm also anxious to help others." Just then, Alan had another thought for the Peepers figure. "Peepers—could you help my sister-in-law with her fear of crowds? She stresses out whenever she's around a lot of people."

Peepers took a long time considering Alan's suggestion. He turned away to face the reflection-less mirror. So much time passed that Alan wasn't sure if he understood his question.

"Peepers...did you hear me? I'm just trying to think of a way to help you right away."

Peepers turned to face Alan and said, "Peepers not best for this. Family close. Alan need guild member better suited for her fear. Need Agor." Again, Peepers turned toward the mirrors, and an image emerged from the darkness—a short, thin elfish-looking clown. His ears were pointed and his nose was long and blue, resembling a gourd. He wore a three-pointed hat decorated with colored pom-poms. He held his hands together against his chest and twitched nervously as he struggled to retain eye contact with Alan.

"Say hello, Agor," Peepers said.

Agor looked up long enough to follow Peepers' instruction. In a high-pitched voice he said, "Hello." His eyes quickly lowered and he let out a short burst of a giggle that sounded like a machine gun. With each "heh" of the rapid-fire uncomfortable release, flashes of him appeared throughout the mirrors of the room. Each one was identical to the original Agor; however, all appeared in different sizes, ranging from short, fat versions to tall and thin. The images vanished as quickly as they appeared.

"Hello, Agor. It's nice to meet you," Alan said.

"Look closely, Alan. Agor can help your family. Sculpt Agor and present to sister. Problem go away," Peepers said.

Alan studied Agor. Again, Agor twitched and giggled, and again, his multi-sized images flashed through the mirrors.

"I think I got it," Alan said as he backed away. Peepers looked at Agor and raised his hand, dispatching the nervous clown back into the darkness.

"Peepers also help with Alan's bully problem," Peepers said.

Alan looked surprised and confused.

"What bully problem?"

"Peepers know about Lyle. The guild can help Alan."

"How do you know about Lyle? And what makes you think I have a problem?"

"Peepers' visions beyond the Labyrinth. Alan help us leave confines and help in physical world beyond."

"So you saw what Lyle did the other day?"

"Yes. The Guild unable to help Alan then. Now the guild can help."

Peepers turned back toward the mirrors and another clown character emerged. He was of average height, but wide and muscular. He had a large round head with bright orange curly hair. He had an infectiously wide, gap-toothed smile, which appeared to stretch from one protruding ear to the other. Instead of wearing a typical clown suit, he wore a multicolored polka dot tank top and frilly white cuffs around his wrists. His pants were pleated with pin stripes and held up with a knotted rope. His clown shoes were typical in size, but glossy black in color.

"Spanky at your service," he said with a bow.

Peepers turned back, waiting for Alan's approval.

"What is this?" Alan said. He looked past Peepers and said, "Hi, Spanky. Nice to meet you, but I don't need your help." Spanky frowned. Alan looked back at Peepers and continued, "I don't know why you think I need help with Lyle. He's just immature. I do fine by avoiding him whenever possible."

"Peepers promised to help Alan. Spanky helps change people who hurt others. Can help Lyle become good. Help Alan."

Alan shook his head. "I understand, and I'm sorry if I got upset. But let's slow down here. We'll start with Mrs. Henderson. And I'll think about sculpting Agor, but we really have to slow down. This stuff takes time and I'm working two jobs. I need to go at my own pace."

Peepers waved Spanky away and lowered his head. "Peepers apologize. Alan right. In time our light will come." Without warning, his image floated through the panel and faded from view.

Geno's voice came over the speakers. "Unlock the door before you leave."

### Chapter 12

With his suspension over, Alan returned to work at Vince's. He arrived early, his face still covered in clown makeup. His plan was to clean up using the bathroom sink before starting his shift.

Upon entering the shop he stopped at the counter and stuffed the tip jar with $17.50. Joe quietly observed his offering from a distance. Jamie stood behind the counter and asked the obvious question.

"What's with the wad of money?"

"It's my tips from the other night," Alan replied.

"Holy crap, Boogy! I didn't know you made that much on tips. I must be doing something wrong."

Alan grinned. Reading his expression through the colorful face makeup was difficult, and Jamie misinterpreted the look as a disapproving glare. He knew Alan didn't appreciate being referred to by his clown name, but Jamie was skilled at walking within inches of the fine line where people snap.

"Oh, sorry, Alan, I know you don't like to be called Boogy outside the carnival, but you brought it on yourself by walking in here looking like a clown."

Alan's grin turned to a smile. "That's okay, Jamie. I overreacted the other day. If you want to call me Boogy, I'm fine with it."

With that statement, Jamie realized the target of his sarcasm was becoming immune to his pokes.

"Okay, Boogy. So tell me something. Why did you pick the name Boogy anyway?"

"Well, when I was a kid, I was scared of the dark. Actually, I was scared of just about everything. My little brother teased me and called me Boogy because it's short for Boogieman."

"Really. Are you sure he didn't call you Boogy because you picked your nose?" Jamie teased. He chuckled at his own joke and looked back to see if Joe would join in. Joe pretended not to hear the conversation.

"I wish," Alan replied. "Every kid picks his nose. That would have been much less humiliating than thinking monsters and ghosts were hiding in my closet and under my bed."

Another of Jamie's snarky attempts to rile Alan fell flat, leaving him the loser in his one-sided battle of wits. Joe smirked as he removed a pizza from the oven and slid it into a box, obviously amused by Alan's unintentional disarming of the shop's most effective instigator. Seeing Jamie at a loss for words was a welcome sight.

"Hang on, Alan," Joe said, preventing him from continuing to the washroom.

Alan was sure that his suspension was over, and he also knew that he wasn't late for work. Why would Joe stop him near the front counter?

He froze. From behind, the bells above the door announced the entrance of customers. Three fraternity brothers from the college sauntered up to the counter. One flinched as he noticed the clown-faced Alan standing off to the side. In his startled state, he bumped into his friends. The three stopped and took in the sight when one laughed and said, "Are we in the right place? I didn't know the circus was in town." The other boys joined in his laughter and the sight of the clown in a pizza shop.

Jamie jumped in. "Hey, guys, back off. Alan works here. And, it's not the circus. It's the carnival. He works part time there while they are in town."

Alan wasn't bothered by the comment or their amusement at his expense, but he was shocked that Jamie stepped up to defend him. At any other time, Jamie would have assisted the boys in elevating the tone to the point of humiliating mockery.

The three boys backed down as one explained that he was caught off guard by the sight of a clown in a pizza shop. Jamie didn't pretend to understand and coldly asked what they wanted.

"We're here to pick up five za's, for our frat party," one replied.

Joe overheard their conversation from the oven and told them their pizzas were almost done. The trio waited quietly, taking turns looking at the clown in the room with them.

"Hey!" one of the boys said. "We should have the clown deliver our za's."

"Why, Todd? We're already here. Why would we pay extra for delivery?" another said.

"Think about it. Debbie is at the house, dude! We can get her to answer the door."

Suddenly all three boys looked at each other, as if they each envisioned the same image of this Debbie girl answering to door for the pizza delivery clown."

Alan didn't follow their logic. "Does your Debbie friend like clowns?"

The boys grinned in unison and Todd said, "Yes, Debbie _loves_ clowns. You have to deliver our pizzas, dude."

"Sorry, guys, I don't wear the clown makeup when I deliver pizzas. I was just about to remove it before I start work. It's been on all—"

Before Alan could finish, Joe nudged a boxed pizza into his arm. Alan turned and took the pizza from him.

"It's for Mrs. Henderson. She called a while ago. I thought you'd be here early so I got it started."

"Sure, Joe, but give me a minute to clean my face."

"It's Mrs. Henderson, Alan. She won't even see your face. You can clean up when you get back. Oh, and hurry up with it. The old lady didn't sound like herself. We wouldn't want her to starve to death. Thanks, buddy."

Alan stood holding Mrs. Henderson's pizza as Joe plopped five boxed pizzas on the counter in front of the college kids.

"Here they are, boys. Ring it up, Jamie," Joe said before returning to the oven.

Alan was halfway out the door when Todd turned and called out, "Alan, it's Alan, right? Your name?"

Alan stopped in the doorway. "Yes, it's Alan."

"Okay, Alan. Now that it appears that you are headed out without removing your clown face, would it be too much to ask for you to deliver our za's after that delivery? While you still have the makeup on?"

Alan looked at the pleading faces of the boys. "Fine."

Todd didn't give Alan a chance to change his mind. He grabbed the stack and nudged Alan to lead the way to his car, where he helped load them onto the passenger seat. Alan started the car and looked forward before backing up. Todd stood in front of the car on the sidewalk with his index fingers pointed to the symbols on his shirt.

"Delt Sig, dude. Thirty minutes?" he said. Alan nodded.

*****

His palms grew sweaty on the drive to Mrs. Henderson's house. He didn't expect to put his and Peepers' plan in place so soon. Wednesday pizza deliveries for Mrs. Henderson were rare. Even when Mr. Henderson was alive, he couldn't remember them ever calling for a pizza on a Wednesday. Maybe she had tried the night before and called it off when she learned he wasn't working. Maybe she just waited another day—or maybe she was getting so forgetful in her old age that she wasn't aware of what day it was anymore.

Whatever the reason, Alan was both excited and anxious about the realization that their plans were within minutes of becoming reality. He envisioned future deliveries where she might actually open the door to greet him and personally hand him the money instead of slipping it through the mail slot in an envelope. She might even allow drivers other than Alan to deliver her pizzas.

Her life was about to change. The idea of becoming a helping hero appealed to him. His mind raced with visions of all the people he could help. Today he would cure Mrs. Henderson. Tomorrow he would start on Agor so that Cheryl could be cured of her fear of crowds.

*****

Alan pulled into the driveway and tugged twice on the high beams. He counted to three and waited for the porch lights to come on. The house remained dark. He tugged a second time. _Maybe she's not near the window,_ he thought. Again, there was no response from inside the house. After his third failed attempt, he took the pizza and the bagged figure of Peepers to the porch. Standing three feet from the door, he waited. Once again, nothing happened. Leaning toward the door, he called out, "Mrs. Henderson. It's Alan. I have your pizza."

Again, there was no response from inside. Something must be wrong. She always kept an inconspicuous watch from inside. Maybe his theory about her getting forgetful in her old age was correct. Maybe she took a nap and forgot about her order. If so, he knew he couldn't stand on the porch all night waiting for her to wake up.

He had to make a decision. During his career, he'd had plenty of other instances where customers didn't come to the door. In those situations he would return to the shop with the pizza. But this was Mrs. Henderson. As Joe suggested, she might be sick and in need of the food. He couldn't leave with the pizza. Besides, she needed Peepers' help. For all he knew, she may have digressed to the point where she no longer trusted him. If so, he had to act fast.

He placed the pizza on her welcome mat and rested the bag holding Peepers on top. He pressed the doorbell once more and returned to his car, where he sat for a few minutes, hoping to see her retrieve the items. The house remained dark, and the five pizzas beside him had to be delivered, so he abandoned her pizza on the porch and drove off—constantly checking his rearview mirror until the house was out of sight.

*****

A finger delicately cracked a small opening through the window curtain beside the front door. Mrs. Henderson peeked through the slit and examined the items abandoned on her stoop. Seconds later, her finger released the fabric, closing the gap. The door remained shut.

*****

The curtain was brusquely pushed to the side and a face looked out from inside the house.

"Is he here yet?" a frat boy asked the lookout.

"Not yet. Hey, be sure she's ready when he gets here."

Loud music inside the house could barely drown the sounds of dozens of inebriated college students. An attractive girl was sprawled on her back over a coffee table with her shirt hiked up and tucked in below her bra. Another girl held a bottle of tequila and poured some into the lounging girl's belly button before she slurped it up. The girl on the table giggled and quivered from the tickling sensation. Her friend poured another shot and called out to the crowd, "Belly shots! The line starts here."

*****

Five minutes passed before Mrs. Henderson peered out a second time at the curious packages on her welcome mat. Her eye lifted and shifted from side to side; all was quiet. Again, she released the curtain and made no attempt to retrieve the items.

*****

His eyes widened as he let the curtain drop and turned to his friend. "He's here," the lookout said. Todd rushed over to the crowd formed around the girl on the table. He grabbed her arm and lifted her to a sitting position.

"Get in line, Todd," she said.

He continued to help her to her feet. The crowd jeered but didn't make any motions to stop him from ruining their fun.

"Debbie, the pizza guy is here. Could you answer the door?"

She stumbled as Todd helped her regain her balance.

"Why can't you get it?" she said.

The doorbell rang and Todd helped her toward the door.

"We just want you to answer the door, Deb," he said. In her drunken state, no further explanation was required. He released her and she took the last two steps forward and opened the door. First, her eyes locked onto the stack of pizza boxes. Then she looked up and saw Alan's Boogy face smiling back at her. Fright overtook her. She threw her arms up and screamed. Everyone inside the house stopped talking and turned to see what happened. Debbie turned and darted through the crowded room, screaming. She recklessly bounced off people as she fled to the kitchen. Uproars of laughter filled the house as she exited the room.

*****

The deadbolt clicked and the door creaked open enough for Mrs. Henderson to examine the packages another time. "I didn't call them," she whispered to herself, staring down. She cracked the door open enough to slip her head out for a scan of the area. Nobody was in sight so she cautiously stepped out, bent down, and picked up the pizza box with the bagged item on top. She looked around one last time before taking them inside with her.

*****

Laughing continued as Alan handed the stack to one of the boys. He recognized the girl as Dave's girlfriend. When he delivered the pizza to her apartment the other day, he knew she was much younger than Dave, but now he discovered Dave was cheating on his wife with a college kid.

"You told me she liked clowns," Alan said.

The boy smiled and threw his shoulders back. "That wasn't me. Todd told you that."

"I don't care which one of you said it. You could have corrected him."

"Hey, chillax, dude. So we played a practical joke on her. What's the harm?"

"It's just not cool. She's obviously scared of clowns, and you knew it. And, you used me to do it for you."

Todd and another boy approached. "What's the problem?" Todd said.

"Oh, he's just mad because we tricked him."

Todd stepped beside Alan and put his arm over his shoulder and looked at his buddies. "You know what? He's right. We probably shouldn't have done that," he conceded, winking to his pals. "We're sorry we tricked you, dude. We weren't thinking."

Alan grew uncomfortable with Todd's invasion of his personal space. He tried backing away, but Todd was taller and stronger, and he wasn't ready to let go until Alan accepted his apology.

"Okay, I believe you. Now let me go so I can get back to work," Alan said.

Todd gripped tighter on his shoulder. "Hold up, bro. Before you go, I wanted to ask you about that job you have at the carnival."

"Okay, what about it?" Alan said, ducking out from Todd's hold.

Todd allowed him to get away and continued his line of questioning. "Is it true what they say about the Haunted Labyrinth?"

"I don't know. What do they say about it?" Alan asked.

"They say that it really is haunted. Is that true? Have you seen any ghosts in there?"

Alan wasn't about to share his own experiences with Todd or anyone else. As far as he knew, only he and Geno knew about the clown spirits in the mirrors.

"I think you shouldn't believe everything you hear," he replied.

"Really, does that mean you've never experienced anything there?"

"I'm just saying you shouldn't believe everything you hear. If you want to know for yourself, go to the carnival and go through it."

Todd smiled and nodded as he looked at the other boys. "That's a great idea, but I've always heard that haunted houses are more active late at night. Since you work there, do you think you might be able to sneak us in so we could check it out after the place closes? I mean, how scary would it be if we went through it while the place was full of people?"

Alan shook his head. "No way, guys. First of all, I'm just a part-timer. I don't hang around after hours. Even if I did, I wouldn't do that. You don't want to mess around with that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing? You did see something, didn't you?" Todd said.

"No, I mean, you wouldn't want to mess around with breaking and entering. Just get the whole idea out of your head and visit during the day."

Todd handed Alan a five-dollar tip and assured him they would take his advice. Alan turned and walked toward his car while the boys huddled together on the porch talking about something before returning to the party inside.

*****

Mrs. Henderson sat at her kitchen table and stared at the pizza box topped with the curious bag. With her index finger, she slowly poked twice at the bag. She could make out something solid inside. Changing direction, she decided to look inside the more familiar pizza box. She gingerly lifted one corner, making sure the bag on top wouldn't slide off. Seeing her usual order inside, she dropped the lid and returned her focus to the bag. She poked it a few more times. Nothing happened.

With a cautious, quarter rotation of the pizza box, she positioned the loosely crumbled opening of the bag toward her. Without touching it, she leaned down and in, searching for a large enough opening for a glimpse inside. The wrinkled folds obstructed her view so she picked up nearby knitting needles and carefully pried it open a little at a time until she had a clear view inside. The figure was upside down and she only saw the bottom of the base.

The knitting needles succeeded in opening the bag, but now she needed a new tool to remove the object. She stood and walked over to a utensil drawer, constantly glancing back at the bag as she rifled through the drawer. Finding a pair of tongs, she left the drawer open and returned to the table, where she stood facing the back end of the bag.

Slowly, she reached the tongs out to the bag. They opened and then pinched a corner of the bag. With gentle upward tugs, she inched the figure out until it was free, laying it face down on the table.

She released the bag from the tongs and walked around the table to see as much of it as she could without touching it. With the figure face down, she wasn't able to get a full view. Using her tongs, she gripped it in the center and slowly raised it upright. As soon as his face lined up with hers, her hand jerked and she jumped back. Her hands covered her eyes. The figure should have fallen from her sudden movement. Instead, it appeared to move in an effort to regain its balance. Mrs. Henderson cautiously lowered her hand from her eyes and looked back at the table. The Peepers figure stood motionless, facing her. She crept sideways until she was out of his direct line of view.

Her breathing became labored from fright, but she didn't know what to do. She wanted it out of the house, but she didn't want to get near it. The tongs lay on the table between her and the figure. Without taking her eyes off the figure, she inched forward and stretched out her hand until her fingers touched the tongs. As she did this, Peepers' head slowly turned as his body remained still. She screamed and backed into the corner of her kitchen, where she slumped to the floor in the fetal position.

*****

With one hand rubbing tears from her eyes and the other concealing her soaked crotch, Debbie curled up in the corner of the kitchen pantry. A girl leaned over and attempted to console her panicked and humiliated friend. Debbie pleaded with her to leave her alone. The girl gave in and asked if she wanted the door open or closed.

"Closed, but turn the light on first," she replied.

A roll of paper towels sat on the shelf beside her. She tore one off to wipe the tears from her face, then gathered a dozen more, wadded them up and pressed them into her crotch. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed a number. A mans voice answered.

She sniffled and pleaded, "Dave, please. I really need you to come get me."

She listened to his reply and the tears flowed again. "I know, but I didn't know who else to call. Please, Dave! I really need you," she cried.

Dave angrily denied her request before hanging up. Debbie closed her phone, wrapped her arms around her knees pulled up to her face, and continued to sob.

*****

From the floor in the corner of the room, Mrs. Henderson's body shook in spasms as she gasped for air. The Peepers figure moved to the edge of the table, where it stared down at her with a sinister smile. She was trapped, but unable to look away from the figure. It rolled the kinks out of its neck and then spoke.

"Peepers finally free." The figure returned to its original pose and a cloud of black smoke formed beside the table. The cloud grew to life-size proportions before fading away, revealing a solid form with the smaller motionless figure on the table behind him. He moved close and leaned at the waist until his face was a foot from hers.

"I am Peepers. Peepers represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns. On this day your life will change."

He smiled, then returned upright. Mrs. Henderson remained coiled up shivering on the floor. He casually turned and stepped away to the open kitchen drawer. Without looking at her, he continued speaking as he rummaged through the drawer, moving utensils from side to side.

"Peepers' power within figure," he said. His finger pointed over his shoulder to the figure on the table behind him.

"If you want Peepers' help, do not reject figure."

Mrs. Henderson looked at the motionless figure on the table. Then she looked back at Peepers admiring a long carving knife held out in front of him. He looked back and repeated, "Reject Peepers' help by rejecting statue."

He turned away and moved to another drawer. Again, she looked at the figure. Peepers was looking away and she had room to grab the figure. Slowly, she worked her way to her feet. Still looking away, Peepers smiled and continued shuffling through drawers.

"If you reject the Guild by casting Peepers statue from your home, Peepers cannot help you."

She stepped closer to the table and covertly reached for the figure. As soon as she touched it, Peepers froze. Then he grinned and turned slowly toward her. She saw him turn and ran for the door with his figure in hand. Peepers followed, leaving a comfortable distance.

"The choice is yours. Reject Peepers' help—"

She fumbled to unlock the deadbolt. Peepers closed the gap.

"Peepers grow angry—"

The door opened. She cocked back her arm.

"Angry Peepers—"

She lunged forward, launching the figure into bushes lining the walkway. She slammed the door shut and locked it. With her back pressed against the door and her eyes closed, ten minutes of silence passed before she could breathe normally. The figure was outside and his voice didn't return.

She started to feel a sense of security, but she was afraid to open her eyes to his last position in the room. She turned to face the door and crept to the side window. Her finger found the curtain and pulled it back. Leaning her face up to the sliver of an opening, she slowly opened her eyes and spotted the figure resting face down in a bush.

With the figure outside, she felt a slight bit of relief. She kept her eyes open and turned to face the room. To her great relief, she was alone. With that thing on the outside, her bunker was once again secure.

She returned to the kitchen where she noticed the bag on the tile floor. She picked it up with the nearby tongs and placed it in a pot where she lit a match and burned it. Then she placed the pot in the sink, ran cold water into it, and watched until the ashes disappeared down the drain. She turned off the water and froze at a chewing sound behind her. She turned to see Peepers sitting at the table, eating a slice of pizza.

"Mmm, Alan right. Good pizza," he said.

Her veins visibly throbbed under the thin skin of her neck.

"Peepers warned, reject our help and Peepers grow angry. Angry Peepers, vengeful Peepers." He swallowed his food, placed the remainder of the slice on the box, and looked at Mrs. Henderson. He smiled and said, "Peepers thank Hilda for rejecting him."

She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Her shaking knees buckled, dropping her to the floor. Peepers stood and walked up to her. Fear paralyzed her muscles as he sat beside her trembling body. Her lips quivered as she desperately attempted to mutter words.

"What was that?" Peepers said as he leaned his ear close. She tried saying the words again.

"Milton? Ha!" Peepers said.

"Milton dead. Cannot help." He took pleasure in watching her body convulse in fear.

After basking in her fear, he decided it was time to push her further. She was lying on her side facing him. He pressed her raised shoulder to the floor and moved her leg so that she was flat on her back. Her eyes were the only part of her that weren't paralyzed. They followed his face as he repositioned her numb body.

Peepers placed his body above hers in a push-up position, keeping his weight off her body. He looked down at her and said, "Peepers know all. Peepers know about Russian soldier. Does Hilda remember soldier's face?"

Her face went white.

Peepers lowered his weight on top of her. "Hilda rejected soldier. Made him angry."

"Do you remember feeling? Does Hilda feel now?"

Pinned beneath him, she managed to close her eyes.

Peepers rubbed into her. He reached for her dress and hiked it to her waist.

"He took from you—" He continued slowly humping her as he ripped off her underwear.

"Do you remember what Hilda did now?" he said.

She opened her eyes and looked to her side. One of her kitchen knives was on the floor beside her. She found the power to free her arm and reach for the knife. She grasped it tight and thrust it into Peepers' back. His heavy body went limp on top of her. Blood flowed over her body as she desperately struggled to climb out from under him. Peepers lay face down next to her as she wept on the floor beside him. She kicked his body and slid away, making as much distance from him as possible in the small room.

Backed into a corner, she curled up with one eye locked on what she thought to be his lifeless corpse. Through tear-filled eyes, she thought she saw movement. She cleared the tears, and her suspicion was confirmed. His arm slowly rose behind his back. His hand grabbed the knife and yanked it from the wound. Exhausted, she wasn't able to lift her body from the floor as she watched in horror as the resurrected Peepers rolled over and returned the blood-soaked knife to the drawer before sliding himself beside her.

"Yes, you killed the Russian. Took his life. Hilda cry Milton, but never give self. Gave soldier, take his life."

"No!" she cried out.

"Yes, live haunted by soldier. Reject husband, live with fear in memory. Peepers set free painful memory."

"No!" she screamed. "I loved Milton. He loved me!"

Peepers made a fist and turned toward her. Her lips quivered as she cried. The look of total surrender came over her face and Peepers repeated, "Peepers will free Hilda of fear."

She closed her eyes. Peepers opened his fist and rammed it deep into her chest. He squeezed her heart, causing her body to relax as life drained from the tortured shell. He removed his hand from her chest, leaving no wound. The blood staining her dress faded, along with Peepers himself and all evidence of his sadistic attack.

### Chapter 13

Music from the clock radio blasted. Alan rolled over in his bed and looked at the numbers before silencing it with a slam of his hand. It was six-thirty on his day off from the carnival. He wasn't scheduled to begin deliveries at Vince's until six o'clock that night.

After his shift the previous night, he decided to get started on the second phase of his plan, which was to help Cheryl. He stayed up late, sculpting Agor. The results proved that his Peepers sculpture wasn't a fluke. His memories of Agor's features were perfectly replicated in his newest sculpture. He was anxious to complete the mold and cast the first piece before taking Cheryl up on her haircut offer later that afternoon.

He stood beside the sofa bed and stretched while admiring his sculpture on the kitchen table. As he approached the kitchen to start a pot of coffee he said, "Hello, Agor, you're looking good today."

A small amount of water spilled on the counter when he poured it into the coffee maker. Instinctively, he reached for the dish towel hung over the oven handle. The towel was gone.

"Oh shit, the laundry!" He'd been so focused on the Agor sculpture the night before that it completely slipped his mind that he left a load of laundry in the washing machine in the basement of the building.

Without hesitation, he pressed the start button on the coffee maker and rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower. The water turned off and he reached around the shower curtain for his towel. Again, he reached for air. The bath towel was also in the machine.

"Oh crap!" he said. He slid the curtain to the side and tiptoed his dripping wet body into the closet, where he grabbed a clean shirt from a hanger and proceeded to dry himself.

"I gotta get another towel," he said, hanging the wet shirt over the towel rack.

Seconds later he was dressed. Tying his sneakers from the foot of the bed, he glanced up and noticed the Agor sculpture. _One coat,_ he thought. One quick coat of silicone, then he would check on his clothes. He mixed the two-part solution with a few drops of thickener and brushed it over the sculpture. One final examination to be sure it was completely covered and he was off the basement.

Rounding the corner to the laundry room, Alan immediately noticed damp clothes strewn across the floor. His basket was empty and Lyle was transferring his own load from a washing machine to a dryer. Alan stood still in the doorway as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Lyle noticed him and grinned as he continued loading the dryer.

"What happened?" Alan asked.

Lyle casually looked back. "Dude! You don't own the machines."

Alan started picking up his garments and growled, "But my basket is right here. Why wouldn't you put them in the basket instead of throwing them on the floor?"

Lyle walked over to Alan, who was still bent over picking up his damp clothes. He reached down, grabbed his shirt below the neck, and lifted Alan to his feet. Pulling his face within inches of his own, he glared into his eyes until Alan retreated and looked down to the floor. Lyle grinned and shoved him against the wall.

Alan stood motionless. With his head tilted down in surrender, the only strength he could muster was a fist clenched so tightly that his fingernails re-opened his healing palm. Two drops of blood dripped to the floor.

Looking at his pathetic target, Lyle muttered, "Pitiful," before turning away to feed coins in the dryer. Before exiting completely, he stopped to challenge Alan again with a threatening expression. Alan's eyes cautiously rose to meet the stare, but, as their eyes met, Lyle lunged toward him with arms out.

"Boo!" Lyle shouted. Alan cringed. His arms pulled up in a protective stance. Helplessly cowering against the laundry room wall, his body started to tremble.

With just the two of them in the room, Lyle laughed. He pointed at Alan as if a crowd of people were gathered around, all mocking and laughing in unison.

This was the final straw for Alan. He reached the point where getting your ass kicked wasn't as bad as the constant bullying from someone like Lyle. His head rose and his shoulders drew back. He scowled as his chest inflated. He was locked, loaded, and ready to retaliate. Then it happened. Still laughing uncontrollably, Lyle turned and left the room. He had his fill of bullying and simply walked away.

Fuming with pent-up rage, Alan waited to hear the door at the top of the stairs shut before unleashing his anger with a punishing kick to the defenseless trashcan beside him. The can flew across the room with Alan in hot pursuit. One blow wasn't enough. He relentlessly kicked and stomped it until its empty red detergent bottle of a heart tumbled out a dying beat across the concrete floor.

Pausing to look at the mess he made, he realized that Lyle was responsible for his anger, not the helpless trash can. He cleaned his mess and attempted to pop out the dents from the mangled receptacle. Then he reloaded his whites for another run through the washing machine. More detergent, softener, and bleach went into the machine. With the bleach bottle still in his hand, he glanced to the dryer where Lyle's clothes were tumbling. Vindictive visions of the effect a splash of bleach would have on his load of darks were interrupted by the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs. He tightened the lid and nodded as he passed another neighbor on his way up the stairs.

_I can't let him get away with treating me that way,_ he thought as he stomped up the second set of stairs to his apartment. Adrenaline coursed through his body. _This is it. That was the last straw. If I don't take a stand now, he'll think he can keep doing it._

He was going to give Lyle a piece of his mind. Instead of going straight toward his own apartment, he turned toward Lyle's. The door was closed and Alan's hand rose to give three hard knocks. _I'll just talk to him rationally. I'm not looking for a fight._ Before following through with it, he lowered his fist and huffed. _But what if he doesn't want to talk? What if he wants to fight me?_ His hand went up again. _Okay, if that's where he wants to take this, so be it. As long as I get in a few good hits, he might think twice the next time. He might back off for good._

His brain said, "Go," but his fist wasn't able to garner enough strength to deliver his angry summons. He paused and then lowered his hand again. He turned away and stomped five steps toward his own apartment before spinning and returning to Lyle's door. He took a deep breath and raised his hand a third time. Before he could knock, Peepers' words flashed through his mind. He had offered a guild clown, Spanky, to help with his Lyle problem. Again, his hand lowered. _If I confront him now, it might just piss him off. Lyle might kick my ass and feel empowered to continue bullying me. Or, maybe my size advantage will help me and I end up hurting him bad. I could go to prison,_ he thought.

Maybe Peepers' offer to use Spanky was a better way to go. I doubt I'm the only person he bullies. Even if I can stop him from messing with me, it probably wouldn't help all those others. If these things really work, Spanky should be able to stop him from bullying me and everyone else.

It was decided. He would create a Spanky figure and use it to help Lyle become a better person. As he started to turn away, Lyle's door opened, freezing Alan in mid-stride.

"What the hell are you doing outside my door, Booger?" Lyle said.

Alan didn't look back or respond. He just walked slowly toward his own apartment.

"I'm talking to you! Where do you think you're going?"

Alan stopped in front of his door and said, "Nothing. I was going to talk to you about what happened downstairs, but I changed my mind."

Lyle took a few steps into the hall. "Oh yeah? You were going to talk to me? And just what were you going to say, asshole?"

Alan unlocked his door and replied, "Nothing, Lyle. It was a bad idea."

"You better believe it was a bad idea. I'm the one who does the talking—"

Alan opened his door and Lyle sprang toward him. Alan quickly ducked inside and locked the door behind him. Lyle pounded on his door once and commanded him to open it so they could talk. From inside, Alan leaned his back against the door and waited for Lyle to give up. Lyle gave the door a final punch and yelled out a warning to Alan before leaving.

"You're lucky I gotta go to work. But this isn't over. Sooner or later we'll have our little talk, Booger."

Feeling secure inside his apartment, Alan decided it was time to get back to work. He touched the coating on the Agor sculpture. It was still tacky and needed more time to cure before he could apply the final coat of silicone. He looked into his box of sculpting supplies on the floor, and after a long pause he exhaled hard and reached in.

*****

Four o'clock arrived quickly. He carefully peeled the mold away, revealing a perfectly replicated casting of Spanky. He placed it on the table beside the completed figure of Agor.

"Now we'll give you a little paint and deliver both of you today," he said.

For the next hour he worked on the Spanky figure. After the paint dried, he gently placed it in a cardboard box and left it beside the boxed Agor before leaving the room to change.

Lyle usually returned from work just after five. The plan was to leave the box outside his door so he would take it in with him long after Alan was gone. Placing the boxes on the floor outside his apartment, he locked the door. He picked up the boxes and heard voices coming up the steps toward him. The voices got closer and their faces appeared from the stairway. It was Lyle's friends, the same guys who had joined Lyle in mocking him from Lyle's balcony. One looked up and saw Alan standing outside his now locked door. He had nowhere to run and he was outnumbered. His muscles stiffened, and he stared back.

"Hey, how's it going?" the approaching man said. His friend looked up and followed with another "Hey!" They continued their conversation and walked past him on their way to Lyle's door.

Surprised that they left him alone, he realized two things. First, it wasn't a good time to leave the Spanky figure. And second, with them going to Lyle's apartment, there was a chance that he might be home and catch him in the hallway. He couldn't risk getting spotted so he rushed down the steps before they could even knock. Just as quickly, he placed the boxes in his car and drove off.

*****

On the way to his brother's house, he glanced down at the two boxes in the passenger seat. Since the original plan for Spanky fell through, he would have to come up with another way to discreetly deliver him to Lyle. However, the more pressing issue was how he would go about giving Agor to Cheryl.

Ideally, he would like to hand it to her and explain how it would help with her problem. Realistically, he needed another plan because she would think he was crazy. Without any proof that the things actually worked, he wasn't so sure that her predicted assessment would be so far off base. Also, he wasn't ready to share his newly discovered talent for sculpting. He had a history of starting and stopping a wide assortment of wild ideas. Before he shared this one, he needed to be positive it wouldn't turn out to be another in a series of disappointing failures. His days of believing in dreams were washed away long ago by waves of doubting faces taking pity on his naivety and apparent inability to understand the rational world around him. This would have to be accomplished discreetly.

The house and surrounding neighborhood was quiet. Parked in the driveway, he waited a minute before taking his package to the porch. If Cheryl or the kids spotted him, the door would fling open before he could get ten feet from the house. Cheryl would spot the box under his arm and ask what was in it. He didn't plan for that. Instead he just hoped he would get to the house unnoticed. To his good fortune, his wish was granted. Before ringing the bell, he slid the box to the side of the door. Cheryl's name was written across the top in bold, black letters.

The door opened and the twins excitedly yelled out, "Uncle Boogy," as they jumped him and dragged him inside. Cheryl stood beside a stool in the kitchen, laying out her tools of the trade on the table beside her. Still being dragged by the twins, he entered the kitchen as she looked up and smiled.

"I'm so glad you decided to take me up on my offer, Alan. What made you finally come around?"

H smiled back and said, "I have a date."

Cheryl screeched as she jumped up and down with joy over his news.

"Oh my god, Alan, I'm so happy for you!"

"It's just a first date, Cheryl. Don't get all excited. I'll probably blow it and there won't be a second."

"No, Alan! I refuse to believe that. You have to stop thinking that way. Sure, it's a possibility, but it's also possible you'll marry this girl and live happily ever after."

Her words prompted the girls into song. "Uncle Boogy's getting married. Uncle Boogy's getting married."

"Girls!" Cheryl said with a snap of her finger. "Go wait for Grandma in the other room. I need to talk to your Uncle Boogy." The twins continued chanting as they danced into the family room.

"So tell me, Alan. Who is she?"

"Well, you won't believe it, but it's the girl Dale and I were talking about the other day."

"The one he told you to ask out?" she asked.

"Yes. Can you believe it? Dale might have called that one—"

Cheryl broke in, "The girl from the haunted house?"

"Uh, yeah, that's the one. Her name is Mary Krauss," he said.

"Oh my god, I can't believe it. Dale is a matchmaker. Did you see any pigs flying on the way here?"

Alan chuckled and said he didn't notice any, but he wasn't looking up. Cheryl couldn't contain her enthusiasm. She maneuvered him onto the stool, draped a sheet around his neck, and stood facing him with a huge smile.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry, Alan, I'm just so happy for you." She picked up a spritz bottle and a pair of scissors and got to work.

"I'm going to totally transform you. The next time Mary sees you, she's going to think she hit the jackpot."

"You're scaring me, Cheryl. Please don't do anything too radical."

"I know what I'm doing, brother-in-law. I used to do this for a living. Trust me."

"Oh, I trust you. I'm just not sure I'm ready for a big change. Maybe we should get there in stages."

Cheryl backed away and scowled. He knew he wasn't going to win this argument, so he backed down and let her continue. She worked with confidence and great precision, her comb and snipping scissors bobbing around his head. Stage one was finished. Next she flipped on the hair dryer and started by blowing the clipping to the floor. She dried and combed at the same time. For her finale, she squeezed a gob of gel into her palm, rubbed it between her hands, and ran her fingers through his hair, plucking and primping in preparation for his inspection. She stepped back for one final look before holding a hand mirror out in front of him.

"Well, what do you think?" she said.

Alan examined his new do, turning his head to each side then back to the center.

"Is that really me?" he asked.

"You like it?" she said.

"It's different, but yeah, I like it." He continued studying his new look in the mirror. "Cheryl, you're really good. Have you ever considered getting back into it when the kids get older?"

Her smile vanished. She pulled the mirror away and turned to clean up the mess.

"What? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? You did a great job. I love my new look. Did you think I didn't like it...?"

"No, Alan. I know you like the haircut. It's nothing."

"Really? Are you sure I didn't say something wrong? Oh god, this isn't going to work. I'm so rusty I don't even know when I say the wrong things. I'm bound to say something stupid on this date."

"No! I said it's nothing," she insisted.

He didn't believe her, but before he could say anything else, Cheryl's mother came in the front door.

"I'm here. Where are my babies?" she called out. The twins rushed past, yelling for their grandma.

With each holding tightly to a leg, she tromped into the kitchen.

"Is that you, Alan? Oh my, it is. I didn't recognize you, sweetie. You're looking good."

"It's the new do. Cheryl just gave me a haircut. What do you think?"

She leaned in and raised the reading glasses hanging from her neck for a closer look. She nodded her approval and looked at her daughter.

"Very nice, Cheryl. You're so gifted. It's a shame you aren't doing it anymore."

"Leave it alone, Mom," Cheryl said.

"Okay, I know. It's just a shame, that's all," her mother said.

The girls interrupted and started chanting, "We want McDonald's. We want McDonald's."

Cheryl's mother rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess I better get going so these munchkins can get their Happy Meal fix."

Cheryl thanked her for taking the kids and told the girls to behave at Grandma and Grandpa's house that night. Her mother turned to leave and said, "Oh, there was a package on the porch for you. I brought it in. It's over here beside the door." She left with the girls.

Looking at the box resting beside the door, Alan realized what sparked Cheryl's mood swing. The salon where she used to work was in the mall. Her growing phobia restricted her from crowded places, and his unintentional blunder struck her most sensitive nerve. Comments from her mother intensified her discomfort in discussing what was clearly an embarrassing personal flaw.

With his new understanding of the situation, the tension in the room became uncomfortable for both of them. He was about to break the silence when she grabbed a broom and said, "They love their Grandma."

"I noticed. They also seem to love McDonald's."

"Oh yes, they've been asking for that for the past three days," she said.

Again, he started to connect the dots. Her mother took the kids because Cheryl wasn't able to.

"You know, Cheryl, if you ever need help with that, I'd be happy to take the girls to McDonald's—or anywhere else—for you."

Cheryl dropped the broom and glared back at him. "I don't need you to do things for me, Alan. If you want to take the girls out sometime, you're more than welcome. But I don't need you to do it FOR me."

He started to think getting involved with a woman might not be a good idea. No matter what he said, she heard something completely different.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl. That's not what I meant to say. I just wanted—"

"No, Alan. I'm sorry," she said as she sat on a kitchen chair with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

"I shouldn't be taking it out on you. It's my problem and I need to deal with it."

Alan sat beside her. "Its okay, you don't have to apologize. I'm an idiot. I wasn't thinking."

"No, I don't want people to have to think before they say anything to the crazy lady. I just don't know why I'm like this. I was perfectly fine five years ago. Now I feel like it's getting worse every day. You were right. I didn't take the girls to McDonald's because the last time we went, it was crowded. It was two in the afternoon. When I saw all the cars in the parking lot, I told the kids we would go through the drive-through. Of course, that wasn't good enough. They enjoy the playland more than the food. So we went inside. I couldn't take it. I left them in there and parked the car outside the playland so I could watch them from the parking lot. What kind of mother am I? I'm so ashamed." She started crying and leaned into Alan's shoulder.

"Have you talked to anyone about it? I mean have you talked to, like—someone professional who could help you?"

She raised her head from his shoulder and wiped her eyes. "Yes, I saw two different doctors. It felt good talking to them, but neither could help me with my problem. I even tried pills. Nothing worked."

Alan glanced at the box in the foyer. It was hard for him to keep his secret, but he didn't want to get her hopes up. What if it failed? Or worse, what if she thought he was crazy? No, he had to let the plan play out. For now, he needed to get to work. He couldn't afford to be late and he already stayed past his buffer.

He stood in front of her and looked into her eyes with a combined expression of sympathetic optimism. "Cheryl, I'm sure things will get better for you. Don't ask me how I know, but I really believe things will improve soon."

"I wish I could believe that, Alan."

"Just trust me. Things will change. And I hate to leave you all upset like this, but I gotta run. If I don't leave now, I'll be late for work."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. Go to work. Oh, and good luck with your date. Promise me you'll come back and tell me all about it."

"You know I will. Thanks again for the haircut. You brought me into the twenty-first century." He rushed to his car and drove off.

Cheryl waved from the porch. He turned the corner and she stepped back inside and closed the door. She tucked her index finger under her short sleeve and pressed it into the corners of her eyes, blotting up the remaining tears as she returned to the kitchen.

### Chapter 14

It was a slow start to Alan's shift at Vince's. With a solitary pizza in his passenger seat, he was driving to the apartment of the girl he terrified the night before, the same girl Paula's husband, Dave, was having an affair with. He didn't know who called in the order, but whoever it was specifically requested Alan deliver it. He assumed the caller was Dave, summoning him back for additional insurance for his silence, with money, threats, or both.

His curiosity in Dave's motives faded as he drove by the Hidden Valley neighborhood, where he'd dropped his first Peepers figure off on Mrs. Henderson's front porch twenty-four hours earlier. He was anxious to know if she retrieved the figure and pizza. If so, did it work? Was Peepers able to help her? If he stopped by to check on her, would she answer the door by opening it wide? Or would she even be home? With his and Peepers' help, she might have been out shopping or visiting old friends.

The answers to his questions had to wait. His first priority was to deliver Dave's pizza to his love shack and discover what he was up to.

With pizza in hand, he knocked on the apartment door. The sound of voices arguing on the other side indicated Dave's presence and foul mood. Dave flung open the door, pulled Alan inside, and closed the door behind him.

"See! It's just the freaking pizza guy. You gotta get over it already," he said to Debbie, who peered around the kitchen wall.

Turning back to Alan, Dave grabbed the pizza and told him to wait there while he took it to the kitchen.

"I can't believe you're out of fucking beer. I pay for everything else around here and you can't remember to have beer for me?" he said.

"I said I was sorry, Dave. What do you want from me?"

"For starters you can go to the store and get more beer." He stuffed a ten-dollar bill in her front pocket and continued, "And not like the last time when you got the cheap stuff and never gave me the change."

"I bought milk with the change," she replied.

"Buy your own fucking milk. Do I look like a bank to you? It's bad enough I pay your rent. Then you pull a stupid stunt and call my cell when I'm home with my family."

"I told you I was sorry."

Alan didn't want to witness more of Dave's verbal abuse. He was also worried that she might recognize him as the clown who scared the piss out of her. "Hey guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but I have another delivery. Eleven fifty for the pizza."

Debbie brushed by Alan and grumbled, "Pay the guy."

"And get me a pack of Marlboro too," Dave barked before the door slammed behind her.

"It's eleven fifty," Alan said.

Dave pulled out the money and handed it to him. It was only twelve dollars. _So much for the hush money,_ Alan thought.

Then Dave confessed that he didn't want the pizza, that he only ordered it to get Alan back out so they could discuss something.

_Here it comes,_ Alan thought. _More threats to keep me from talking to Paula._

"Here's the thing, buddy. Paula mentioned something the other day about you being a clown."

"Yes. It's something I do part time. Currently I'm—"

"Well, here's the problem," Dave cut in.

"She wants to hire you for my kid's fifth birthday party this Sunday."

"Oh, you need a clown for a birthday party? Sure—I'm free Sunday afternoon."

"No, let me finish. I'd never stand in the way of another man doing what he's got to do to make a living, even if it's dressing like a clown to entertain five-year-olds. Can't say I get it, but I respect the fact that you do it, despite what people think. But, under the circumstances, I can't hire you for the party with what you know, unless I know you can be trusted with our little secret."

"What are you saying, Dave?"

"I'm saying I'll allow you to take the job, but you better keep your mouth shut or else you might die in your stupid clown costume. I really don't think you would want to die dressed as a ridiculous clown. Would you, Alan? Is that how you want to die?"

"Are you really threatening me, Dave?"

"Threatening you? Don't be stupid. I'm just being protective of my family. If anyone does anything to hurt my family, then yes—I'd have to hurt them. Wouldn't you? I mean if you had a family and someone did something to hurt them, wouldn't you do anything to prevent that from happening?"

_I can't believe this,_ Alan thought. _This asshole views me as the threat. He's oblivious to the fact that it's his own actions that threaten the stability of his family._ Regardless of his new level of contempt for Dave, he didn't want to get involved.

"I told you, Dave. It's not my place. You don't have to worry about me. I won't say anything to Paula."

"That's good, pal, because Paula's a good person. She doesn't deserve to have her family split up because of some young slut like Debbie."

"Whoa! Be nice," Alan said.

"What do you mean by that? You saw her. She's a stupid whore. To be honest with you, I'm starting to get sick of the bitch. After the stunt she pulled last night, I was ready to come over here and beat the shit of her. Fucking bitch!"

"I can see that whatever happened really angered you, Dave. But seriously, you weren't really thinking about hurting her, were you?"

"Fuck yes! She could have destroyed my family. Like I told you, I won't let anyone do that. She's just lucky I cooled off, but now she's on probation. One more stunt like that and she'll be sorry."

"Well, she seemed nice to me," Alan said.

"She's just like all of them, Alan. But I guess you wouldn't really know much about women, would you? I don't suspect you date much. Don't take this the wrong way, but you're probably better off being a loser. Women just complicate everything."

"No offense taken." Alan smirked. "Well, I better get going, Dave. I have to get back to my loser job of delivering pizzas. And don't worry, when Paula hires me to be a clown at your son's party, my big fat red lips will be sealed."

Alan left the apartment and returned to his car, where he sat to cool off before driving away. He looked at the box in his back seat and considered what Dave just admitted to him. Lyle was a bully, and he definitely needed to change his ways. However, at that moment, Dave appeared to be much more dangerous. He couldn't assume Dave's bravado was nothing more than a testosterone-driven display of dominance. If there were the slightest chance that he would follow through with his threats, Debbie could be in serious danger. Lyle would have to wait. His first Spanky would be assigned to Dave.

From the glove compartment, he pulled out a marker and blacked out Lyle's name. As he wrote Dave's name under the blotch, he spoke to the boxed figure to ensure the switchover would take. "Spanky, there's been a change of plans. I'm not sure if this fits within your specialty, but it's my hope that you can help in turning Dave into a better person. I'm not doing this because he was threatening me. I'm doing this because he's a threat to both Debbie and his family. If you truly have the power to adjust this guy's attitude, this would be the time to do it. I'm afraid he's about to hurt Debbie. I can't allow that to happen. I would also like to see him change his ways and become faithful to his family. Please take this opportunity to demonstrate my faith is not misplaced in the guild. Please protect Debbie and Paula from his volatile and thoughtless behavior."

With the box securely tucked under his arm, Alan went back to the apartment and placed it against the door. He looked around to be sure he was alone and his path was clear for a quick departure. It didn't take two seconds for him to disappear from sight after ringing the bell.

Dave opened the door, looked around for the mystery guest, and then looked down at the box. With nobody in sight, he shrugged, picked it up, and went inside.

Dave's first name was the only delivery information on the box. Wasting no time figuring out what was inside, he broke the tape, flipped up the four cardboard flaps, and removed the unusual figure.

"What the hell is this?" he said, studying it closely. He turned it in his hand to look at the back when he heard a low gravelly voice say, "My name is Spanky. I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns. On this day your life will change."

Unfazed by the voice, Dave searched for the button that triggered it to speak. Unable to locate a switch, he ran his hand in front of it in an attempt to trip a motion sensor. Finally, he gave the figure a hard shake, then stood it on the table and waited for it to speak.

"What the hell," he said, staring down at the challenging figure. He looked up and down the front, then faced it toward the window and searched its back.

With no obvious solution to the source of the voice activator, he gave up and grabbed a slice of pizza. He got five steps into the next room when the voice returned with a louder, more personalized message. "I said, on this day your life will change—Dave."

Dave pulled the slice from his mouth and spun to face the figure. It was still upright on the table, but no longer facing the window. It was turned, facing him.

"Holy shit! That's not how I left you. How did you spin around?" he said as he returned to the table and turned the figure away from him. The following four to five minutes, he watched and waited for it to speak or move. Nothing happened.

Stumped and hungry, he turned away and started walking away from the room when the voice stopped him. "Hey! Stupid! What's it going to take to get your attention?"

Dave turned to see the figure once again facing him.

"What the frick is going on?" Dave mumbled.

"I'll tell you what's going on," the motionless figure replied.

"Someone told me you are a complete asshole—Dave. I'm told you are thinking about hurting Debbie. I'm also told that you're cheating on your wife, Paula. And the worst part is that you refuse to take responsibility for your own actionsdick face."

Dave looked around the room for some sort of clue to how the trick was being executed.

"Alan!" he said. "Where are you?" He knew Alan didn't come into the apartment so he thought maybe he was controlling the figure remotely from outside the door. Ignoring the talking figure on the table, he rushed for the door.

"Okay, Alan!" Dave said as he flung the door open. There was someone standing on the other side; however, it wasn't Alan. It was a life-size, living copy of the figure on his table. His broad shoulders and thick build filled the opening. Dave's body started to turn but his feet didn't catch up. He tripped and fell to the floor.

Spanky stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He smiled at the helpless Dave, sprawled on the floor below him.

"Who are you?" Dave said.

Spanky rolled his head, relieving his stiff muscles with faint cracking sounds. "I believe I already told you who I am," he said while motioning to his figure on the table.

Dave turned to the figure and then looked back at Spanky. "The statue?"

"Yes, the statue. My powers are held within it. I was sent as a—gift to you."

"A gift? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, I can see you aren't very smart. Let me start over. My name is Spanky. I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns. On this day your life will change."

Dave kept his eyes on Spanky as he cautiously stood to his feet.

"Spanky, huh? Well, Spanky, I don't know what game you're playing or how you pulled off this trick, but I think it's time for you to leave." Dave walked to the table and picked up the figure. "Now, take your mini-Spanky and please leave me alone before I call the cops." He stood in front of Spanky with the figure held out. Spanky didn't take it. He walked around Dave toward the kitchen table, sat in a chair, and waited for Dave's response.

Dave walked across the room to the seated Spanky and lowered his hand with the figure. "Look, pal! I don't want any trouble here. Like I said, the joke's over. Now take your little toy here and get out. This is your last chance."

Spanky remained seated and grinned. "This is not a game. I was sent here to help you become nicer to others. You won't be rid of me until my transformation of you is complete."

"Oh, this is getting ridiculous. I'm calling the cops," Dave said. He put the figure on the kitchen table and stomped across the room. The cordless phone was on the couch. Before reaching for it, he looked over his shoulder. Slouched in the chair, Spanky watched, unconcerned.

Dave turned, grabbed the phone, and prepared to dial when he looked back to give Spanky a final warning. "I'm going to do it. This would be a good time to reconsider."

Spanky laughed. "What will you tell them? Someone sent you a toy clown figure that came to life and threatened you? Here's what they'll see when they arrive." Spanky snapped his fingers and vanished. His figure wobbled on the table. Once it settled, the figure's arm reached out and the tiny fingers let out a barely audible snap. Instantly, the life-sized Spanky was back in the chair smiling back at him.

Dave dropped the phone and stumbled back. "How did you do that?"

Spanky stood from the table and walked into the center of the room. "Sit down, Dave," he said casually.

With his eyes glued on Spanky, Dave stepped back and lowered himself to the sofa.

"The first thing you need to know is that the Guild of Fallen Clowns are spirits. Our powers come from our figures. Much greater powers than you can imagine. I was sent to help you, but you must understand the consequences of not playing by our rules."

"You're not real? Are you telling me you're some kind of ghost or something?" Dave jumped from the couch and continued, "I'll admit that you have some convincing tricks. I don't know how you disappeared and reappeared just then, or...or how you made that statue move and talk, but that's not enough to make me believe in ghosts. Just tell me what you want. Is it money?" He pulled out his wallet, removed some cash, and shook it. Spanky ignored it.

"Seriously, what do you want from me? It's obvious that you're bigger than me. If you wanted to kick my ass, you would have done it already. Just tell me what you want."

Discouraged, Spanky shook his head. "Perhaps you need more convincing." He walked to within a few feet of a wall. His right knee bent, and he planted his clown-shoed foot flat against the wall. His body tilted back until he was parallel to the floor, appearing to stick out from the wall two feet from the ground. His left foot moved in front of his right and he proceeded to walk up the wall to the ceiling. From there, he continued to defy the laws of gravity by stepping on the ceiling. Upside down, he walked halfway across the room and crouched above Dave until his inverted head was level with Dave's.

"I'm listening," Dave said.

Spanky started to explain the rules. "From this point on, you will be nice to everyone in your life. You won't hurt anyone physically or emotionally. You won't cheat on your wife. You will be nicer than the nicest person you ever met."

"Whoa! I admit that I've made some mistakes, but I'm not a bad person. I'm starting to think maybe you were sent to the wrong person," Dave said.

Spanky listened to his plea as he stretched his legs and moved across the ceiling, down the wall, and back to the floor. He walked past Dave and relaxed on the couch.

"The source of my power comes from my statue. You are forbidden from making any attempts to destroy it—and me. You must not tell anyone about me and you cannot try to enlist the help of others to destroy my statue. If you choose to break these rules, there will be consequences."

Dave interrupted, "Consequences. What consequences?"

"Let's just say, they don't call me Spanky for nothing. Do yourself a favor and follow my rules."

"I still think you got the wrong guy," Dave said. "Tell you what. I was going to break it off with Debbie anyway. I won't cheat on my wife anymore. Why don't we just say your job here is done and leave me alone? I really don't need any help being a nice guy. Everyone loves me. Seriously, I'm one of the most popular people you'll ever meet. I'm the top salesman at work because my customers love me. Hell, I was voted most popular in my senior year. If you don't believe me, I'll prove it. Let me go home and get my yearbook."

Spanky shook his head and sighed. "This one's head is thick," he mumbled to himself. "You are the right person. That is blatantly obvious. You really are an asshole, Dave. But don't worry, Spanky is here to change that."

Although Dave knew he was out-muscled and powerless against Spanky's supernatural abilities, the narcissist in him wasn't capable of admitting to having any personal flaws. He was also incapable of understanding the concept of surrender. As he stood in the center of the room between Spanky and his figure on the kitchen table, a light bulb of inspiration struck. He slowly moved toward the kitchen, testing his range.

"So, you're telling me that this sculpture over here..." he said as he cautiously reached for the figure. Spanky remained seated, unconcerned with Dave's closing proximity to the very source of his powers.

Dave gently picked up the figure and continued. "This is where your power comes from?"

"Yes," Spanky replied.

"And if this gets destroyed, you're telling me that you will also be destroyed? You won't exist, and you'll be out of my life for good?" he said with a confident grin.

"Yes, for the most part," Spanky replied.

"What do you mean? It's either yes or no. If this is destroyed, will you be gone or what?"

"Yes, unless another is made and somebody else gives it to you. It can't be the same person."

"Okay, good to know," Dave said. "So tell me, how many of these exist?"

Spanky grew uncomfortable with Dave's line of questioning. He stood and took a few steps toward Dave. He stopped when Dave held the figure out like a crucifix to a vampire.

"That is the only one, Dave," Spanky said. "There are no others, and I'm not sure I like where you are going with these questions. I hope you aren't thinking about destroying me. You might not succeed and that would result in a punishment for disobeying the rules."

"Stay where you are," Dave commanded.

Spanky put his palms out to calm him. "Okay, relax, Dave. I'm not going to come any closer. Don't do anything rash. Let's just calm down and think for a minute."

Dave smirked. "Looks like you misjudged me, clown. You thought I was too stupid to figure out how to get the upper hand, didn't you?"

"Please be careful. It's extremely fragile," Spanky pleaded.

With one hand holding the figure, Dave used his free hand to retrieve a meat tenderizer from a nearby jar filled with kitchen utensils. His eyes locked Spanky in place as he slipped sideways to the table. Gripping the figure by the legs, he held it face down near the edge of the table and raised the tenderizer above his head. Before striking the deadly blow, he looked back at the terrified spirit, frozen across the room. Dave smiled and offered Spanky some parting wisdom. "Now it's my turn to lay out some rules. Here's one I learned in football. Always protect the quarterback."

"Consider the consequences," Spanky warned.

"Ha!" Dave shouted. "Still making threats? Take a good look, freak. Your nuts are in my hand and I'm about to crush them and sprinkle them on ice cream." Instinctively, Spanky's hands lowered to cup his crotch.

"That's right," Dave said. "You're mine, bitch! You never should have told me where your power comes from. That's my other rule. Never expose your weakness. I can't believe how stupid you are. When you expose your weaknesses, you'll get crushed." Dave grinned and kept his eyes locked on Spanky as the heavy tool thrust downward. Spanky smiled before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The arms of the figure in Dave's hand reached out for the edge of the table and pulled, dragging Dave's hand directly under the force of the jagged side of the tenderizer.

"FUCK!" Dave shouted, dropping the tenderizer and the figure on the table. His pain dance brought him into the living room. With his body bent over, he used his good hand to cover and press the blood-speckled wound tight into his gut.

"Your rules are useless if you don't live by them," Spanky said from behind.

Dave turned to see the spirit back in the room with him. Through a mixed expression of pain and confusion he muttered, "Wha?"

Spanky smiled. "Never expose your weakness. Arrogance is your greatest weakness. Yet you wear it with pride and give it a new name. You call itconfidence. Confidence needs no introduction upon entering a room. Arrogance demands complete attention before announcing his own arrival."

Muffled by pain and anger, Dave didn't hear Spanky's words. "You broke my fucking hand," he cried out.

"I didn't do anything to your hand. You bruised it yourself," Spanky replied. "It will heal. And so will your other wounds. They will all heal in time."

Dave uncovered his hand, stretched out the fingers, and made a fist. To his relief, Spanky was right; no bones were broken. He looked at Spanky with a new concern. "Wait, what other wounds?"

"So you are listening," Spanky chuckled. "I warned you what would happen if you tried to destroy my figure. Now it's time for your punishment."

Dave sprung in the direction of the door but Spanky stopped him with a grip on the back of his shirt. Dave struggled to escape, but Spanky effortlessly dragged him and flung him face down on the kitchen table. Thrashing to get free, Dave was no match for Spanky's single hand pressed into his back, pinning him in place.

"Help!" Dave screamed. Spanky untied the ball-size nose from his face and shoved it in Dave's mouth. He mounted Dave like a saddle and used both hands to securely tie the gag behind his head. Next, he removed his rope belt and hogtied Dave's limbs.

Dave moaned and wriggled, to no avail. He was trapped face down with his mouth gagged. Spanky took his time. Before commencing with the beating, he bent over to Dave's face and said, "It's time to review the rules. But first, I think you deserve a little more humiliation." He returned upright and walked to the back of the table. Then he reached around to Dave's belt and unclasped it along with the button and zipper of his pants. Dave moaned louder as he feared the worst. Spanky yanked Dave's pants down to reveal his bare ass. Again, Dave moaned. Tears poured down his face.

"Relax," Spanky said. "I'm not going to rape you—this time. However, you won't be so lucky the next time you defy me."

Then Spanky grabbed the rope between his arms and legs and shoved them to the side, clearing the airspace between Dave's bare ass and Spanky's other distortedly enlarged hand cocked behind him.

From the corner of his eye, Dave saw the hand flash towards his exposed flesh. WHACK!

"Oomph!" Dave's body clenched. Muffled whimpers and drool leaked from around the clown nose stuffed in his mouth.

Spanky's arm pulled back for the next blow as he said, "Rule number one—"

### Chapter 15

"Believe only," Alan whispered to himself while driving. He was second-guessing himself on the wisdom of giving the Spanky figure to Dave instead of following his original plan to give it to Lyle. Lyle was a threat to him, but Debbie would be helpless if Dave actually snapped and decided to take his aggression out on her. He knew he could deal with Lyle another time or another way, but Debbie wasn't even aware of the danger she was in so it was the right choice.

His only concern was the results of the three Guild figures he created and distributed. Would they work? Would they help people or would they just scare them with their creepy clown faces?

While pondering those questions, he drove past Old Lady Henderson's Hidden Valley neighborhood. "One way to find out," he muttered. He turned the car around and drove back to Hidden Valley.

_This would be the perfect opportunity to discover the effectiveness of Peepers,_ he thought. He imagined how his visit might go. The first thing he would see as he pulled into her driveway would be the curtains pulled back, flooding the house with light. Foil would be removed from the windows and the door would be garlic free. Seconds after he rang her bell, Mrs. Henderson would fling the door wide open. She would warmly greet him with a smile and invite him inside for tea and biscuits.

Inside, he envisioned the Peepers figure prominently displayed on a shelf. No, it would be where all old people like to display treasured family photos and mementos—Peepers would take center place on her upright piano. If possible, Peepers might even give him a wink and Alan would be assured that he wasn't crazy for believing in the power of the Guild spirits.

He turned into her street and noticed flashing blue lights in the direction of Mrs. Henderson's house. As he got closer, he realized the lights were from emergency vehicles in her driveway.

"What the hell is going on?" he said as he parked his car on the street outside her house. He watched as two EMTs wheeled a gurney with a draped body from the house. He knew it could only be Mrs. Henderson. Two police officers exited the house shortly after. One was Alan's brother, Dale.

Alan exited his car and called out to his brother.

"Alan, what's up, bro? Got a delivery in the neighborhood?"

Alan didn't answer Dale's question. He was more interested in what happened to Mrs. Henderson. "What's going on? Was that Mrs. Henderson?"

"Oh, so you knew her. Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but yes. She died last night."

"Oh my god! I was just here last night. She didn't answer the door when I rang the bell, but I just assumed she was asleep or too scared."

Dale looked puzzled. "Too scared?" he repeated.

Alan wasn't thinking clearly. It didn't occur to him that Dale was unaware of her problems.

"Yeah, well, no. I'm not saying she was scared of me. She was scared of everyone. She doesn't, eh, didn't, open the door for anyone. I delivered pizzas and she slipped the money through the mail slot in an envelope."

Dale laughed. "You mean there was actually someone worse than you?"

"C'mon! Be serious, Dale," Alan said.

Dale held back his laughter. "I know. You're right. I shouldn't be joking about this. I'm sorry for your loss."

"So, what happened? Was she gone when I got here last night? That would explain why she didn't respond when I left the pizza. I knew something was wrong. I'm such an idiot. I should have done something. Maybe it wasn't too late."

"Hold up, Alan. First of all, she was okay when you delivered the pizza so you didn't do anything wrong. She died of natural causes. She was an old woman and her heart gave out. That's life. She was lucky to live so long."

"How do you know she was okay when I showed up?"

Dale smirked. "You might not be aware of this, but your brother here is an excellent detective and forensic scientist. I was able to ascertain the approximate time of death, based on decomp, liver temperature, and a careful examination of the evidence. The deceased passed post-pizza delivery."

Alan's mouth dropped and Dale cracked a smile and then laughed. "Oh, and there was a half-eaten slice of pizza in the kitchen. She lived alone, so my guess is she ate it."

Alan didn't share in Dale's amusement over his own joke. Instead, his focus shifted to the Peepers figure. Was he responsible for her death? After all, she was alive when he delivered the pizza. Then she died the very night he showed up with Peepers. Could it be that she became too frightened as a result of looking at his ugly face? Or was there was something more sinister going on? His heart raced from the possibility that he might have been responsible for her death. He needed to know what happened. Where was the Peepers figure? Did she even take it in the house with her?

"Dale! Did you see anything strange in there?

"You're starting to worry me, Alan. Strange like what? Why would you even ask a question like that?"

Alan realized how odd his question must have sounded to his brother, the detective. Even if the figure were inside, how would Dale know this was the strange thing he was asking about? More importantly, how would Alan know about the figure, and why was he so interested?

He covered for his flawed choice of words by saying, "I don't know. It's just that after her husband died, she never opened the door. I've always wondered if maybe she had him stuffed, and positioned on the couch, reading a paper and smoking a pipe."

"Yeah, that would be strange. You have a wild imagination. The things you come out with. Anyway, to answer your question, no, there wasn't anything even remotely as strange as your imagination. She wasn't a hoarder. There weren't any cats, and the house was surprisingly clean."

"Well, that's good to know. With all the aluminum on the windows, I thought she might have a house full of stuff to ward off evil spirits. You know, like a shelf full of troll figures, or other creepy statues."

"Again, sorry to disappoint you, but she didn't have any of those things. Oh wait, I'm wrong."

"What? What did you see?" Alan asked.

"Well, there was this one thing you might consider to be a little odd."

"Tell me! What was it?"

"On a shelf in her living room—"

"What?"

"Keep your pants on. Maybe it was nothing, but it did cause me to do a double-take when I saw it."

"Dale! What was it already? What did you see?"

"I'm getting to it. On the shelf in the living room she had a—wireless router."

"What the hell is so strange about that?" Alan said.

"Well, she must have been, like a hundred years old. How many hundred-year-old ladies do you know that know how to use a computer? I'm telling you, WiFi, that was really strange."

Frustrated with Dale's success in stringing him along for the anti-climatic answer to his question, Alan felt that it was safe to assume Peepers wasn't in the house. He couldn't have set it up any more clearly without appearing suspicious of something. The only thing he could do was backtrack to be sure Peepers and the Guild weren't misleading him. There were two more figures out there and he had to move fast so nobody else would potentially get hurt.

Alan told Dale he had to get back to work. Before Dale could say goodbye, Dale's cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and sighed. "It's Cheryl, hang on a sec."

This was good news for Alan because it meant she was alive. However, was it possible she was calling for help? Was Agor tormenting her, when she somehow managed to break free and call Dale?

"Hello, baby. What's up?" Dale said.

_Here it is,_ Alan thought. _She's going to cry out in distress._

"Sure, honey, milk and eggs, anything else?"

Not a distress call. Thank god.

"Oh, by the way, Cheryl," Dale said as he turned toward Alan, "you did a great job on Alan's hair." He paused and smiled at Alan.

"Yes, I'm looking at it right now. He saw me on the job and stopped to say hi."

"Tell her I said hi," Alan said.

Dale held out his finger as he tried to hear what Cheryl was saying.

"Yes, I know. Well, you did your part. Now it's in his hands. He's a little rusty, but I'm sure he'll do fine."

Alan leaned toward Dale and whispered, "Hey, I have to get going. Tell her I'll let her know how the date goes." He loped to his car and drove away. In his rearview mirror, he saw Dale still chatting with Cheryl.

_Okay, the good news is that Cheryl is okay. However, the reason she called Dale was to have him stop at the store on his way home. If Agor worked his magic, wouldn't she do the shopping herself? Why did she call Dale? Shouldn't she be cured?_ Then he remembered his own experience with Peepers. His progress was gradual. He still had a long way to go before he could say he was completely over his own fears. Cheryl only had Agor in the house for a few hours. He shouldn't expect her results to be any different from his own.

While his logic appeared sound, there was one outstanding question he needed answered before returning to Vince's. He needed to go back to check on Dave.

At Debbie's apartment complex he pulled into the first open parking spot and shifted his car into park. With his keys still in the ignition he ran to Debbie's apartment. He pressed the doorbell three times and then bent down to catch his breath. After waiting a good twenty seconds he resorted to knocking. He pounded his fist hard three times and waited again.

"Oh, come on. Answer the door," he said impatiently. He started to pace when the door opened. Debbie stood in the doorway wiping tears from her eyes.

"Are you okay? Did Dave hit you?" Alan blurted out as he looked past her into the apartment.

Debbie sniffed. "What? No, he didn't hit me. Why would you think that, and why did you come back?"

"Oh, that's a relief. It's just that you're crying. I thought that maybe he hurt you."

"Dave wouldn't hurt me. I'm crying because he left me."

"He left? Will he be coming back?" Alan said.

"No." Sniff. "He went back to his wife. He said it was over between us."

"He did?"

"Yes, he suddenly realized that he loved her, and what he was doing with me was wrong." Her eyes welled and she dabbed them with the tissue.

Through tear-filled eyes she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this, but you showed up and—" Her train of thought changed direction and she continued, "Why are you here again?"

"Oh, right. Uh, I think Dave may have over-tipped me. He usually gives me a few bucks. This time he gave me a five."

Debbie used the soaked tissue to blow her nose. "Hold on a second," she said. Leaving the door open, she went into the apartment. Alan watched as she retrieved the pizza box and returned. She held the box out and said, "Keep the tip and please take the pizza with you. I'm not going to eat it."

As Alan took the box, an expression of confusion quickly turned to horror on Debbie's face.

"It's you!" she cried, apparently recognizing Alan as the pizza delivery clown from the previous night. Instantly, she backed away and slammed the door shut.

Standing motionless, he stared at the door. First was the sound of the latching deadbolt. Then he heard her body lean into the secured door and slide to the floor. Finally, he heard the muffled sound of Debbie weeping.

Alan slid one hand under the box and prepared to knock with his free hand. He felt horrible about his involvement in the frat party incident. He wanted to apologize and let her know he was tricked into doing it. With his closed fist raised and ready to knock, he considered the terrified girl on the other side and held back. He remembered how he felt in his own apartment with Lyle locked out, knocking from the other side. It wasn't until the knocking stopped that he was able to feel secure.

Knocking on Debbie's door might intensify her fear. He lowered his hand but his heart still ached with the knowledge that she was petrified of him. He desperately wanted to set things right. If only he could tell her what happened, she might understand. Dropping to one knee to get closer and to minimize the level of his voice, he placed the pizza box on the ground and moved his face to the doorjamb.

"Debbie," he said softly. Before he could start into his apology and explanation, Debbie shrieked and scampered away from the door. Alan jumped back to his feet. His plan backfired. Now she was even more terrified than before. He couldn't risk another attempt to gain her forgiveness. He picked up the box and briskly walked toward his car, handing the pizza to two young guys passing in the opposite direction.

The two turned to watch Alan rush to his car. The guy holding the box looked at his friend, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. The other commented that this must be their lucky day. He opened the lid, pulled out a slice, folded it, and took a big bite.

*****

Taking her last step down the stairs, Cheryl turned from the foyer toward the kitchen. She almost made it when she stopped and looked back at the box beside the front door. She must have passed by the package a half dozen times without taking notice. However, as she was close to passing again, something caught her attention. She turned her head to look back at it. Written in bold black marker across the top was her first name. She turned and approached the mystery package.

Standing in front of it, she scanned the top and sides for additional information. There wasn't a sleeve containing a packing slip. No labels with address information, bar code stickers, or any other clues indicating who sent it to her. She bent down, picked up the box, and examined the bottom on her way to the kitchen.

"Okay, let's see who sent this to me," she said.

She dug her index finger under the flap and tugged hard, breaking the taped seal. With the flaps open, she pulled away the top layer of crumpled paper, exposing the figure inside. She grabbed the small statue and removed it from the box. She held it out and looked at it from all angles before standing it upright on the table and returning her attention to the box. Digging through the remaining packing paper, she searched for a note from the sender.

The box was empty, but Cheryl wasn't ready to give up. She lifted the flaps on the inside bottom of the box to see if the packing slip got tucked out of sight. Again, she found nothing.

She looked back at the figure and said, "Where did you come from? Who sent you?" Her concentration on the odd-looking figure was broken by the sound of her doorbell. She left the kitchen to answer the door. As she opened it, a child-sized person stood facing the other way. She couldn't make out the sex or age of her visitor, but its pointed hat and inhuman pointed ears looked familiar.

Before she could speak, the tiny person turned to face her. Its face and costume were identical to the small figure on her kitchen table. A sinister smile came across his face, sending her inside the house in a panic. She locked the door and cautiously leaned for a peek out the sidelight window. It stood on the porch rocking from side to side.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" she yelled.

He stopped rocking and looked back at her. He responded to her question, but she couldn't hear him through the door.

"Speak up. I didn't hear what you said."

Still locked in her focus on him, he spun around on one foot and looked at her. She didn't know what he was doing. His eyes rolled back and he let out a big sigh. Looking at her again, he raised his hand, pointed his finger to the ground, and rotated it in a circle pattern.

More confused than before, Cheryl called out, "Just speak louder. Who are you and why are you here?"

As he stood on the porch looking back at her, a voice from behind her said, "My name is Agor."

Cheryl spun around to see another replica of the figure on her table. However, this one was well over six feet tall and slightly pudgy. She backed into the door and raised her hands into a protective position across her chest.

The figure smiled, and from the living room another voice continued, "I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns." Again, Cheryl twisted to face the direction of the voice. Facing her from the living room doorway was a third replica. This one was average in size and weight but otherwise identical to the other two. She backed away from the door into the dining room. As she did, the front door opened and the pint-sized figure entered the house. He looked at her and said, "On this day your life will change."

Cheryl continued retreating until her back was in the corner of the room. The little figure followed her steps and stopped about four feet from her. The other two busily moved the table and chairs through the foyer and into the living room.

"Don't come any closer," she said. "My husband is a police officer and he's on his way home now."

Tiny Agor smiled. The others finished removing the furniture and walked toward the small clown from opposite sides. They continued walking until the three figures merged into one, creating a fourth duplicate of new dimensions. This one was short and portly.

The sight of the merged transformation caused Cheryl to tuck her face into her hands.

"Oh my god, I've finally lost my mind. This can't be happening to me."

With Cheryl's hands still covering her eyes, Agor said, "Agor is not in your imagination. We are real and we were sent to help you."

Ignoring him, Cheryl continued her rant. "Dale will divorce me and have me committed. I'll never see my girls again."

"Look at us, Cheryl. You aren't losing your mind. Agor is here to help you."

Cheryl cried, wiping her eyes while she carefully lowered her hands and slowly raised her head.

Agor smiled back at her. "See, Cheryl, we are real. Do you want to pinch us to be sure?" He offered his outstretched arm.

"No, you can't be real. It's impossible. I'm going crazy."

"Please don't say that, Cheryl. We are very real," Agor said. Then he giggled nervously, triggering the flash appearance of at least a dozen multi-sized replicas of him in the room. Each one vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Cheryl raised her hands to her face and scrunched her legs and elbows tight against her body. Her knees gave out and she fell to an upright fetal position against the wall.

"Please excuse us. We have an uncontrollable anxiety disorder, which causes that to happen. As long as you follow our rules, we won't grow anxious or angry and you'll only have to see Agor's small figure, the one you removed from the box."

Without looking up, Cheryl mustered enough strength to plead with the entity to leave her alone.

Agor looked down at her, bunched in a ball against the wall. He grew impatient with her resistance to engage in conversation with him.

"Perhaps you would be more comfortable with this," he said. The fat figure in the room disappeared. Cheryl didn't notice as her hands covered her eyes. A full minute passed without the voice so she peeked out from behind her hands. She was alone in the empty room. She lowered her hands and locked them together around her legs. Still too frightened to get up, she cried. As she did, she felt a gentle tug on her pant leg. She looked down to see a four-inch-tall Agor standing between her feet. Her eyes opened wide and every muscle in her body locked.

The tiny figure looked up, and in a high-pitched voice one would expect from such a tiny figure, he said, "You can't possibly feel threatened of us now."

She couldn't look away. Agor continued, "Good. Now we can get to the rules. Agor is here to help you with your fear of crowded places. But we cannot help unless you always follow our rules. The first rule is to never, ever, ever reject or ignore Agor—"

"Wait!" Cheryl cut in. "How do you know about that?"

In frustration, Agor threw his arms up and said, "We'll never get through this, will we?" Cheryl glared back at him. "Fine," Agor conceded. "Agor was presented to you by someone who knows about your fear. We are here to cure you. Now, can we get back to the rules?"

"Cheryl nodded, but before he could start talking, she cut in and said, "Wait, _who_ sent you? Who sent you to me?"

Agor took a step backward. As he did, he doubled in size. He took more steps back until his figure was once again life size, height and weight proportionate. He looked down at her with a stern expression. "That is a secret. Do not ask us again."

"But why can't I know who sent you to me?" she asked.

Agor's nose flared as his eyebrows lowered and his lips puckered. "You just broke rule number one before I could even finish telling you the rules." He followed it with a giggle which brought six replicas into the room. However, unlike with his previous giggle, these replicas didn't fade away. Each altered shape of the original converged toward her corner of the room.

Some leaned in while others kneeled and pressed as close to her as possible. They held random conversations with themselves as they stole every inch of her personal space. Cheryl shook uncontrollably. She tried to scream, but her short gasps for air prevented sound from escaping. The Agor who caused this display sensed that she was about to pass out. He waved his hand and the cluster was gone. Cheryl wheezed.

Agor enjoyed watching her distressed state. "This is going to be fun." He smiled.

As her breathing stabilized, she begged, "Please don't do that again."

Agor grinned. "We didn't do that. You are the one who broke the rule. That was just a small sample of what will happen when you break our rules. The choice is yours. Do you want to be cured, or would you like to see more?"

She shook her head. "No, please don't do it again. How can you help me?"

"We are so glad you asked. We believe this could best be answered with a demonstration. Stand up," he commanded.

"Why? What are you going to do to me?" she asked nervously.

Agor stared down at her. Sensing his anger, she immediately stood to her feet. His face relaxed and he offered an approving nod.

"Now move away from the wall," he said.

Cheryl complied and stood in the center of the room, within arms' length of Agor.

"Say my name," he said.

"Igor?" Cheryl replied.

"Igor?" Agor shouted. He turned sideways and raised his hand, pointing to his shoulder.

"Do you see a hump? Do we look like an Igor to you?"

Cheryl's body stiffened. He appeared angry and she needed to prevent him from giggling out another mob of space-intruding sidekicks.

"I'm sorry!" she said. "Please forgive me. I'm scared and I must not have heard you correctly. Please don't laugh."

Agor was pleased with her apology. He calmed down and stepped closer. Again, Cheryl apologized. His face slowly moved to within inches of hers and he whispered, "Agor, with an 'A.'"

Cheryl repeated his name. Satisfied, he backed away.

"Rule number two," Agor said as he started walking around her. "You must never tell anyone about us. If someone notices your adorable little statue, you will not tell them about the powers it holds.

"Rule number three: You must never attempt to destroy our statue. We will stop you and you will pay a heavy price."

"A heavy price?" Cheryl questioned.

From behind, Agor temporarily stopped his circular pace around her. He leaned in, and she cringed from the heat of his breath on her neck.

"Do you love your children, Cheryl?" he said.

"I'm sorry, Agor. Please don't hurt my children. I won't do anything to it. I promise."

Agor backed away and continued his path. "We thought so," he said. "Rule number four: You must never distance yourself more than a half mile from our statue."

Cheryl nodded.

"Now, this final rule will be the most difficult of all for you. Each day you must spend a minimum of one hour in the thickest center of crowds."

Panic overtook her. "No! I can't do that. Please don't ask me to do that. I'll do everything you ask, but I can't do that. Please, anything but that."

Agor smiled as she continued pleading.

"We thought you would reject that one. You've just earned that demonstration we promised you."

Cheryl's face turned to fear. "No, please don't," she said as she started backing to the corner of the room. Agor giggled and four figures appeared behind her, preventing her retreat. Those four giggled and another group of at least ten Agors of various sizes popped into the room. All of them faced her and took turns giggling until the small room was packed with Agor figures.

Cheryl was forced to the center of the room as the Agors pushed and shoved, her, and each other, in all directions. Her legs gave out, but the pressure of the tight crowd prevented her from falling to the floor. They talked and whispered to each other and to Cheryl as they squeezed past her. Too drained to scream, she felt her eyes drift inside her head. She appeared to be passing out, but it didn't happen. Her eyes returned and she wept. Her head drooped and her entire body went limp in total surrender.

One by one, the figures vanished from the outside in until just one Agor was holding her up from behind. Still weak from the experience, she made no attempt to stand free of him. Agor let out a single syllable of a giggle. Seconds later a tall, thin Agor entered the room carrying a dining room chair. He placed it beside the Agor holding Cheryl and faded from sight. Agor moved her into the seat and then knelt down on one knee in front of her. Her eyes, drained of life, raised to meet his.

"We can do that all day," he said. "Or you can get out among real people for an hour a day. We think we made our point."

She nodded as her eyelids closed. With the room silent for over a minute, her eyes opened. Agor was gone. She shifted from her slouched posture and scanned the room. It was clear. She hunched over in the chair and cried into her hands.

### Chapter 16

Upon entering his kitchen, Alan noticed the blinking red light on his answering machine.

"Hi, Alan, this is Paula. Hey, I know this is short notice, but we were hoping Boogy the Clown would be available Sunday afternoon for a kid's party at our house. I know you're probably busy. If so, I understand. Like I said, this is short notice. Anyway, we hope you can make it. Call me as soon as you can so I can make plans." She gave him her phone number. As Alan wrote the number on a scrap of paper, a hard knocking came from his front door.

He was halfway to the door when the impatient visitor pounded even harder.

"I know you're in there, Booger!" Lyle shouted.

The sound of Lyle's voice slowed Alan's pace. He crept the rest of the way. Although he recognized the voice, he instinctively peeked through the peephole.

Lyle's eye was on the other side, staring back. "There you are, Booger. I know you can see me because the peephole just got dark. Come out here. We have some unfinished business to take care of."

Alan ducked away from the peephole, but it was too late. Lyle wasn't going away.

"Open the door, clown!" Lyle commanded with another pound on the door.

He was sure that opening the door would result in his own beating. If only Lyle's friends hadn't shown up earlier, Spanky might have prevented this situation. Instead of Alan being a prisoner inside his own apartment, Lyle might have invited him over for a beer so he could apologize for all of his past bullying.

Lyle pounded the door again, interrupting Alan's thoughts of what might have been. "I knew it. You've always been a coward. I knew you wouldn't come out here and face me man to man. You just better be prepared to watch your back, Booger, because I'll be watching. You can't stay in there forever—coward."

Alan looked through the peephole to see Lyle turning to leave. The immediate threat of bodily injury was replaced by Lyle's stinging words. The truth was eminently more painful than any beating he might sustain if he simply opened the door and faced Lyle's wrath. Spanky might be able to prevent future beatings, but hiding now would negate all of Peepers' work. He was proud of his progress in facing his fears and he wasn't about to give Lyle the power to take that away.

Lyle stopped at his own door when he heard the unlatching deadbolt from behind. He turned to see Alan's door open. Alan stepped out and stared back without expression.

Lyle grinned and sauntered closer to his target. Alan's blank stare never lost contact with Lyle's squinted eyes. Lyle leaned in to closely examine his prey. He looked up at Alan and snarled like a vicious animal.

"So, pizza boy does have a spine," he said as he moved from side to side, looking for weakness in Alan's stoic face. Alan's eyes casually followed.

Lyle grew impatient at his inability to break Alan's resolve. He turned and took a step out of Alan's personal space. Then, without warning, he turned with his arms spread and lunged to within inches of Alan's face. "Boo!" he shouted.

Unfazed, Alan kept his body and expression as relaxed as if he were having a casual conversation with friends. His head leaned slightly forward and down and in a soft voice he said, "I'm not a coward, Lyle. You don't scare me and I would suggest we just forget about what you did this morning."

Alan didn't realize how volatile his offer of reconciliation would be interpreted by Lyle. As blood flushed Lyle's twitching face, Alan slowly withdrew, returning his head upright.

Bubbling over with uncontrollable rage, Lyle's chest puffed out as his arms drew back with clenched fists cocked and ready for an all-out assault. In the most severe violation of personal space, his wiry frame rose to the balls of his feet as he tiptoed to close the inches between them, shoving his chest into Alan's. As he fiercely challenged his opponent, spittle projected from his frothing mouth. "Forget about it?" he said. "Who the hell do you think you are telling me to forget about it? I'll be the one who decides when this is over. And believe me, Booger, this ain't over—till I say it's over." Lyle's precarious balancing act faltered as the toes of his right foot temporarily gave out. His chest slid sideways down Alan's before he could reposition his toes and reestablish his position.

Alan calmly raised his arm, turned his head, and wiped the splatter of saliva from his face.

Lyle snorted his disapproval and pinned Alan tight to the wall with two hard chest thrusts. As Alan waited for Lyle to shift into fighting mode, he wasn't thinking about the resulting pain or visit to the emergency room. Instead he was noticing Lyle's eyes. It occurred to him that in all the years he'd lived across the hall from him, he never looked into Lyle's eyes. They were green. In addition to the color of his eyes, the rhythmic throbbing of a vein in Lyle's forehead also fascinated him. It pulsed three times to every twitch of his right nostril.

His trance was broken when Lyle lost his footing again and attempted to make it look like a purposeful move as he backed off and punched the wall beside Alan's shoulder. Alan flinched, but Lyle didn't notice because he was looking at the floor as he paced in front of Alan.

"So, this is how it's gonna be?" Lyle fumed. "You aren't going to fight back, huh? You're just gonna stand there and let me hit you without defending yourself?" He waited for Alan's reply.

"Lyle, I don't want to fight you. I never wanted to fight you, but I'm tired of looking over my shoulder. I'm tired of hiding from you. So, if you feel you must fight me, I'm not going to run away, but I'm also not going to let you hurt me without fighting back. I will defend myself."

"Shut up!" Lyle yelled. "You don't speak unless I tell you to."

"But you asked me—"

"I said shut up!" His pacing intensified. Then as if Alan hadn't answered his question, he said, "Well, I'm not going to hit someone who won't fight back. I fight fair."

Alan started to correct him when Lyle quickly cut him off. "I know what I can do. I know how to get even with you, you stupid clown." He turned and ran down the stairs. Alan was confused but curious to know where he went. He walked down the stairs and as he turned the corner in the direction Lyle ran, he heard glass smashing.

Alan's car was parked in front of the building next door, and Lyle broke his passenger side window. Gripping a brick, he looked back at Alan and laughed and hopped around like the Riddler from _Batman_.

"What are you going to do about it, Booger?" Before Alan could respond, he dropped the brick and ran in the opposite direction, laughing and occasionally glancing back until he disappeared from sight.

Alan decided to wait till the next morning to clean up the mess. The bully was still out there somewhere, and with Lyle's crazed state of mind, Alan didn't want to take any chances of running into him. He felt lucky to have escaped physical injury, but he didn't want to press his luck. He returned to his apartment, locked the door, and peeked through the peephole.

Turning away from the door, he closed his eyes, lowered his head, and took in a deep breath. He held it in for a few seconds. He exhaled and slowly opened his eyes, raised his head, and focused on the sculpting and casting supplies neatly stacked in the corner of the room.

### Chapter 17

Huddled tightly together beneath the building that housed the Labyrinth, Todd and his two fraternity brothers quietly waited as carnival employees escorted the last guests from the grounds and began securing the structures for the night. The three boys had wedged themselves in a space so cramped that with their bellies on the dirt, there was only an inch or two of clearance above. Corrugated metal panels blocked the crawlspace's access to all but the small area below the building's rear steps.

The Ringmaster and other workers left twenty minutes earlier. The boys grew impatient as their muscles cramped from the long wait for Geno to leave for the night. From their position below the structure, they could hear Geno's footsteps mixed with thundering sounds of panels being dragged inches above them in what must have been a major transformation inside.

"Let's go, Todd. He's never going to leave."

"Patience," Todd whispered. "We've waited this long. We can't leave now."

"How much longer do you want to wait? I say we leave if he doesn't come out in the next five minutes," the third boy said.

"Okay," Todd said. "Ten more minutes. If he doesn't come out in the next ten minutes, we'll blow out of here."

One boy rested his head on his hand while Todd kept watch through the steel grid landing above. The boys raised their heads as the sound of footsteps came from directly above. The three braced as Todd shushed his friends. Geno opened the door and stepped onto the grid above them.

"Finally," whispered the boy to the right of Todd. Todd turned toward his friend and angrily placed his index finger over his closed lips.

Unaware of the spectators below, Geno turned and closed the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key.

"Oh shit, he's locking it," Todd whispered. The boy next to him gave him a nudge. Todd turned to see his finger over his lips. The next three unmistakable sounds they heard were the key slipping into the lock, the clicking sound of the deadbolt, and finally, the key sliding out of the locked door.

The heads of the defeated thrill-seeking trio simultaneously lowered to the dirt. It never occurred to them that the building would be locked. In an instant, their plan and uncomfortably long wait were foiled with the simple sounds of a door locking.

With their heads still in the dirt, two more sounds alerted the boys. First was the tinty metallic clang above them. That was quickly followed by an almost indistinguishable tap on the hard dirt below Geno's feet. Heads raised as all six eyes locked on the source of the sound. Light reflected off the tiny object less than a foot from their noses. It was the key to the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. After locking the door, Geno had fumbled it as he attempted to return the key to his pocket. It clanged on the metal grate before slipping through one of the narrow slits to the ground below the stairs. Appearing to be a silver arrow alerting Geno to the intruders hiding place, the pointed end was aimed directly at Todd—the ringleader.

"Oh, great," Geno said.

One of the boys became anxious and whispered, "It's over now. He's going to see us when he looks for the key."

Todd shot the boy a glance to shut him up. As Geno walked down the steps, Todd moved his head as close as possible to the key and blew a short burst of breath in front of it, kicking up a tiny cloud of dust. He succeeded in dimming the reflective surface, making it harder to spot in the dark of night.

Geno stepped off the last step and leaned to look for the key below. Todd's trick was working, but if Geno lowered to his knees and crawled under the steps, they knew they would be discovered. Geno hovered in a half-hunched position for an eternity while the boys lay motionless, awaiting their fate.

Finally, Geno returned to an upright position. The boys' muscles relaxed as they assumed Geno gave up his search for the key.

"Where did I put that flashlight?" Geno said.

"Shit!" Todd whispered.

"Oh, that's right, It's locked inside," Geno said. "Oh well, the place is locked tight for the night. I guess I'll find it in the morning." He turned and walked away.

With Geno gone, the boys' muscles relaxed and Todd grabbed the key. He shoved against his friends and shimmied out from below the building. He dusted himself off and walked up the steps while the others stood and stretched below.

"C'mon, guys. Let's see what's inside this place," Todd said.

The two reluctantly followed and stood with Todd on the landing.

"Okay, where are your flashlights?" Todd asked as he retrieved a small flashlight from his own pocket. The boys reached for their own flashlights.

"Mine's missing," one of them said as he pressed all of his pockets. "It must have fallen out while we were under the building."

"Forget about it. Two should be enough," Todd said. Then he clicked the switch of his flashlight. It burned bright for about five seconds before quickly dimming to total darkness. Todd slapped it a few times and clicked the switch on and off a few more times. The light didn't return. He returned it to his pocket and focused on the third boy.

"Turn yours on," he said. The boy clicked it on. Again, it burned bright for a few seconds before dying.

"I don't understand. I just put new batteries in it before we left. It should work."

Todd grabbed the flashlight from him and tossed it to the ground. "Forget about the flashlights. Do you guys have lighters on you?"

Todd and one of the boys pulled out their lighters. The third boy shrugged his shoulders and said he didn't smoke. The two successfully tested their lighters.

The one without a lighter started walking down the steps.

"I'll wait for you out here," he said.

"What the hell?" Todd said. "Don't tell me you're chickening out."

"I'm not going in there without a flashlight or a lighter."

"Here," Todd said as he reached out to offer his lighter to his friend.

"No, that's okay, Todd. To be honest, I'm starting to get the creeps. Call me chicken, but I'm not going in there. Keep your lighter."

"Are you kidding me? We waited for hours under the building for this. Then we got lucky when that guy dropped the key right in front of us. You can't chicken out now. We'll never get another chance."

As Todd waited for a reply from the boy at the bottom of the steps, the other boy nudged his arm. Todd looked back to see his hand holding out his own lighter for Todd to take. Todd took the lighter and the boy walked down to join the first.

"You too?" Todd exclaimed.

"Sorry, Todd, but something about this isn't right. That flashlight had new batteries. Something drained them and I think it came from inside the building. I've seen it happen a thousand times on those shows I watch. We'll wait for you out here."

"You can't be serious. I'll tell you what drained the batteries. Time drained them. Old batteries lose their power. I'd bet they were sitting on the store shelf for years before you bought them. Besides, we have lighters. They might even be better because it'll be spookier with the flickering light from my miniature torch here." He laughed as he flicked on his lighter and adjusted the flame to maximum height.

His friends wouldn't budge. No amount of name-calling or threats to out them as pussies back at the frat house would change their minds. Todd knew he would be going in alone. He shook his head and told them they would regret their decision.

One more test of the lighters and he turned to unlock the door. He opened the door wide and offered his friends one last chance to join him. They didn't reply. Todd smiled and stepped inside. The door slowly closed behind him.

"Did Todd do that?" one of the boys said.

"I don't know. He must have."

"Why would he close the door behind him?"

"You know Todd. He's probably just trying to freak us out."

"Good point."

From the flickering glow of the lighter held out in front of him, Todd cautiously stepped through the maze of mirrors. Narrow pathways ended with countless choices of left or right decisions. After making at least twenty directional decisions, he wondered if the only haunting thing about the labyrinth was in a person's sense of desperation in finding the exit. And while he wasn't claustrophobic, he was beginning to show signs of his own desperation. He proved himself to his friends and looked forward to exercising his boasting rights upon exiting.

Ten feet ahead of him was another fork in the road. "Where's the exit to this place?" he mumbled. Standing at the end of the path, he looked right. His flame only revealed the first five to ten feet of the path. Darkness lay beyond the reach of his light. He looked left to a dead end four feet in.

"That's it! I'm just getting deeper into this maze. Maybe I can find my way back—" He turned to the hallway he just walked from and saw his own reflection three feet in front of him. Without making a sound, the pathway had somehow closed behind him. Retracing his steps wasn't an option. He turned again to review his previous choices. To the right was a long dark path and to his left was a dead end. However, when he looked to his right, the pathway was now glowing dimly from a hidden light source. He glanced again to his left choice, where seconds earlier his path was blocked by a solid mirror wall. Now he was looking at a wooden door.

"Wow! These mirrors sure can trick the mind," he said.

Naturally, he chose the door to his left. He took a few steps forward and confidently reached for the door's knob. As he did, his fingers curled into his palm. The handle wasn't real. He mashed his hand into another mirror.

"What? But it looked so real. Now I'm starting to see how people might get freaked out in here. That's an awesome illusion." He turned to take the only path left to him. Using the light in the room, he returned his lighter to his pocket and started down the long straight path. Ten paces turned to twenty. Twenty turned to forty. The exterior of the building was only about forty feet square, yet he just walked five times that distance in a straight line with no end in sight. His pace quickened as he grew anxious to find an end of the passage. His jog progressed into an all out, minute long sprint.

"What's happening?" he said as he stopped to catch his breath. He looked down to the floor. "It must be some sort of treadmill." He kicked the floor in search of the hidden track tricking his mind. The floor didn't give up any of its secrets. Todd returned upright. As he stared down the endless corridor, the walls began to swell outward as the distance closed in front of him. Silently, the narrow hall transformed into a half circle. He turned to look behind, only to discover he was standing in the center of an eight-foot-diameter room with no exits.

Still unwilling to accept a supernatural cause for the illusions he was experiencing, he stepped forward and reached out to feel the mirrored panel. His hand pressed against it, proving it was real. He removed his hand, leaving a smudged print on the high gloss panel. As he tested the next panel, the walls started spinning around him, allowing him to touch every panel in the room without taking a step. With each confirmed touch, his hands went faster and faster, slapping each panel as they flew by in a blur, until his dizzying frenzy to find an exit resulted in a loss of balance. He fell backwards to the floor and the walls stopped spinning. He sat disoriented in the center of the room; the room was unchanged except for a four-foot-high ring of smudge marks left by his hands after hitting each panel multiple times.

Wheezing and defeated from the experience, he retrieved an inhaler from his pocket. He shook it hard and exhaled the air in his lungs. Then he closed his lips around the opening, squeezed, and took in a deep breath. He held in the medicinal mist as long as possible before coughing it out. Two more deep breaths of air, and his ability to breathe was restored, allowing him to return to his feet and reassess his situation.

"Okay!" he said loudly. "I'm not alone in here. The guy who left earlier wasn't the only one who runs this thing, and—well, whoever you are, you got me. I thought this was just some lame carnival ride with nothing to back up the reputation. Obviously, I was wrong. I'm really impressed and you can count on me to spread the word and increase your reputation. You'll have more visitors than ever. So now, if you wouldn't mind, let me out so I can tell all of my friends."

Todd turned in both directions as he waited for a reply. "I know you can hear me," he said. "I told you, you win. Now show me the exit and I'll be on my way."

Again, nothing happened.

"Oh, I get it," he said. "You're holding me in here because you called the cops. Okay, I'll admit that I sort of...broke in...but you don't need to call the cops on me. It's not like I broke the lock or did any damage to the place. The other guy dropped his key and I used it to get in. No harm, no foul. Besides, if you get the cops involved, I won't tell anyone how awesome this place is. Seriously, you should really consider that because I'm a popular guy at the college. I can make sure this place is packed with people."

After Todd's plea for clemency from the prosecution ended, a gravelly voice filled the room. "Only want you."

"Oh, okay, so you want to have me arrested. You don't care about making money. I can't say I understand, but it's your choice. But I hope you realize that my father is an attorney and he'll make this whole thing go away. If I were you, I'd take the publicity I can give you and just forget about bringing the cops into this. Seriously, I'm sure you don't have an advanced education and maybe it's difficult for you to make wise decisions. No offense, but you have to trust me on this. If you bring in the cops, you won't get anything out of this. As a matter of fact, I'll make things worse for you. I'll tell my father that you kidnapped me and held me against my will. I'll have you thrown in jail and I'll sue you for so much that I'll end up owning this shit hole. So I suggest you open the door and let me go or you'll live to regret it.

"Peepers already dead, Todd." A faint and distant image of dark shadow figure appeared in front of him. His own reflection was blocked by the silhouette of a person standing at a distance on the other side of the mirrored surface.

Todd squinted. "How did you know my name?"

Peepers didn't respond. His body floated closer, stopping at the barrier between them. Peepers' features grew sharp. His hand rose to touch the panel. Todd took a step back and to the side. His reflection returned as his body moved off center with Peepers.

"That's not possible," Todd said.

Peepers grinned and brushed his finger over the inside surface of the mirror, sending ripples through the panel.

Todd stepped back to the wall and watched as Peepers' hand and arm preceded the rest of his body as he slipped into the three-dimensional space of the room. Temporarily withdrawing focus from his prey, Peepers held out and turned his hands out at waist level, admiring the effects of his newly enhanced powers. No longer was he transparent and ghost-like. Even in the absence of the life force held in Alan's Peepers sculptures, the spirit's energy grew stronger inside the labyrinth.

With Peepers self absorbed, Todd scanned the mirrored panels comprising the walls of the small circular room. Reflections of himself covered the lower two-thirds of the walls. However, the only image of Peepers was that of the solid form standing near the center, a point where every panel focused its reflective powers.

"A blind spot!" Todd blurted.

Peepers' arms lowered, his attention returning to Todd.

"It's a blind spot," he said again. "The mirrors look like they are aimed at you, but each one is slightly off. That's why I can't see your reflections."

Peepers took delight in Todd's futile attempts to explain the impossible. He slid his left foot two feet out to his side. Then he slid his right foot over to meet it. In this new position Todd scanned the mirrors again; still no reflections. Peepers slid a few feet forward. Again, his image was missing from the mirrors.

"Okay, maybe it's not a blind spot. To be honest, I really don't care. They are great illusions. And I love your costume—very Goth—but this is getting old." Emboldened by his own words, he stepped up to Peepers. He looked up at his face, pressed his index finger into the clown's chest, and continued, "So, I'll give you one more chance to change your mind. You can either conjure up a doorway out of here, and we both forget this ever happened, or I'll have you thrown in jail for kidnapping. What's it gonna be, pal?"

Peepers' eyes lowered to the finger against his chest. Then they rose slowly to meet Todd's angry stare. His grin quickly opened to a sinister smile, exposing his pointed teeth. Todd removed his finger but held his ground.

"Does Todd remember age of eight when chest was tight?"

Todd's expression turned to confusion. "What?"

Peepers stepped away to the wall and began walking around the room.

"Breathing difficult, gasping like fish plucked from water."

Todd turned to keep pace with Peepers as he continued circling the room.

"Oh, I get it. You saw me use my inhaler. So what, I have asthma. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out."

"Vision grow dim. Todd's body drain of life. Brought back on way to hospital."

"How did you know about that?"

Peepers stopped pacing and turned to face Todd.

"How could you know about that?" Todd repeated. "Who are you, and how do you even know my name?"

"I am Peepers. Peepers know everything about Todd. Todd fear that day. Fear death by suffocation."

Peepers' knowledge of his deepest fear was affecting Todd. The mere suggestion of his past struggles to breathe caused his throat to constrict. He pulled out his inhaler and quickly took two puffs.

Peepers enjoyed his powers of suggestion. "Is Todd remember how felt? Lungs cannot get air."

Todd took another hit from his inhaler and demanded Peepers let him out.

Peepers closed the gap between them and leaned into his face. "Todd want fresh air outside Labyrinth?"

Concentrating on his breathing, Todd took two deep breaths and nodded.

"Very well. Peepers set Todd free." Instantly, Peepers vanished from sight. Seconds later, the room went dark.

"I thought you said you would let me go," Todd panted into the darkness. Peepers didn't respond. Two flicks of the lighter restored some vision. The mirrors should have reflected the light from the flame, but something in the room changed. There were no reflections, only darkness beyond the limited power of his tiny torch. He turned in a full circle in his attempt to find a direction. Beyond the lighter in his hand, there was only darkness. He lowered the flame, and even the floor below his feet appeared to absorb the light.

The only direction he didn't search was up, so he raised the flame above his head. At the peek of his reach, the flame abandoned its source of fuel and jumped from the lighter, where it freely glided upward until it ignited the black mesh material of the ceiling.

Flames engulfed the fabric as the raging fire rolled across the ceiling. Feeding on oxygen from below, the billowing cloud of smoke expanded downward. Todd dropped to the floor, desperately sucking the thin layer of unpolluted air as the lung-crushing smoke swelled closer.

As he lay on his side with his shirt covering his mouth as a smoke filter, clown-shoed feet stepped up in front of his face. Peepers had returned but Todd couldn't see past the waist-level smoke to his face. The figure bent down, dragging smoke with him. The smoke dissipated, revealing Peepers smiling down at him. Peepers continued lowering himself to Todd's level until he was lying on his side beside him. His elbow was out with his head resting on his hand.

"Peepers free Todd now."

Todd didn't understand. With his mouth and nose covered by his shirt, he muttered, "Please help me."

Peepers nodded. He looked up to the layer of thick smoke above them and began to inhale. A vortex formed between his mouth and the smoke, sucking every last bit of it into his lungs. With the threat of smoke asphyxiation gone, Peepers looked back at Todd. Todd lowered his shirt from his face and took a deep breath of clean air.

"Thank you," Todd said as he breathed in as much air as possible.

"You are welcome, Todd," Peepers replied. As he spoke, some of the smoke was released into Todd's face. Todd coughed and took another hit from his inhaler.

"Don't fight, Todd," Peepers said. Again, his words carried the concentrated smoke. Wheezing sounds accompanied Todd's coughs. His face turned red as he gasped for clean air.

"Peepers set Todd free." The smoke continued to flow into Todd's face as the clown spoke.

Choking and unable to speak, Todd raised his hand in defeat and tried to crawl away.

Peepers slowly exhaled the deadly cloud in the direction of Todd's movement. It swarmed around, his listless body barely moving around the edge of the room without direction until he collapsed. He lay curled up, suffocating on Peepers' toxic breath. Peepers continued to exhale as he returned to his feet. The dense cloud swallowed the boy and followed him as he desperately crawled in search of relief.

With the condensed smoke fully exhaled in a tight bubble around Todd's body, Peepers closed his eyes and luxuriated in the thumping sound of Todd's body collapsing to the floor, followed by a faint, fading whistle as his final breath squeezed from his constricted airways.

The smoke released its hold on the body and swirled around Peepers. Peepers opened his eyes and flung his arms up, sending the swirling mass to the roof.

*****

Sitting with their backs to the fence behind the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, Todd's friends waited.

"What's taking him so long?" As soon as the words left his mouth, the pair simultaneously jumped to their feet at the sight of smoke pumping from gaps in the building's roof and around the edges of the rear door.

### Chapter 18

To: Lyle

Those were the only markings on the cardboard box gently placed on the floor outside Lyle's apartment. Alan stood and faced the door. He reached out and braced his fingers on the wall surrounding the doorbell. His body turned away from the door with his left knee slightly bent and his foot firmly planted and aimed toward the stairwell. Positioned for a rapid departure he took one last glance at the box below before looking back to the button on the wall. His index finger slid over the button and his head turned to match the direction of the rest of his body. He took in a deep breath and exhaled. His trigger finger pressed the button, which acted like a shot from the starting pistol in a one-man sprint to his car.

The door flung open before Alan left the lower section of stairs. Lyle first noticed the package, but he was more interested in discovering the identity of the person who delivered it. He jumped over the box and darted to the stairwell and leaned over to see if the mystery person was still in sight. Nobody. His curiosity intensified and he turned back toward his apartment and leapt over the box in a dash to his front balcony. Leaning over the railing, he quickly scanned the area for movement. First he looked to the left. All was quiet. Next he turned to the right—not a soul in sight. He turned for a second look to the left when the sound of a car's engine returned his focus to the right. Alan's car backed up and drove off. Mystery solved.

Lyle returned to his still open door and looked down at the package. "There better not be shit inside," he mumbled. He picked up the package and gave it a rugged shake before holding it to his ear. He held the seam of the taped lid to his nose and attempted to detect the presence of crap inside.

His shake, sound, and smell tests all failed to reveal the contents. With no other options and a deepening curiosity, he took the box inside and closed the door. He pulled his keys from his pocket and used one to snap the clear tape at the sides. Then he ran the key across the top, splitting the tape. Before opening the box, he took it to the couch and sat it beside him. With the box firmly supported, he used each hand to lift the outside flaps open. He gave the package a quarter turn and lifted the inside flaps. He peeled away the top layer of packing, revealing the Spanky figure comfortably positioned atop a mattress of protective crumpled papers.

"What the hell is this?" He reached in and pulled the figure out for closer examination. He turned it around in his hands to view it from all angles. Lyle didn't know what to make of the creepy clown _gift_ from Alan. All he knew was that he didn't like it and he didn't want it, or anything else, from Alan.

He shoved the figure and packing paper back in the box and stormed for his door. Behind him stood the life-size Spanky. Unaware of his new guest peering over his shoulder, Lyle jerked open his door and took three steps before carelessly throwing the package at Alan's apartment door.

The box sprung open, sending the Spanky figure crashing to the floor. The resulting shock from the unprotected impact with the concrete surface snapped its left leg in half. Satisfied with his return message to Alan, he returned to his apartment and slammed the door behind him.

Still steaming from Alan's confusing offering, Lyle plopped himself on his couch and stewed for a few seconds before lifting the remote and aiming it toward the TV. Before pressing the button, he heard a rustling sound from his bathroom area. He returned the remote and stood from the couch.

"Who's there?" he called out. Then he heard the clinging sound of a belt buckle. Lyle rushed to his coat closet and grabbed a baseball bat. He raised it and called out again, "Who's in there?"

"My name is Spanky," came a reply from the bathroom.

Lyle rushed across the room to the kitchen. With the baseball bat in one hand, he reached for his phone. "I'm calling the cops," he yelled out.

As his eyes locked on the doorway to the hall, a large figure hopped into view. Stunned, Lyle's eyes widened. His hand opened and the phone dropped to the floor.

"I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns. On this day, your life will change." Spanky stood on one leg. One of Lyle's belts acted as a tourniquet, tightly wrapping the stub of his left half leg.

"You did a bad thing, Lyle."

*****

Dressed as Boogy the Clown, Alan arrived at the carnival an hour before opening. The coincidental passing of Mrs. Henderson on the night he delivered Peepers' figure was unnerving. Even after witnessing the success Spanky had on Dave, he couldn't shake the feeling that Peepers might know something about her death. He wanted to know if Peepers could have done something to save her.

His concentration on the meeting with Peepers was so deep that he didn't notice the yellow police tape stretched across the entrance of the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. It wasn't until he got to the entrance path that he was stopped by the thin ribbon blockade. He wondered if the crime scene tape was some sort of new decoration used to increase visitors' interest in the labyrinth. If so, why was it blocking the entrance? Guests wouldn't be able to pass. Geno should have tied it off at the sides of the walkway.

As he tried to understand the logic of using crime scene tape on a haunted attraction, he heard the unmistakable sound of Cracky's hacking cough from the right side of the building. Alan walked over to see who he was talking to. He was talking to a police officer. More specifically, Cracky was talking with his brother, Dale. Suddenly, he realized the yellow tape wasn't added as an ill-conceived decorative element.

As he walked toward Cracky and Dale, The Ringmaster leaned out from a slit in the side of his tent. "They won't need a clown anymore." The flap closed and Alan continued walking. Cracky and Dale stopped talking when they noticed Alan approaching.

"Hey, Cracky—Dale, what's going on?"

"You guys know each other?" Cracky said.

"Yes, Alan's my big brother," Dale said.

"Alan? Oh, you mean Boogy. You boys are brothers?" Cracky looked back and forth between them, looking for some sort of resemblance.

"Yes, Officer Dale is my brother. What's with the crime scene tape?"

"Some kid died in there last night," Dale said.

Cracky jumped in to set the record straight. "It wadn't murder or nothin' like dat, Boogy. Some frat boys snuck in last night and one of dem broke into da labyrinth and started a fire."

"Right," Dale added. "The kid had breathing problems and the smoke overtook him before he could get out."

"Oh my God, that's awful!"

"Yes it is, Boog. It's awful, but the kid shouldn't have tried ta burn da place down. We're lucky da fire didn't spread and hurt more people," Cracky said.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions here," Dale said. "His friends said he used the lighter to light his way. We don't know if his intent was to burn the place down."

"Maybe so, but he shouldn't have been in dare in da first place. I know kids at dat age do stupid things, but I wish he woulda used a flashlight. If he did, he'd still be alive and we wouldn't be standing here talking."

"You're right about that," Dale said. "Alan, do you remember that time when we were playing with matches in the field near our house?"

"How can I forget? It was the middle of a drought and the grasses were all dried out."

"That's right! I can't believe we were that stupid. The circle of fire almost got away from us. It kept growing in size and we frantically ran around stomping it out."

"I still have nightmares about that," Alan said.

Cracky started laughing hysterically at the image. Dale and Alan shared a confused glance. They couldn't understand what was so humorous about their story.

"What's so funny?" Alan said.

Cracky was hunched over with his hand pressed to a cramp in his side. He couldn't answer the question right away. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed back and forth between the brothers. Again, Dale and Alan looked at each other and shrugged.

Finally, Cracky was able to regain his composure. He stood upright, still snickering and looking back and forth between the two.

"What's with this guy?" Dale said to Alan. Alan raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders again.

Finally able to speak, Cracky again moved his finger back and forth. "I was just picturing you guys as kids. Da clown and da cop runnin' 'round stompin' out da fire. Da clown wid his big shoes—" His laughing started up again.

Dale looked at Alan and shook his head. "He's easily amused, isn't he? Is that why he's called Cracky?"

Alan grinned. At this point he didn't know if Cracky's "plumber's assistant" explanation was the truth, or insight to his warped sense of humor.

Cracky tried to regain his composure a second time. He looked at the two and held his hand over his mouth as he shushed himself. "Okay, Cracky," he said to himself. "Dis is a serious matter. I shouldn't be laughing at a time like dis." He stood straight and snorted each time he tried to swallow stray chuckles.

"Are you gonna be all right, Cracky?" Alan said.

"Yeah, I'm good now. I don't know why I do dat, but once somethin' tickles me, it's hard ta stop."

"Well, guys, I think I'm done here. Now I have to face the worst part of this job and notify the kid's parents," Dale said.

Alan remembered his conversation with the kids at the fraternity house. Todd wanted him to sneak them inside so they could check out the Haunted Labyrinth. He hoped his suspicion was wrong, but he had to know.

"Dale, was his name Todd?" Alan blurted.

Dale did a double-take. "How did you know his name?"

"Oh crap! I guess that means it was him."

"Yes, his name was Todd. How could you know that?" Dale asked.

"Well, I delivered pizzas to a party they had the other night and he wanted me to sneak them in here so they could check out the Labyrinth."

"Whoa!" Cracky said. "You snuck 'em in here?"

"No, I didn't let them in. I told them it wasn't a good idea, and they should forget about it. He said they wouldn't come. I should have known he was lying to me. Damn it! I should have known."

"Don't beat yourself up, kid. You couldn't do anything about it. Kids are always trying to sneak in. That's why we lock it up at night. He just got lucky. Or maybe not so lucky. Either way, you couldn't have done nothin' about it."

"Like I said, I gotta go," Dale said. "Wish me luck." As he walked away, the slit in The Ringmaster's tent rippled.

Returning his attention to Cracky, Alan thought about his plans to go inside the Labyrinth. "How's Geno taking this?"

"Geno, aw, he's just pissed off 'cause he has ta clean up da place and I told him I'm shuttin' it down until da next town."

"Shutting it down?"

"Oh yeah, Boog. I almost forgot. Since it won't be reopened while we're here, we won't be needin' your services anymore. I'm really sorry but—"

"No, no, Cracky, that's perfectly understandable. Don't worry about me. It wouldn't be right to reopen after what's happened."

"Are ya sure you'll be okay, Boog? I mean ya really helped us out, and I appreciate it, but we just can't justify—"

"Cracky!" Alan interrupted. "Seriously, it's fine. Even if you did reopen, I don't think I could be a good clown after what happened inside."

"You're a good man, Boogy."

"Back at you, Cracky. Now, if it's okay with you, I'd like to go in to see how Geno's doing." Cracky nodded. Alan ducked under the tape and entered through the front of the building.

Cracky started to leave. With no signs of anyone nearby, he didn't slow down and said, "Mind your business, Ringmaster."

*****

Inside, the labyrinth was brighter than his past visits. Geno's back was to Alan as he swept ashes from the floor. Not wanting to startle him, Alan reached to the panel closest to him and softly knocked three times.

Geno didn't turn around. "What do you want, Alan?"

"Um, I heard about what happened last night. I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you must be going through right now."

With his back to Alan, Geno stopped sweeping. He looked up to the newly exposed catwalk structure above. "No, you can't." He turned to face Alan. "But you aren't here for that, are you?"

"Well, no, I was on my way here when I found out what happened—"

"You want to talk to Peepers, don't you?"

"I guess so, but if there's anything I can do for you, please let me know."

"I don't know if Peepers is ready to see you."

Alan stood and stared at Geno as he returned to sweeping. Geno was understandably annoyed by Alan's boldness in asking to see Peepers so soon after the tragic incident. How could he be so insensitive to Geno's pain? Alan knew this was the worst possible time to request a meeting, but he wasn't ready to leave.

"I understand this is a bad time, Geno, but—"

Geno turned. "That's the spot." His finger pointed at Alan's feet.

"What?" Alan asked.

"That's the spot. You're standing on the spot where the body was found."

Alan hopped a good foot in the air. As his feet came down, he tiptoed to a new spot ten feet away.

Geno's scowl turned into a grin. "Why do you want to see him?"

"Well, first, I need to know what happened after I dropped his figure off to Mrs. Henderson the other night. She died and—"

"And you want to know if Peepers had something to do with it," Geno said.

Alan didn't know what to say. Even in his own mind, he refused to think Peepers could be so diabolical. However, now that he heard the words from Geno, he didn't feel so bad about letting the thoughts surface. "Well, yes. It's just so coincidental that—"

"You think Peepers killed the old lady."

Again, Geno's ability to get to the point caught him off guard. Now that Geno so indelicately exposed the possibility, he feared the worst. "Did he?"

"Do you really think Peepers would do that, Alan?"

"No, I uh, well, the thought never crossed my mind until you just said it."

"Really? And I suppose you never thought that Peepers had something to do with that kid dying in here last night either. Never crossed your mind, right?"

"Actually, no, but I was wondering why Peepers and the Guild weren't able to save him. I mean, couldn't they have at least guided him out or done something to help save him?"

"I don't know, Alan. You'll have to ask him that. I'm just his gatekeeper. I'm not worthy of his ear. If it were up to me, I would have been here last night to help him."

"You think you could have helped save Todd?" Alan said.

"I'm saying—I could have helped, but Peepers wants it all."

"Wants all of what?" Alan asked.

As though realizing he might be saying too much, Geno looked away and returned to his sweeping. "Nothing, Alan. It's just that Peepers and the Guild don't allow me to be in here with them at night. If I were, I could have helped."

"Don't blame yourself, Geno. You couldn't have known this would happen. Nobody could have predicted it. Believe me, I know how you feel, but there's nothing either of us could have done to save his life. He shouldn't have come here in the first place."

"You really don't understand, Alan. I could have set him free." Geno scowled as he continued sweeping with his back to Alan.

Alan felt horrible for the torment Geno was putting himself through. He attempted to console his new friend but Geno ignored him and walked to the side of the room. He spun a panel and left Alan alone in the mirrored room. The lights dimmed.

"Oh, okay, Geno. If you still want to talk later, I'm here for you."

*****

Fog in the mirrors gave way, exposing Peepers. "Alan make more Peepers."

After everything that had happened, Alan was a bit stunned that Peepers greeted him with demands to make more of his figures.

"Hold on, big guy. Before we talk about that, I need some answers. Like, what happened to Mrs. Henderson? I left you there, and the next thing I find out is that she died. Did you have anything to do with that? More importantly, did I have something to do with it by sending you to her?"

Peepers slowly shook his head. "Peepers help Alan. Why does Alan not trust Peepers?"

"I'm not saying I don't trust you. I just need to know what happened."

"Why Alan accuse Peepers of horrible thing?"

"I didn't accuse you. I'm just confused. I'm asking what you know because she died right after you got there. So please tell me what happened."

"Her time to leave. She is free from fear in the light. Peepers' help not needed."

"Let me get this straight. Are you saying she was dying and you didn't try to help her?"

"Was her time, Alan. Peepers help by not earning light for self. She has light Peepers seek."

"So you didn't do anything to help her die?"

"Peepers not earn light from spirits. Light earned when help living."

Based on everything Peepers told him in the past, this made sense. His desire was to repent for sins in life so that he could find his peace in the spiritual realm. Killing people would only set him backwards.

"Okay, Peepers. I think I understand, but it's just that so much has happened. Like last night. Couldn't you have helped Todd? I mean—this is your home. I can understand that you don't have much power outside, but in here you can come out from the mirrors. Sure, you're sort of see-through when you do it, but you could have guided him or something." After saying this, Alan wondered why Peepers didn't come out from the mirrors on this visit. "Why aren't you out here with me now, Peepers?"

"Peepers and the Guild only appear for Geno and Alan. Cannot help others without Alan's help and our solid figures. Alan must make more and bring here in one day."

Again, Peepers went back to pressuring Alan to make more figures. While Alan may have accepted Peepers' explanations for what happened to Mrs. Henderson and Todd, he wasn't yet comfortable enough to move forward.

"I'm not ready to make more just yet, Peepers. First of all, I don't even know anyone else who could benefit from your help." This was true, not because there weren't people out there living in fear. The fact was that Alan didn't know many people. Outside of his virtual world, he was a loner.

"Bring to Peepers and we will find those to free."

"Bring them here? I'm not sure about that. I mean it's not that I don't trust you, but I'm not comfortable with anyone else controlling where they go. Besides, you just said that you couldn't do anything to save Todd last night. How will you give them to people when they can't even see you? And, again, why are you still in the mirror and not in the room with me?"

"Peepers too weak from damage to Labyrinth. Light fades. Alan cannot find souls to help. Peepers sense weakness and fear in passers through Labyrinth. Geno give our likeness."

"So, you want me to make them and bring them here so Geno can give them to people?"

"Trust Peepers, Alan."

"But I thought that you needed my help with this. I can still find people who need our help, but it's going to take time. You've helped me see the world around me and I'm getting better at breaking out of my shell. I'll pay more attention and put myself out there so that I can find more people to help, but it won't happen overnight. You have to be patient and let me do this at my own pace."

Peepers turned, hiding the anger in his face. "Alan must trust Peepers. Prove trust with five pieces next day."

For the first time, Alan didn't feel the need to explain himself. Peepers' insistence and inability to understand his perspective was starting to piss him off. "Look, Peepers. I don't know why you refuse to listen to me, but for now, you'll just have to trust my instinct. We will help people and I'll do my best to help you, and the Guild, atone for your sins—but you have to back off and let me go at my own pace. You need to start trusting me or I'm done with this."

Peepers breathed deep before letting it out slow. He turned back to face, Alan whose unexpected display of courage inadvertently closed the distance between them. Alan stood strong with gritted teeth and a locked glare as he waited for Peepers to surrender.

Peepers snarled, "Is Alan challenging Peepers?" Peepers raised his shoulders and head to their maximum height.

Alan confidently held his position as his head tilted upward to retain his locked stare. "I'm not challenging you, Peepers. I'm simply telling you how things will be if you want my help."

Peepers eased back to a slumped position. He smiled and nodded. "Congratulations, Alan. Peepers made strong. We come far in few days. Same can happen for others, but Alan not ready to see. Peepers proud of student. Will give him time to see his growth and accept more help."

As always in conversations with Peepers, Alan had to absorb and interpret his words. "Were you testing me to see if I would back down? Because if it was a test, I'm serious, this isn't negotiable, Peepers. Yes, you've helped me, but going forward, you need to accept the fact that we are partners in this. You take care of things on your side of the mirrors and I control this side."

Peepers appeared to be satisfied with Alan's rules. Alan reached his hand out, his eyes still fixed on Peepers' face. "Do we have a deal, Peepers?"

Peepers looked down at Alan's hand. Then he moved his head in a random pattern and watched as Alan kept pace, following his every move. He moved his hand out from the mirror. With Alan's unwavering focus on the black eyes of Peepers, he didn't see Peepers' solid hand shaking his own. Peepers pulled away before Alan was finished. His figure faded away into the mirrors and bright light returned to the room.

From the side of the room, Geno entered with a dustpan and a trash bag. "Hey, Alan, would you mind holding this open?"

Alan agreed and took the bag from Geno. He held it open as Geno swept the pile of ashes and dumped them. When the bag was full Geno tied it closed and handed it back to Alan as he grabbed another filled bag and walked toward the entrance. He looked back and asked Alan to follow him to the Dumpster. They exited the building and Alan followed Geno as he walked toward the entry gates.

"Geno, isn't the Dumpster out back?" Alan said.

Geno turned back as he continued walking. "Just follow me, Alan," he said.

They continued on to one of the guest trash barrels on the opposite side of the midway. Geno tossed his bag, then took the bag from Alan and added it to the barrel. He looked around like a paranoid police informant.

"What's wrong, Geno?"

Geno moved so that Alan's body blocked his line with the Labyrinth. "Be careful, Alan."

"Careful of what?"

"Did you notice the change in him today?"

"In Peepers? Yes. What was that all about? I didn't want to say anything, but I was really getting concerned that he wasn't being honest with me."

"I don't know about that, but something is different. I can't put my finger on it, but you should be careful."

"I will, Geno, but what do you know that you aren't telling me?"

Geno peered around Alan. "Oh no, not now."

"What? What is it?" Alan said as he turned to see what caught Geno's attention.

"It's The Ringmaster. I just saw him sneaking into the Labyrinth. That guy better be careful or he might just get what he wishes for." Geno looked back at Alan. "Look, I gotta see what he's up to. I probably shouldn't have said anything." With that, Geno sprinted back to the Labyrinth.

### Chapter 19

At the top of his stairs, Alan stopped. Still made up as Boogy, he turned to look at Lyle's door. The box he dropped off hours earlier, with the Spanky figure inside, was gone. Lyle must have retrieved it. He wondered what happened when people got the figures. His own experience with Peepers had to be much different because there weren't any sculpted figures involved. He experienced Peepers in the home of the Guild of Fallen Clowns. The only way for Peepers to make his presence known was to appear in the mirrors of the Labyrinth. But how did the small figures help people? Up till now, he just assumed the mere presence of the figures changed people for the better. The clown spirits might be similar to other good luck charms, and their owners unknowingly benefitted from their hidden powers.

These were his assumptions all along, but after leaving Peepers, and getting the disturbing warning from Geno, he wasn't sure of anything.

At the risk of getting pummeled by Lyle, he decided to search for answers by knocking on his neighbor's door. Clown shoes in hand, he approached the apartment and knocked. He waited, and when there was no answer he raised his hand to knock again when he heard heavy footsteps approach the door from inside. They stopped and the peephole went dark.

Through the door, Lyle asked, "What do you want, Alan?"

Alan wasn't expecting this response for a number of reasons. First, it wasn't like Lyle to stand behind the door rather than flinging it open. If Spanky wasn't working on him, Lyle might take the opportunity to do some clown bashing. If, on the other hand, Spanky were successful in taming Lyle's bullying ways, Lyle would likely be cordial toward him.

Standing behind the door wasn't one of the options he envisioned; however, the explanation could be a simple one. Maybe Lyle wasn't dressed. As a bachelor himself, Alan was quite familiar with the comfortable freedom of lounging in one's underwear.

The closed door was confusing, but understandable. It was Lyle's choice of words that baffled him more. Lyle was looking at him through his peephole. The face staring back was that of Boogy or, as Lyle liked to refer to him, "Booger." It was the perfect setup, yet Lyle chose to call him by his given name. This was a good sign that the Spanky figure was working.

"Uh, hey, Lyle, I don't mean to bother you, but earlier I dropped something off for you. I should have given it to you in person, but...um, I didn't. Anyway, I was just wondering if you got it and—"

"Yes—I got it,"

"Oh, good I, uh, I guess. I just thought it might help to make things better between us."

"Yes, it's just great. I really appreciate the thought. You've always been nice to me and I've been a real jerk. I'd let you in, but I'm kind of tied up with something right now."

"Oh, that's okay. I understand. Like I said, I just wanted to stop by to see if everything was good."

Light reappeared from the peephole, followed by the sound of Lyle's feet stomping away from the door. Satisfied with Lyle's pleasant demeanor, Alan crossed the hall to his own apartment.

*****

Standing in his tighty-whities, with his arms securely tied to his sides, Lyle opened his mouth. Spanky inserted his clown nose gag and securely tied it behind his head. "Well done. Perhaps I'll reduce your punishment by five lashes."

Lyle kneeled and lowered his torso over the coffee table. His exposed back was covered with swollen red whip lines, highlighted with random speckles and drip trails of blood. Tears welled in his eyes and he whimpered in expectation of the continued torture from his one-legged clown sadist. Tightening his grip on the rope whip, Spanky hopped into the optimal position and raised his hand high above his head.

*****

Beep. "Hey, Alan, this is Mary. I just heard the news about what happened down at the—"

Alan dashed across the room and picked up the phone before she could finish. "Hi, Mary, I just got in."

"Oh, good, you're there. I just heard what happened with that boy, and I wanted to call to see how you were doing. It's such a shame. He had his whole life ahead of him. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I guess. I mean, yeah, it's horrible what happened to him. He was just doing what lots of boys his age do. He wanted a cheap thrill, but he shouldn't have died."

"I know. It sickens me when I hear stories like this. They said his friends wouldn't go in with him. I can't imagine what they must be going through right now. If only they had gone with him, they might have been able to save him. And if he used a flashlight instead of a lighter, there wouldn't have been any fire or smoke in the first place. It's just so sad because it was so avoidable. It's as if someone decided it was his time to go, and all these coincidences were part of a bigger plan."

"What? Do you think someone planned to do that?"

"No, well, you know. When God calls your number, there's nowhere you can hide. Did you hear about that couple a few months ago that got killed by a tree falling on their car as they were leaving a parking lot on a clear day?"

"Oh, right. That was a fluke."

"That's what I'm saying. It doesn't seem fair—but what can you do?"

"Yeah, what can you do?" he repeated.

"So anyway, are you still okay with our plans for tomorrow night? I would certainly understand if you wanted to go somewhere else, or even cancel our date. It's all still fresh for you, and I want to be sure we don't have a dark cloud hanging over us on our first date."

Her choice of words pulled him from thoughts of fate, coincidence, and growing concerns over his relationship with Peepers, to the prospect of a potentially budding courtship with Mary.

She said "first date," strengthened with words relating to the importance of it being successful and memorable. At least that was how he interpreted her statement.

While he thought he was replaying her words in the privacy of his own head, they managed to escape under his breath. "First date." Barely audible and spoken in the confusing area between a question and a statement, the words played in stereo both inside and outside his head as his hand instantly covered his mouth.

Without missing a beat Mary laughed. "Yes, Alan. I said first date. Does that scare you?"

"Scare me? No, not at all. It's just that I wasn't sure if we were going as friends or, uh—"

"Of course we're going as friends," she said.

_Friends, just great. Why did I allow myself to think someone like her could be interested in anything more?_ he thought. It was high school all over again, but the role of Paula was now being played by Mary Krauss.

"I don't know about you, but I don't believe in dating a guy until I can first consider him to be my friend. My mother married her best friend. For that matter, so did my father. Don't you consider me to be your friend?"

Their date wasn't until the following night, yet in his head he could hear the unmistakable ratcheting sound of a roller coaster being hoisted to the next crest.

"Yes, I consider you to be my friend. And yes, I'm okay with going to the carnival for our date—our first date. It'll be fun going as Alan and not Boogy the Clown. I'm really looking forward to it," he said.

"It will be fun. I'd love to see you in your Boogy costume, but I'd much rather be there with Alan."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell you. I won't be working there anymore. They decided to keep the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors closed for the remainder of their time in Riverside. I worked the crowds outside, and now Boogy's services are no longer needed."

"Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that. I was planning on stopping in to see Boogy."

"It's okay. I'm fine with the decision. As a matter of fact, after what happened, I'm not sure Boogy would be able to entertain the crowds," he said. "Boogy won't be appearing there anymore, but you'll always have your memories of Boogy in Clown World."

"May he rest in peace," Mary chuckled.

"Speaking of Clown World, I'm curious. Is Peepers still helping other virtually addicted players kick the habit?" he asked.

"That's an interesting perspective," she said. "Actually, no, he isn't. After killing you and stealing your powers, he went on a killing spree. He obliterated the top tier of players. Then he just disappeared. It didn't make sense. You know how the game is played. You can't get to the top without building alliances and helping your friends."

"He's not playing anymore?"

"No, he isn't, and that's a good thing. I know you think the guy was responsible for breaking your addiction to the game, but honestly, I think you're giving that creep too much credit. The only thing he did was destroy your character in the virtual world. I admire the fact that you are a humble person Alan, but seriously—if you really think some nerdy twelve-year-old kid sitting behind his laptop in a small village in Austria is responsible for your personal success in the real world, then maybe I spoke too soon about future dates."

And the clicking sounds stopped as the mental roller coaster reached the peak. His hands instinctively rose above his head as the rumbling wheels of the first car spread and intensified as subsequent links of the train were pulled behind. This was the most dramatic drop to date on his ride with Mary. At the bottom of the tracks, there was a split. To the left, the fall continued another fifty feet and the tracks ended at a battered concrete wall surrounded by shattered remnants of past bad decisions.

To the right, the tracks continued for a long distance, reminiscent of a runaway truck ramp on the downward slope of a mountain. Those tracks disappeared into a thick layer of undisturbed crushed gravel.

Finding himself alone and in the front car, he knew that he had to make a quick decision, but there weren't any controls. This was a new experience for him. On one side he could see his past. The other side was new and untraveled. In front of him there was nothing but a handlebar. His hands were raised, going along for the ride. The speed increased. The closer he got to the split, the more faded the tracks to the runaway ramp became. The decision was being made for him, but it wasn't his choice.

At the last possible instant, he leaned right. His arms hung over the side of the car and the concrete wall vanished.

"A twelve-year-old kid in Austria? That's funny. I can't say I had the same image in my head, but I get your point."

"Really? Because you had me worried when you asked if he was still in the game, ' _helping'_ others."

"I can only imagine how big that red flag looked," he snickered. "Forget about future dates. You must have been thinking of ways to get out of our first date."

"Well..." she said jokingly.

Alan laughed. "Don't worry. I was just kidding about that guy helping people. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm not that good at telling jokes. I need to work on my delivery."

"Yeah, we'll definitely have to work on that before you meet my uncles."

"Your uncles? Does that mean the red flag is gone and we're still on for tomorrow night?"

"I don't know," she said playfully. "I'm not completely convinced yet."

"Oh no? What do I have to do to prove that I didn't mean it the way it sounded?" Alan smiled and waited for her reply. To his surprise and delight, he had succeeded in changing the tone of their conversation from a potential crash-and burn-ending to that of a flirtatious repartee. The fact that Peepers was the primary subject of their flirty banter escaped him.

"Hmm, let's see—what can I make you do?"

"Your wish is my command, milady." _Oh no,_ he thought. _Did I really say that? And I was doing so well in repressing my inner dork. Now she's going to think I'm one of those Renaissance Festival geeks. Those days, and the red and yellow tights, are best left in the past._

Fortunately, Mary was too deep in thought to digest his comment. "The jerk killed Boogy, and now I'm not going to be able to see Boogy at the carnival."

"Where are you going with this?" He was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the amount of consideration she was giving to the dilemma. He hoped his penance wouldn't subject him to embarrassment.

"I got it!" she exclaimed. "I want to see Boogy kill Peepers!"

The confident smile drained from his face. "What?"

"Think about it, Alan. Peepers killed Boogy in Clown World. If you want to prove to me that Peepers means nothing to you, I want to see Boogy kill him."

"But I'm not in the game anymore, and neither is Peepers. How can Boogy kill him?"

"The real world Boogy will do it. Well, nobody's going to die, exactly. I was just thinking that you can use the mold you made of Peepers and cast a replica. Don't bother sanding down the seams or painting it because it's only going to get destroyed. Destroyed by you, dressed in your Boogy costume. Oh, that's perfect."

"You want me to dress as Boogy and break a casting of Peepers?" he said.

"Yes! That way I can meet Boogy, and you can get some symbolic payback."

"But our date is tomorrow night. Are you saying you won't go out with me until I do this? Because I'm not sure we'll have enough time."

"Hmm, good point. I guess I'll have to take your word. Promise me that you'll do it another time and I'll give you a waiver for tomorrow's date."

"Is there a time limit?"

"C'mon, Alan, you don't want to disappoint me, do you? I want to see Boogy. Are you going to deprive me of my one wish? I thought you said my wish was your command."

Apparently, that poorly chosen phrase hadn't slipped by unnoticed, and now she was cashing in. "So, if it's just Boogy you want to see, I'm doing a kids party Sunday. I can stop by on my way there," he said, hoping she would forget about the part of her request involving his purposeful destruction of a Peepers figure.

First of all, destroying a Peepers casting would require him to cast another one. Then there was the larger issue of potentially pissing off a spirit whose true powers were still unknown to him. How might Peepers respond? Was he capable of understanding his reasons? Or might he be angered to the point of becoming physically violent toward him?

In that two-second sliver of time between his question and Mary's response, he found clarity. She was right. Peepers wasn't responsible for helping him overcome his fears. He had responded negatively when Alan expressed concerns and his desire to slow things down. Now Alan was wondering how he should go about calming the spirit after he destroyed one of his figures.

Alan realized he wasn't cured of his fears. His fears had merely shifted. Instead of fearing the sight of Peepers and other spirits, he was living in fear of the spirits' retribution should he disagree with or disregard Peepers' desires and plans for him.

"Yes! I'd love that. Just be sure to bring Peepers with you," Mary replied.

Nothing escaped this girl. For her, it was all just a game. She was toying with him, but she couldn't possibly know the ramifications of her request. Alan gave up playing out potential outcomes and probabilities in his mind. He knew what he needed to do. But first, he needed to get off the phone.

"And give that jerk the satisfaction of casting his figure?" he said. "I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen. I can't allow him to exist in the real world, even if it's just for the purpose of destroying him. Like you said, the only thing he did was destroy my character in Clown World. I trusted him. He told me he was a newbie and asked for my help to get him established in the game. I let my guard down and he used me. Then he killed Boogy. I never should have sculpted him in the first place."

"Huh," she said. "I didn't think of it that way, but good for you! I agree one hundred percent. Forget that guy. Your plan is so much better. He doesn't deserve to be in the same room as Boogy." Mary sounded so upbeat that he pictured her on the other end of the line pumping a clenched fist. She only had one more thing to add. "You'll get along just fine with my uncles."

"I can't wait," he replied.

*****

Alan stepped into his bathroom, stripped out of his costume, and stood in front of the mirror wearing only his white T-shirt and underpants. The sad face of Boogy stared back at him. He turned up the corners of his mouth but the clown's exaggerated face looking back at him remained sad.

"He's not going to take this well, old friend," he said. Boogy nodded.

"I can see you are afraid." Again, the sad clown nodded.

"So am I." He dug four fingers into the cold cream container and smeared it over his face.

"I've never been so scared of anything in my entire life, but it's time to start believing in myself." He bent down to rinse his face. Then he finished the transformation with a rigorous rubbing with a hand towel. He looked back into the mirror; Boogy was gone. "But first, I need to make one stop."

### Chapter 20

Other than himself, two elderly women were in the church, diligently praying with beaded rosaries dangling from their arthritic clutches. Sitting beside each other, they appeared to be together. However, each was intensely focused on the statue of the Blessed Mother at the front left side of the altar.

Alan sat on the opposite side of the church, in the last pew. A fourth parishioner entered and slipped to the center of a pew five rows ahead of him. Alan watched as the younger man used his foot to lower the kneeler from the pew in front of him. Without hesitation, the gentleman lowered to his knees, tightly interlocked his fingers and hands together as his elbows found comfort on the back of the pew, and began to pray.

Looking past his knees, Alan reached his foot out to the kneeler in front of him and gently lowered it to the floor. He had come there to pray, and after observing the other three people in the church with him, he realized his approach might be flawed. It wasn't that he forgot Church traditions. He just didn't understand the logic. Why would God care if he didn't genuflect before entering the pew? He had better things to do than judge people for avoiding the finger dip in holy water, immediately followed by touching the forehead, stomach, and left and right breasts, signifying the sign of the Holy Trinity.

Alan wasn't much different from his brother Dale in his views of the Church. The only difference was that Dale didn't have a choice. He didn't want to be in church every Sunday. He only went because he wanted to keep the peace. Alan didn't have anyone to answer to.

Disregarding his misgivings on the subject, he slid forward and lowered his knees to the cushioned surface of the kneeler. "Here goes nothing," he whispered as he locked his hands, planted his elbows, and lowered his head. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

God—Dear Lord—I know it's been a long time, and I probably shouldn't have come here asking for your help. It's not like I've been thanking you for any of the good things in my life. I wouldn't blame you if you decide to use your powers on someone more deserving of, and thankful for, your—blessings. So, if you're still listening, I should start by saying I'm sorry for avoiding you all these years. Oh, and I want to thank you for my health and other good things that have happened since the last time I talked to you. Oh, Mary! Thank you for bringing her into my life. And sculpting, I guess you already know about that. You probably knew about my abilities all along, so thanks for, uh, giving me the talent. It would have been nice if you figured out a better way to help me discover it, but I'm not blaming you. Like I said, maybe if I was more thankful, you might have opened that window sooner. But, in my defense, you did take my parents from me. And I was just a little kid when you took my father. I think you can understand why I—strayed.

Alan opened his eyes, unfolded his hands, and sat back in the pew. _This isn't working,_ he thought. _God doesn't owe me anything, and it would be selfish of me to even ask for his help._

He attempted to stand when a hand on his shoulder gently guided him back to a sitting position. He looked up to see Father Harris.

"Are you looking for me, or did you come to speak with the big guy?" Father Harris said, with his finger pointed up.

"The big guy," Alan replied before rising to his feet. "I should be going."

Father Harris nodded as he looked into Alan's eyes. "Follow me, Alan." Father Harris turned and walked to the confessional booth at the back corner of the church. Alan followed from a distance. Without looking back, the priest opened the door to one side and motioned Alan to enter the adjoining chamber.

Alan hesitated, then opened the door and leaned his head inside. "Father—I didn't come here for confession. I'm not prepared."

"Please sit and close the door behind you, Alan."

"Yes, Father," he replied. His early years of conditioning left him no other options. He sat on the tiny wooden shelf of a seat and closed the door.

"What brings you here, Alan?"

Alan wasn't sure how to respond. The last time he was in a confessional, it was the confessor's responsibility to start the process. "Uh, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been—"

"No, Alan, I didn't bring you in here for that. I brought you here because I could sense that whatever is bothering you is too uncomfortable to talk about. I thought it might be easier for you to talk in a more—private and anonymous setting."

"Oh, right, but you know it's me."

"True," Father Harris replied. "I've known you your entire life. After your father died, you and your brother, Dale, needed a father figure. You boys were always into something and I tried to keep you on the straight and narrow by acting as a surrogate disciplinarian. I must admit that I may have been a bit too hard on you boys at times. It saddens me when I look in your eyes. In them I see your image of me and it hurts. I can't blame you for leaving the Church, but now that you've come back, I don't want to frighten you away again. In here, you don't have to see my mean old mug. I sincerely hope this panel between us will allow you to speak more openly. You are not a child anymore, Alan. And I can assure you, you have no reason to fear me."

"I never feared you, Father Harris. Well, maybe a little, but I've always had the utmost respect for you."

"Thank you, Alan. That means a lot to me. Now let's see if this plan will work. After last Sunday's mass, you appeared to be deeply troubled by something. Today you appear more distressed. How can I help you?"

Alan thought about the priest's question. He couldn't begin to explain what had been happening to him, let alone ask for his help. How could anyone help in this situation?

"I don't think you can help me, Father. I've already tried taking your advice, but it doesn't feel right."

"Fear not, believe only?" Father Harris said.

"Yes, I thought I was getting over my fears. I believed God was showing me how to be a better person and how I can help others, but—" Alan didn't know how to finish his sentence. He believed that with the help of Peepers, and the Guild, he was helping people like Dave, Lyle, and Cheryl. Then there were the ancillary beneficiaries of their help. Dale and the twins would be able to enjoy going out as a family with Cheryl. Paula would have her husband back. Debbie wouldn't have to fear Dave's abuse. And Alan himself would be safe from Lyle. His only real question at this point had to do with Peepers. Was Peepers helping him, or just using him?

"But what?" Father Harris said.

"But—something just isn't right. I feel like my trust is being misplaced. Is it selfish of me to run away out of fear when I might be able to help lost souls?"

"First of all, Alan, I'm going to assume you're talking about troubled people because only God can help lost souls."

"Yeah, that's what I meant, people with problems." He was quick to cover for his poorly chosen word choice. However, there was something profound in the priest's reply. _Only God can help lost souls._ If this were true, his involvement with the Guild would have no impact on their desire to find atonement for their earthly sins. Peepers would know this.

"I thought so," Father Harris said. "Listen, Alan, this is what 'Fear not, believe only' means to me. Without knowing the details of your situation, I'm hearing you say that your heart is telling you one thing, but your head is saying something else. Personally, I'm a huge believer in my heart. I view it as my sixth sense, or my soul's point of view. If I listened to my head, I would have found another profession. The ability to believe comes from the soul. If you ignore it for too long, you risk becoming one of those lost souls."

"The ability to believe comes from the soul," Alan repeated under his breath.

"Yes, that's how I see it," the priest replied. "Huh, that's interesting."

"Interesting?" Alan replied.

"The last time I remember explaining it that way was to your father, many years ago."

"My father? Why would he need to hear that?"

"Oh, you know that's not how it works in here, Alan. Let's just say you aren't that different from him. The two of you share in your guarded nature. He also spoke in generalities. And, like you, he always kept a tight hold on the specifics of what troubled him. With your father, I assumed it was due to his FBI training. Even in here, he faithfully upheld his pledge and wouldn't discuss the details of his cases. But now—I'm starting to wonder if it was genetic. Either that, or you're working undercover for the government."

"It must be genetic, Father. I could never be a cop." Alan began to stand. "Thank you, Father Harris. You've been very helpful."

"Leaving so soon? I feel like we were just getting started."

"Believe me, Father; you've given me a lot to think about. Right now, my heart is telling me what I must do."

"Go in peace, my son."

*****

The Friday afternoon crowd at the carnival was thin. Inside the ticket booth, Cracky enjoyed a smoke as he waited for the next customer. Alan wanted to be sure the Labyrinth was unlocked for his visit with Peepers so he stopped at Cracky's ticket booth. He stepped up and Cracky blew his last puff out the cracked open door and concealed his cigarette.

"Hi, Cracky, I'm back."

"Oh, uh, hey, buddy. How many?" Cracky replied as he prepared to dispense tickets.

Alan realized Cracky didn't recognize him in plain clothes and without his Boogy face paint.

"It's me, Boogy."

Cracky squinted and leaned in for a closer look. "Boogy?"

"Yeah, actually it's Alan, but yes, it's me."

"Wow, it is you. I thought you wuz older and uglier. What brings you back, Boog? Did ya come back for fun now dat you ain't working no more?"

"Actually, no, but I will be coming back for that tomorrow night. I came back to see Geno."

Cracky's head tilted like a confused puppy. "Geno?"

"Yes. I never got the chance to thank him for recommending me for the job. I thought I'd stop by and do that before you guys pack things up and leave next week. Is he in the Labyrinth?"

"Yeah, he's in there, but today might not be good for dat. He's in one of his moods since we closed him down dis morning. He's startin' to remind me of his old man."

"His father?"

"Yeah, I was just a kid myself, but story has it, Geno's daddy was a psychopathic murderer. He left a trail of victims in every town da carnival passed through. It's a good thing dey finally caught up wid him before he started targeting us carnies."

"Is he in prison?"

"Better—he's dead!"

"Dead? Wow, that had to be hard on Geno. Do you really think he's capable of doing the same thing?"

"I don't know what ta think, Boog. I'm just saying he's been acting stranger den usual lately. I'm sure he'll be back to normal when da Labyrinth reopens in Monroe." Cracky paused. "You know what, I'm probably overreacting. I shouldn't have said nothin'. I wouldn't like it if people judged me on some of da things my old man did. Forget I said anything, Boog. Just watch your back. Oh, shit, there I go again. Hey, I got a customer headin' dis way. Stop by to see me tomorrow night." Cracky looked past Alan to the approaching customer.

Alan stepped aside. "Okay, Cracky. I'll see you tomorrow."

*****

Inside the Labyrinth, Alan found Geno standing on a ladder, stretching black fabric across the ceiling.

"Geno, do you need a hand with that?"

The ladder wobbled from the tension Geno had on the material. He glanced down at Alan and smiled. "Sure, can you hold the ladder steady while I staple this up?"

Alan rushed over to secure the ladder.

"Didn't think you'd be back so soon," Geno said as he pressed five staples through the fabric and into the wooden framework above.

"Me either, but I've been thinking a lot, and there's something I need to discuss with Peepers."

Geno lowered his hand with the stapler and looked down at Alan. Without saying a word, he smiled and nodded knowingly. Alan released his grip on the ladder as Geno stepped down and folded it closed. He tucked it under his left arm, leaned forward, and whispered. "Good luck," before exiting the chamber.

Alan stood alone in the room. He wondered why Cracky felt the need to warn him of meeting with Geno. This was the most comfortable he'd ever felt with him. As the only two humans connected to Peepers, he felt like they shared a bond. And after Geno's warning earlier that day, he realized that he wasn't alone in his concerns about Peepers and the Guild. Cracky's observations must have been of a scared Geno, not a psychotic one.

The lights dimmed. Alan took a deep breath, rolled the kinks from his neck, and locked his eyes on the mirror in front of him. He was ready to face Peepers.

Peepers' voice came from behind him, catching him off guard. "Where are my sculptures?"

Alan spun around to see Peepers inside the mirror. His face was without expression.

"Your sculptures? I didn't come here for that. Besides, I told you I wasn't ready to make more."

"Alan is right. We did make agreement. Alan will help Peepers—soon."

"Well, uh, that's kinda why I'm here."

"Oh, Alan now ready? Soon is today?" Peepers said.

"Actually, no, that's not it. I've decided to get out. I'm not going to make any more figures."

A look of rage filled Peepers' face. His image shook violently. Ripples formed around him and swallowed him completely. With his image gone, the ripples smoothed, returning the panel to a smooth mirror finish. The display was shocking, but Alan felt a huge sense of relief, and calm, as he realized he did it. He said no to Peepers and severed his ties with the spirit. He shook out his last nerves and looked up to the ceiling in anticipation of the brightening lights.

The lights didn't return. From behind, Peepers spoke. "Peepers help Alan from his fears. Spanky help Alan with Lyle. Agor help Alan's family. Now Alan refuse to help us?"

Alan casually turned to face Peepers. "Yes, it's true that you may have helped me, Peepers. But I'm not comfortable with any of this. I talked to Father Harris and he told me that only God has the ability to help lost souls. I can't be— and shouldn't be—trying to help you and the Guild. You need to take that up with God, not me."

Peepers snarled. "Father knows nothing of Peepers' soul. Alan cannot listen to the deception and hypocrisy of petulant priest."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I trust Father Harris and I'm not going to change my mind."

Peepers stared into Alan's eyes as he considered his response. "Peepers wrong about Alan. We thought Alan was a man of honor. We grabbed hands and agreed to help each other. We help Alan, but now he is done, refuse to help us. Is Alan man of his word?"

Peepers was right. Alan had agreed to help as long as it was in his own time. If he backed out now or anytime in the future, he wouldn't be true to his word. He was of the belief that a man is nothing if he can't be trusted. How could he live with himself, knowing he breached their agreement?

As he struggled to find a way out of his dilemma, another figure appeared in the mirror behind Peepers. It was Poppy, the same clown that appeared in an earlier meeting with Peepers. As before, Poppy looked frightened. He shook his head and mouthed the word "No." Also, as with his previous sighting of Poppy, a dozen clown-gloved hands reached around his body. Before they pulled him back to the darkness of the mirrors, Poppy's face transformed into that of Alan's father, shaking his head from side to side with his right hand covered over his visibly thumping heart.

With Poppy's and his father's faces gone, Alan abandoned all thoughts of retaining his integrity with respect to his agreement with Peepers.

"Yes, I am a man of my word, Peepers. And I'll honor our agreement by praying for mercy on your soul. You and I know this is the only way I can help you. You may not like my decision, but I have to follow my heart." Alan stood erect and resolute in his declaration.

Instead of the anticipated volatile response from Peepers, the dark spirit stood eerily calm. He let out a disappointed sigh and relaxed his stance. "Very well, but know this. Alan's spirit forever tied to Peepers and the Guild. Our deeds are yours. At your end, Boogy will join the Guild where father cannot reach."

Again, Peepers vanished. This time, the lights returned and Geno returned. As he approached Alan, he winked and held his right hand close to his belly with a subtle thumbs-up signal.

"Is that it?" Alan asked. "Will Peepers leave me alone now?"

"Yeah, buddy. That's it. You won't hear from him again," Geno replied as he put his arm around Alan and walked him out.

As they stood in front of the Labyrinth, Geno leaned in. "Wait for me in the parking lot." He turned and darted back inside before Alan could ask any questions.

*****

Leaning both arms over the hood of his car, Alan watched as Geno approached ten minutes later.

"What's up, Geno? Why did you want to meet me out here?"

"Sorry, Alan. What I have to tell you can't be anywhere near the Labyrinth. Peepers can't know that I'm talking to you."

"Why? What's this about?"

"It's the molds, Alan. Peepers only let you go because you still have his mold."

"I'm not following you. I'm not going to cast any more figures of him. Why does it matter that I still have them?"

"The molds give the figures their power. And you were right to get out because Peepers is crazy. His mold needs to be destroyed or people will get hurt."

"What? Wait, what about the other clowns? Are Spanky and Agor dangerous?"

"No, it's just Peepers. The others are fine. Your sister-in-law is safe, but Peepers' mold needs to be destroyed or he'll find a way to take it from you. Once that happens, all hell will break loose."

"Oh my God," Alan said. His body went limp and he slid down the side of his car to the ground. "Did he kill Mrs. Henderson? Did I cause that?"

Geno sat next to him. "No. He was telling you the truth about her. I know this because he was really pissed off when she died because he didn't get the chance to do anything to her."

Alan remained dazed. Geno grabbed his arms and gave him a good shake. "You have to stay with me, Alan. I don't have much time. We have to destroy Peepers' mold."

"Okay, I'll go home right now and destroy it. Actually, I'm going to destroy all of them. I shouldn't have been messing around with this stuff in the first place."

"You can't do that, Alan. There's more to it than just destroying the mold. That will prevent Peepers from casting more figures, but it won't stop him from finding someone else to make another mold."

"Well, then, how can we prevent that from happening?"

"We have to expel him from the Labyrinth. The only way to do this would be to destroy his mold inside the Labyrinth. It's dangerous, but it's our only option."

"Okay, I'll go get the molds, a hammer, and a box cutter. You'll have to sneak me inside—"

"No, that won't work. Peepers won't let you back inside with his mold. He'll kill you before you have a chance to destroy it."

"What do we do then?"

"He won't suspect me, Alan. He trusts me because I'm scared shitless of him. I can get the molds in without him knowing. Then I'll destroy them and we'll all be free of him."

"You want me to give you the molds?"

"It's the only way. Wait, are you saying you don't trust me?" Geno said.

"I don't know. This is all coming at me really fast, and I'm not sure who to trust anymore."

"Alan, you have to trust me. Don't you get it? I'm like you. That asshole has been holding me hostage in there for years. I want him gone more than you could imagine. Besides, you don't have any other options. Please trust me, Alan. I can't go on living under his control."

Alan thought about Geno's plea. While he wasn't comfortable releasing the molds to him, he didn't see any other options.

"Okay, I'll consider giving the molds to you, all three. But as I said, this is a lot to think about. I'll need some time. I'll meet you back out here tomorrow morning, an hour before opening."

"I understand. I hit you with a lot of stuff. I'm sure that once you think about it, you'll know what needs to be done, and you'll bring the molds with you."

"We'll see."

Geno helped Alan stand to his feet. "I need to leave now before he suspects anything. I'll see you in the morning, Alan." Geno ran back inside the carnival grounds.

*****

Peepers watched from the mirror as Geno returned to the Labyrinth. Upon seeing Peepers, Geno stopped. A smile came over Peepers' face.

"Well done, my son," he said.

Geno grinned. "It will be ours tomorrow morning."

### Chapter 21

Alan had just inserted the key into his apartment door when the sound of a door opening behind him prevented him from locking it. With his fingers still firmly grasping the key, he turned to see Lyle walking toward him with a smile.

"Hey, pal, I'm glad I caught you."

"Oh, hey, Lyle."

"Listen, before you leave, I've been thinking about what went down between us the other night. I don't know what came over me. I was out of line, and I'm really sorry. Can you forgive me? I swear it'll never happen again."

Alan let go of his key and sighed. He turned, leaned his back to the door, and looked at Lyle's face. Lyle tried in vain to retain eye contact, but the whole time his eyes shifted from side to side and down to the floor. There was no question in Alan's mind that Spanky was responsible for Lyle's sudden transformation.

"Forgive you? I think I should be asking you to forgive me."

"Why?" Lyle asked.

"I did a bad thing, Lyle. You probably don't realize it, but the only reason you are being nice to me is because of that clown figure I left you this morning. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I believe that it has—well, it has powers. Those powers changed you, and this isn't who you really are. I shouldn't have given it to you."

"I don't want to talk about that, Alan. I came over here to apologize for breaking your windows. Listen, I want to make it right. Drop your car off at my shop tomorrow and I'll fix them."

"Are you sure? Like I said, this doesn't sound like you. I'm afraid you're only offering to do this because of Spank—"

Lyle's face froze and he found the strength to meet Alan's eyes with his own as he cut him short. "Please, Alan, I'm trying really hard here. I don't know what you are talking about, so please—just listen to me and stop with that talk. I broke your windows and I want to replace them. Can you just drop your car off tomorrow, so I can do the right thing? Is that too much to ask—buddy?"

"Okay, I'll tell you what. Give the clown figure back to me. If you still want to fix my windows, fine. I'll bring the car in. I just want to be sure you aren't making this offer due to some sort of spell you might be under from the figure."

"I can't do that," Lyle said.

"You can't? Why not? Just go get it and bring it back to me."

Alan's insistence pushed Lyle dangerously close to snapping and earning himself another round of Spanky's punishment. He took a couple of deep breaths to retain his composure. "Please stop talking about that. I broke your windows, right?"

"Right," Alan replied.

"Well, then, why shouldn't I be responsible for fixing them? If you broke mine, I would expect you to pay for the repairs. Why can't you just leave it at that and let me do the right thing?"

"Okay, I'll drop the car off, but I'm still concerned that—"

"I have to go now," Lyle said. He turned and rushed across the hall and through his open apartment door. "See you tomorrow, bud." He abruptly shut the door behind him without leaving Alan the opportunity to respond.

*****

Geno stood alone in the empty parking lot as Alan drove in and parked beside him. Geno glanced in the back seat before greeting him. "Is that them?"

"Good morning to you too, Geno."

"Oh, sorry. Good morning, Alan. I'm just really nervous."

"That's okay. I'm just messing with you."

Geno nervously reached for the back door handle.

"Hold on. I'm still not sure about this," Alan said, waving Geno's hand from the door.

"But you brought the molds, right?"

"Yes, that's them, but before I turn them over to you, I need to know if you have a backup plan. If there's one thing I learned about Peepers, it's that he's always thinking five steps ahead. When dealing with him, you have to have a plan B. If this doesn't work, we're screwed. Do you have a backup plan?"

Geno smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do. It's drastic, but it should work. I'll burn the Labyrinth to the ground. Peepers can't touch me outside."

"Burn it down? That sounds a bit extreme. It's where you work. What would you do without the Labyrinth?"

"I should have done it years ago, but he was trapped inside and he couldn't hurt anyone. Then, when he formed the Guild Of Fallen Clowns, I felt important. I'm their only connection to our world. But now there's the mold of Peepers. If I can destroy it within the Labyrinth, Peepers will be gone."

"I'm sorry for that. It's my fault—"

"No, this is a good thing. You see, before this, the only way to cast him out was to torch the building. Now, I can get rid of him by destroying the mold. I didn't have this option before."

"But what if he stops you? Why are you willing to burn the place down now when you weren't before?"

"It's because of you, Alan."

"Me?"

"Yes. Seeing you stand up to Peepers inspired me. You are my—hero. And don't worry about what I'll do. You know Cracky. He would never throw another lifer out. There's plenty of work to do here."

Alan blushed. He'd never even been a role model to anyone before. Hearing Geno refer to him, as his hero was both flattering and embarrassing.

"I need to get back. I've already been gone too long," Geno said as he stood patiently waiting for Alan's decision.

Alan reached over and opened the back door of his car.

"Take them, Geno, but please be careful."

Geno removed the molds from the back seat and rushed back inside the carnival, holding them tight against his chest.

*****

Alan stepped out from the curb in front of his apartment and waved down the approaching car. It stopped and he opened the passenger side door and slid inside.

"This is so wrong, Mary," he said as he closed the door and buckled himself in.

"What's so wrong about it?" she asked.

"This is a date. I should be the one driving."

"Is that in the rulebook, Alan?"

"What? What rulebook?"

Mary looked at him and smiled. "Is there a rule somewhere that says the guy has to drive?"

"No, but I just assumed I would be the one picking you up. And I would have if my car wasn't in the shop. Like I said when I called, it'll be ready tonight, but we would have to wait another couple of hours."

"Does it bother you that I'm driving? Because I was hoping you weren't one of _those_ kinds of guys."

"No, it doesn't bother me. I was more concerned that it would be a problem for you."

Mary smiled and put the car in drive. "Good answer, because the last thing I want in my life is another controlling man."

"Is old-fashioned the same as controlling?" Alan said.

She looked inquisitively at him. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, one of the reasons I wanted to pick you up was so I could open the car door for you. But if you think that's controlling—well, I guess we might have a bit of a problem." He grinned and waited for her reply.

She smirked as she considered her response. "I'll allow it," she said. "But don't get carried away, mister. If we go out to a restaurant, you better not get any ideas of ordering my food for me."

"Agreed," he said.

*****

Geno opened the rear door of the cab and placed two heavy bags on the seat. He closed the door and proceeded to the other side of the vehicle, where he entered and sat beside his packages.

He closed the door, and the estrogen-challenged driver looked at Geno in her rearview mirror. "Did you get enough this time?" she said.

"Enough for now," Geno replied.

She put the car in drive and left the shopping plaza. "Well, if you need to make a third trip, you got my number."

"Yes, I do," he said. He looked at her name on the license placard. "Regina, that's a pretty name."

"Thank you," she said. "But everyone calls me Reggie." In her mirror, she looked at Geno nodding his head. "I know what you're thinking," she said. "A woman who looks like me, drives a cab for a living, and prefers to be called Reggie instead of Regina, well, she must be gay. Am I right? Is that what you're thinking?" Her eyes bounced back and forth from the road to the mirror as she waited for his reply.

Geno looked out the side window and casually said, "I thought that before you said your name." Then he caught her eyes looking back at him in the mirror and said, "Tell me you don't think I'm a demented carny freak."

Her eyes returned to the road. "Fair enough," she said. "But I'm not a lesbian. Well, that is to say, I haven't tried it...yet."

"And I don't fit the typical stereotype of a carnival worker," Geno said

Reggie laughed. "Of course, based on that logic, I can hardly call myself straight either." She looked in the mirror again, and her chuckle faded as she noticed her uninterested passenger staring out the window.

The final minutes of the drive were quiet. Reggie pulled up outside the carnival entrance and Geno exited with his packages. Through the open window, he handed her the fare and politely thanked her for the ride. As she accepted the money, she said, "You're welcome, honey. And don't forget, if you need more of those art supplies, or anything else, call me first."

Geno glanced at the back seat of the cab before returning his attention to Reggie. He grinned wide and leaned intimately close. "You will always be my first, Regina." She blushed and giggled as he stood, winked, and disappeared in the river of guests flowing through the gates.

Although he was a strange little man, Reggie basked in the unexpected flirtatious conclusion of their transaction. She scanned the crowd for a full minute before closing her window and shifting the car in drive. She smiled from ear to ear, her brain in a temporary love fog that dulled her senses. She was oblivious to a traffic light that turned yellow, warning her to slow down. It wasn't until it turned red that she snapped out of her haze and slammed on the brake.

Her seatbelt locked as the momentum of her large body tested the restraints limits. From the passenger seat behind her, a small figure of Peepers flung forward and fell to the floor. Safely stopped in front of the light, Reggie shook the cobwebs from her head and let out a huge sigh of relief. Behind her, the small figure lay motionless—on the seat.

*****

Geno knocked on the side door of the ticket booth. Cracky finished up with the last person in his line and flipped the window sign to the closed position. He opened the side door and lit a cigarette.

"Ringmaster said you wanted to see me?" Geno said.

Cracky lifted his head and exhaled the smoke toward the sky. "Yes, I did. I wanted to know how your repairs are going."

"I should be finished tomorrow."

"Are you sure, because—" Cracky stopped as he noticed Alan approaching with Mary.

"Hey, buddy, glad you came back," Cracky said.

Alan smiled. "I told you I would stop by." He looked at Geno standing beside Cracky. "Uh, hey, Geno."

"Alan," Geno replied.

Alan desperately wanted to ask Geno how the destruction of the Peepers molds went, but he couldn't say anything with Cracky and Mary there. "So, Cracky, Geno, I'd like to introduce you to Mary."

Mary smiled and said it was a pleasure meeting them.

"Da pleasures ours, Mary," Cracky said.

"Yea, it's nice meeting you," Geno added.

"So, Geno, how are those repairs going?" Alan said.

"Cracky and I were just talking about that. Everything is looking good. As a matter of fact, I was just about to tell Cracky that I've been making some—improvements."

"Really? So I guess that means you were able to fix that problem you told me about earlier?" Alan said.

Geno smirked and nodded. "It's all taken care of, Alan. Problem solved."

"Glad to hear it," Alan said. With both hands, Mary grabbed Alan's hand. "Are you the guy who works at the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors?" she asked Geno.

Before Geno could respond, Alan jumped in, "Yes, Geno here runs the Haunted Labyrinth."

"Oh, I'm so sorry about what happened. It's so tragic," she said.

Cracky noticed the line building up at the adjoining booth. "I better get back to work here." Before closing the door, he looked at Mary. "It was a pleasure meeting Boogy's girlfriend. He's a great guy and you two look good together." He looked at Alan and said, "Same time next year, Boog?"

"We'll see, Cracky," Alan replied.

Cracky slipped inside the booth. Mary looked back at Geno and asked, "So how does it work? The Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. I've been in mirror labyrinths before. And I've also been in haunted houses. But how do they work together?"

"Maybe we should let Geno get back to his work, Mary. I doubt he wants to reveal any of his trade secrets," Alan said.

"No, that's fine, Alan," Geno said. "I project spooky images and videos into the mirrors from above."

"Really, that's fascinating. So from up above you can see everyone passing through?"

"Yes, but they can't see me."

"That's so cool! So how do you keep track of it all? I mean there must be dozens of people going through at one time. It's got to be difficult keeping up with all of them."

Geno smiled. "I have help."

Alan's eyes widened. "But you work alone, Geno. Who helps you?"

"My computer, Alan. It couldn't be done without it."

"Oh, of course, the computer controls the projections," Alan said.

"Well, I can't wait to experience it firsthand when you come back next year," Mary said. She looked up at Alan and said, "You'll have to go through it with me."

Geno was humored by Alan's expression. "Well, Alan, I have some things to do. It was nice to meet you, Mary. Enjoy the carnival." Geno turned and walked away.

"Those guys seem really nice, Alan."

"Yeah, they are. I just wish Cracky had more time. He's an interesting character."

"I can see that. What's with his clown face?"

"You really don't want to know," he said. "Hey, why are we standing here? I'm going to buy some tickets so we can start the fun." Before she could reply, Alan slipped out of sight. She waited for him behind the ticket booths.

*****

The back door of the Haunted Labyrinth opened and Geno slipped out carrying a bulging canvas bag. He locked the door and proceeded to the rear of The Ringmaster's Milk Bottle Throw booth. He discreetly slipped inside. The tent was split into two sections by a tarp wall. Geno was in the smaller rear section where prizes were stocked.

Unaware of Geno's presence, The Ringmaster tended to customers in the front. Geno worked his way into the corner and peeked between the seams of canvas. As he did, The Ringmaster removed a small prize from a lower shelf to the side of the attraction and awarded it to a winning customer.

As Ringmaster awarded the prize, he called out to all within earshot to draw attention to the winning customer. A large crowd began forming, with all eyes focused on Ringmaster and the teenage girl proudly holding her prize above her head for all to see. Geno looked at the newly empty space on the shelf and reached into his bag. He pulled out a cast figure of Peepers, slipped it through the gap, and rested it on the shelf. His empty hand pulled back and the gap closed.

*****

"C'mon, Dad, let's give that a try," a young woman said to her father. She held her four-year-old son's hand tight and used her free hand to guide her father toward The Ringmaster's booth.

"I don't think so, Brenda. Those things are rigged. You can't win."

"Sure you can. That girl just did. Just give it a try, Dad."

"I'll pass—but here." He reached out to offer his daughter some folded bills. "You give it a try."

With an open hand, Brenda refused to take his money. "No, Daddy. I want you to have some fun. You always tell me stories of what a great baseball player you were when you were a kid. I want you to do it. Show Sammy how good you are."

"That was a long time ago. Besides, I wasn't a pitcher. I don't think my aim will impress Sammy." Again, he reached out to offer Brenda the money. "Please, Brenda, I want you to enjoy yourself."

She refused. "No, Daddy! It's about time you had some fun. If you won't do it for me, do it for Sammy. Give him some fun memories of his Pop-Pop."

"What, am I dying? We have plenty of time to build memories."

"That's what you always say, but you're always sitting on the sidelines, Daddy. We don't get to see you that often." Brenda looked up at her father with sad puppy eyes. "Please, Daddy? I don't ask for much."

His eyes rolled up and he exhaled in surrender. "Fine, I'll play. But if I win, I'm not going to carry one of those girly stuffed toys around this place. You'll pick something out for yourself or Sammy."

"Oh, so now you think you might win something. What happened to it being rigged?" she said playfully.

"And you corrected me by pointing out how the girl won. I still think it's rigged, but just in case I do knock down the lead bottles, I'm letting you know, I don't want the stupid prize."

"Just play and we'll discuss it IF you win," she said.

"Step right up. Three throws for a buck. Knock all the bottles down once and win a prize from the bottom shelf. Two stacks get you anything on the middle shelf. Knock all three stacks down and you win anything along the top," Ringmaster said as he lifted his arm and motioned to the oversized, brightly colored assortment of stuffed animals hanging along the perimeter of his booth.

"Give him the money, Dad. Sammy, watch your Pop-Pop. He's going to knock down those bottles with a ball." She pulled the boy in front of her for a better view.

"Pop-Pop's going to _try_ knocking the bottles down. Don't get his hopes up, Bren. I might miss."

Ringmaster took his dollar and placed three baseballs on the wooden plank. "Three tries for a buck," Ringmaster called out. "Just three bottles and three chances to win."

Brenda's father picked up the first ball. He rolled it around in his hands like it was a long lost friend. "It's been a long time since I held a baseball," he said as he studied it. Before throwing it, he raised it to his face, closed his eyes and smelled it. "Wow, that brings back memories."

"Hey, buddy," Ringmaster interrupted. "Smelling my balls will cost you extra." Immediately, Brenda's hands covered Sammy's ears.

Ringmaster started to laugh. "Sorry, lady, carnival humor. I didn't notice junior there."

Brenda's father found Ringmaster's wisecrack to be somewhat amusing. He lowered the ball and took aim as Ringmaster stepped back to give him plenty of room to throw. He pulled his arm back and launched the ball. It hit the bottom left bottle, toppling it and the top bottle.

"Nice try, buddy, but you have to drop them all for a prize. You can still win anything on the middle shelf."

He picked up the second ball and concentrated on his aim.

"Hit between the bottom two, Daddy," Brenda cheered.

"Really, Brenda, don't you think I know that?" He returned his focus on the stack. Again, he reached back and threw the ball with all his might. The ball thudded against the backdrop. His aim was a good foot to the left of the stack.

"That's okay, Daddy. You still have one more shot. Just take your time and don't throw so hard."

He picked up the last ball and tossed it back and forth between his hands a few times. For his final attempt, he decided to loosen up and not think so much. He held the ball and looked at Sammy. Sammy smiled back at his Pop-Pop. Without taking his eyes off his grandson, he reached back. Then, as his arm moved forward, his head spun toward the target, barely giving him a split second to calculate his aim. The ball released and split the bottom two, toppling the entire stack.

Sammy's arms flew above his head. Brenda screeched in excitement and hugged her father.

"We have another winner!" Ringmaster called out to the crowd. "That's two winners in a row at the Milk Bottle Throw. The easiest game at the carnival."

"Pick out your prize, Daddy."

"Oh no, I told you I don't want a silly prize. You pick something, or let's let Sammy pick one." Sammy grinned with anticipation of choosing one of the prizes. His head and pointed finger aimed high to a giant gorilla above him.

"I didn't agree with you. I just agreed to discuss it," Brenda said to her father while she looked at Sammy and shook her head to let him know it wasn't going to happen. Sammy understood her gesture and responded with a frown.

"Oh, I should have known. You're just like your mother, Brenda. She was a master at twisting words."

"Yes, I am. She taught me all of her tricks while you were away. And I remember the one thing she would say that always worked."

"Oh, what was that?"

Before she could reply, Ringmaster interrupted. "Look folks, when you figure out what you want, let me know. I have other customers." They nodded and Ringmaster stepped away.

"Okay, wait," she said. "Let me get into character." She put on a stern face and folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh, here it comes," he said as his eyes rolled back.

"Sam—or, uh—Dad, you have two choices. You can go to church with me and Sammy tomorrow or you can suck it up and pick a prize for yourself."

"I knew it. You played the church card. God, I miss that. You're right, she always got her way with that one. Now I wish, just once, that I would have called her bluff and went to church with her and you."

Remaining in character, Brenda's face tightened. "So, Sam, what's it going to be?"

As he looked at her face, he smirked and said, "Both!"

Brenda's confusion stripped away her mother's persona. "No—what—really? You'll go to church with us tomorrow?"

"Sure," he said. " _And_ I'll take the stupid prize. Let's just say you and your mother both won one this time."

Excited, she turned to the boy and said, "Did you hear that, Sammy? Pop-Pop's going with us to church tomorrow." Her enthusiasm flowed through Sammy as he smiled and the two jumped up and down together.

Sam turned to look at the prize shelf. Starting from the front, he scanned the row of cheap fuzzy options, all the way to the back where he noticed the one item which didn't fit in.

"Did you decide yet?" Ringmaster said as he moved toward Sam.

"Yeah, I think so. Give me the one in the back, the last one on the shelf."

Ringmaster turned to see which stuffed animal he was pointing to. He stepped to the rear and took the Peepers figure off the shelf. A look of confusion came across his face as he studied the unfamiliar object. He looked at the other shelves to see if there were more mysterious prizes. It was the only one.

"Yeah, that's the one," Sam said. Ringmaster took another look at the figure, shrugged, and handed it to Sam before tending to another customer.

"What did you pick, Daddy?"

Sam studied the figure. "I don't know, looks like some sort of scary clown thing."

Brenda's eyes widened. "You shouldn't have picked that," she said as she reached for the figure."

Sam pulled away. "No, it's okay. It's just a toy," he said.

Brenda turned to look at the prize shelf. "Look, the stuffed puppy, you can trade it for that and I'll let you give it to Sammy."

"Too late," Sam said. He took another look at the figure. "It's just a toy, Brenda. I'm not as weak as you think I am."

Sammy reached up for the prize. "I want to see it, Pop-Pop."

Brenda pushed his hands down and stepped between them. "Don't let him see it. He'll have nightmares."

Sam obliged her and tucked it under his arm.

"But I want to see it, Pop-Pop."

His grandfather ignored his plea and changed the subject. He bent down and asked Sammy where the Merry-Go-Round was. Sammy forgot all about his Pop-Pop's prize and pointed in the direction of the Merry-Go-Round.

### Chapter 22

"Is this some sort of icon of protection?" the women said as she sat in the back seat of the cab. The Peepers figure was standing upright on the seat beside her.

"Excuse me?" Reggie replied.

"This thing on the seat next to me. It looks like something which might be used to ward off evil."

Reggie turned to see what the woman was referring to. Peepers appeared to be looking right at her. "What, where did that come from?"

"I guess that answers my question," the woman said. "It was probably left by a previous fare." Both Reggie and the woman studied the object, then the woman said, "If nobody claims it, you might want to keep it back here. I would certainly think twice about robbing you."

Reggie faced forward and put the car in drive. "Good thought, but I'm pretty sure I know who it belongs to."

"Well, maybe they won't claim it."

"True, but I couldn't just keep it. You're my last fare for the day. I'll swing by and return it to him."

"Seriously? You would go out of your way to return _that_? Do you hand deliver everything people leave in your cab?"

"Well, no, but it's not that much out of my way, and he was a nice guy."

"Oh, so he tipped you well. I get it. Maybe he'll give you a reward. Smart girl."

"Actually, his tip was small."

The woman smiled as she leaned forward in her seat. "Oh, now I know what's going on. You like him. I'm so stupid. I should have figured it out when you said _he was nice_."

Reggie blushed as she lowered her chin to her chest.

"That's it, isn't it?" the woman exclaimed. "Good for you. I really hope it works out for you."

*****

"Oh no, not here, please don't stop here," Alan said as the Ferris wheel came to a stop, rocking the seat at the highest point. His knuckles turned white from his firm grip on the safety bar in front of them.

Mary smiled as she watched his body tense. His eyes were fixed on his own lap, avoiding the expansive view.

"Are you afraid of heights, Alan?"

"I'm trying to get over it," he replied.

"Why didn't you tell me? We didn't have to come on here."

"Because if you knew about all the things I'm...I don't like, you might change your mind about me."

"Don't be silly. Everyone has something they are afraid of. So tell me, what other things... _don't you like_?"

"You don't," he said. The ride continued moving and his grip lessened the closer they got to the ground.

"Seriously?" she said. "Do you really think nothing scares me?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, look at you. You live alone in a house in the middle of the woods with a ghost. You are the most amazingly strong women I've ever met."

Mary sat back in the seat, looking thoughtful. After a short pause she said, "I think I'm flattered that you see me that way, but it's so far from the truth. You really don't know me at all. As a matter of fact, if you did know about the thing that scares me most, you probably wouldn't be interested in seeing me again."

"Are you kidding?" Alan said. "I'd love to know what you're afraid of. What is it? Do you have a list of things, or is it just one or two things? Please, tell me."

Mary frowned. "Whoa! You're starting to worry me. I said I have things that scare me, and you're getting excited, and almost giddy, to learn about my pain."

Alan's eyes widened. "Oh my god, you're right. That was totally inappropriate of me. I'm so, so sorry. You have to believe me. That wasn't my intention. I would never take pleasure from your pain. I'm such an idiot. What was I thinking?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. That was pretty stupid. I'd also like to know what you must have been thinking."

The ride started to slow down again. It came to a stop with them in the next position after the peak. Alan's hands lightly rested on the bar. He casually took in the view as he tried to find an answer to Mary's question.

"I guess I was feeling less intimidated by you, and it felt good. You are so strong and I'm...well—I'm a wreck. I know my response was unacceptable, but the idea that you might have some flaws made you that much more attractive to me. I thought that maybe I do have a chance."

Mary sighed and offered no expression as she digested his words.

"Obviously, I was wrong," he continued. "I wish you told me that when I had my Boogy makeup on. You might not have noticed my stupid grin behind the sad lips."

Mary broke her silence. "You're kinda pathetic, aren't you, Alan?"

He slumped in the seat and mumbled, "Yes."

"I think it's sweet," she added.

"Huh?" He sat up and saw her smiling.

"I think it's sweet the way you think of me. I know you would never take pleasure in my pain. And I'm sure it wasn't easy telling me that you are intimidated by me. You really shouldn't feel that way. Once you get to know me, you'll see that there's nothing intimidating about me. I'm not that much different from you."

"I don't know about that," he said.

"Really, did you notice my smile when you said you were intimidated by me?"

"No."

"Well, I smiled. That had to be a painful admission for you, and I smiled. It was wrong, but it felt good. So I understand why you looked the way you did when I said I had plenty of fears of my own."

The ride stopped and the operator lifted the safety bar. Mary rose to step onto the platform. Alan braced her by gently placing his hand on her lower back. She stepped off the platform and turned to wait for him to join her. He stepped down beside her. She smiled wide and grabbed his hand. She turned so they were side by side and she returned his hand to her lower back. Alan matched her smile and they began walking away from the ride. Her head leaned into his shoulder.

"What next?" he said.

She pointed in the distance and said, "Cotton candy!"

### Chapter 23

The cab came to a stop at the carnival's entrance. Reggie looked in the rearview mirror and combed her hair. She returned the comb to her purse and dug around until she found a tube of lipstick. She pulled off the cover and twisted the bottom, exposing the bright red stick inside. She leaned in and tilted her head back as she applied a fresh coat to her stretched upper lip. She smeared both lips together, evenly distributing the radiantly pigmented wax. After a final inspection, she returned the lipstick to her purse, grabbed the figure from the passenger seat, and exited the vehicle.

A young girl took the long ribbon of tickets from the half-circle hole through the ticket booth window and rejoined her group of friends nearby. Reggie stepped forward and leaned close to the circular opening.

"Hi, I'm a cab driver and I'm looking for someone who works here. I think he left something in my cab earlier and I'm here to return it."

"You got a name?" Cracky said.

"Yes, my name is Regina," she replied.

Cracky grinned and waited for her to figure out his question. She didn't catch on. He stared at her and his grin opened to a smile. Still oblivious and confused at the smiling clown face behind the glass, she added, "Most people call me Reggie."

Cracky laughed and let her off the hook. "It's nice to meet you, Reggie. Now, would you happen to know the name of the person you're looking for?"

Reggie rolled her eyes and returned an awkward smile. "Dah! Why would you want to know my name? I'm so stupid. His name is Geno. At least that's the name he gave my dispatcher."

"Geno?" Cracky repeated.

"Yes, do you have a Geno here?"

"Yeah, Geno works here. I'm just surprised because I've never known him to venture out. Are you sure his name was Geno? Was he a pasty-faced little guy with greasy long hair?"

"Yes, his name was definitely Geno, and he wasn't very tall. But I don't know about the rest. Is it possible that you have two Genos working here? Because the guy I'm talking about was cute. I don't think he was pasty or greasy looking. He was a gentleman."

Cracky chuckled. "No, lady, we only got one Geno. You should be able to find him in da Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. It's back dat way on da left. Da place is temporarily closed for repairs, so go 'round back and knock on the door."

Reggie turned to move away, raising the hand gripping Peepers and giving a half wave as she thanked him. Cracky only got a glimpse of the figure before her hand lowered and she walked away. His expression looked like that of someone who just got an unexpected whiff of a bad fart. He turned to stick his head out the side door window for another look, but it was too late. She rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

"Six tickets, mister," a boy said at the window. Cracky shrugged his shoulders, turned, and exchanged the boy's money for six tickets.

*****

Reggie's chubby fist rapped three times on the hollow steel door. As she waited for Geno to open the door, she looked around. Seeing nobody, she slightly raised her left arm and sniffed her pit. Another privacy scan of her surroundings and she sniffed her right pit.

The door opened and she took a step back. Geno glared at her standing on the metal grate. Seeing she was obviously nervous and unsure of her decision to visit him, Geno put her at ease. "Regina, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Well, I was in the area so I thought I'd stop in to see if you left this in my cab." She held out the Peepers figure.

Geno looked at the figure. "I'm sorry, my dear, but no. It's not mine."

Her arm lowered, "Oh, I'm sorry. The fare after you found it on the seat. I just assumed—"

"No need to apologize," he said. He closed the gap between them and put his arm over shoulder. "I'm glad someone else left it because it brought us together again."

"Really?" she said.

"Of course. You see, I bought this expensive bottle of wine a long time ago and I didn't want to open it until I found a special person to share it with."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" she said.

Geno laughed. "I'm talking about you, Regina. I know it sounds crazy after a couple of cab rides, but I really like you. I would love it if you would do me the honor of having a drink with me."

"I don't think it's crazy. I like you too." She blushed.

Geno stepped to the side of the doors opening and bowed. "After you."

"I can't," she said.

"Oh, are you still working?"

"No, it's not that. My shift is over, but I'm parked outside the entrance. I didn't think I'd be long. I should move the cab into the parking area."

"I have a better idea," Geno said. "Pull around behind the gate here." He pointed to the grassy area outside the fence. "I'll unlock the gate for you. This way you won't have as long a walk."

She giggled and told him she would be right back as she rushed away. As soon as she was out of view, Geno's flirty expression turned cold. He rushed inside the Labyrinth to prepare for her return. Minutes later, the door opened again. Geno stepped out with a canvas bag and walked to the gate behind the Labyrinth. He rested the bag in the dirt, unlocked the gate, and pushed it open about a foot. He returned the key to his pocket, picked the bag off the ground, and proceeded to walk between the structures until he blended with the crowd of visitors.

*****

The cab eased its way through the tall grasses along the outside perimeter of the fence. The thumping in her chest intensified as she noticed the open gate behind the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors. With a gentle press of her foot on the brake the vehicle screeched as it came to a stop. Looking through the wire fence, Reggie saw the back door of the Labyrinth cracked open, welcoming her return.

"This is crazy," she whispered before placing the car in park and turning off the engine. She sat inside the cab, looking at the fence, the open gate, and the open door to the building.

"Is this really happening?" she said as she continued staring at the door, waiting for a declared winner between her logical brain and the more repressed adventurous brain to emerge. Romance joined the fight, and logic was forced to retreat.

Without further hesitation, she exited the car, slipped through the gate, and proceeded until she stood at the partially open door. Once again, the now severely wounded forces of logic halted her advance by firing a final warning. "What are you doing, Regina? You don't even know this guy," she mumbled.

Before making her decision, she peeked through the cracked opening. At the center of the circular, mirrored room sat a small round table and two chairs. An open bottle of red wine, two half-filled wine glasses, and two lit candles completed the setting. She smiled and pulled the door halfway open.

"Geno," she called out. No answer came. "Geno," she repeated. "This all looks very nice—romantic—but I'm not sure it's a good idea. I don't want you to get the wrong impression."

Again, she waited for his reply. She looked around the room and tried to find the hidden panel he would emerge from.

"Are you here? Can you hear me, Geno?" As she waited for his reply, the lights in the room dimmed, freeing the light from the flickering candles to dance around the mirrored walls of the room. Reggie squinted to adjust her eyes to the sudden darkness, but it was difficult to see through the light pollution of the setting sun streaming through the open door behind her. She stepped inside and closed the door. Her hand remained on the handle behind her back. Her eyes adjusted and a smile came over her face.

"Wow! This is beautiful. I never would have guessed that a carnival attraction could be transformed into something so romantic." She remained positioned with her back against the door. She twisted her wrist to test the handle. She was comforted by the knowledge that the handle was loose and she could leave in an instant.

"Where are you, Geno? Please come out."

Instead of Geno's voice, jazz music filled the room from hidden speakers.

She grinned and let go of her grip on the back door. She raised both hands and said, "How did you know I love jazz?" Her arms lowered to her sides. Then she laughed and shook a pointed finger around the room. "I get it. You saw my CDs in the cab. That's how you know."

She took another look around the room. The candles, the wine, the soft lighting, the mirrors, and his perfect choice in music all played together in lowering her guard.

She smiled and shook her head. "You know what? Aw, what the hell. How could I say no to all of this?" She walked to the table, sat down, and raised the glass of wine. "Now, get out here. I'm not going to drink alone."

In her position at the center of the circular mirrored room, she didn't see or hear Peepers as he stepped out of the mirrored panel behind her. He walked along the mirrors until he entered her view. Thinking it was Geno, she smiled and turned to face him. Peepers stopped and faced her. She screeched and jerked back. Half of the wine spilled from her glass. She put the glass on the table and remained seated with the chair backed a foot from the table.

"Who are you? Where's Geno?" she stammered. "Geno!" she hollered. Her arms crossed over her chest.

"My name is Peepers. I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns. On this day, your life will change."

Reggie stood, sending her chair sliding to the wall behind her. She looked around the room for the door she had come into the room from. It was gone, replaced by another mirrored panel.

"Where's the door? Where did it go? Let me out of here now. I'm not into this. You're scaring me," she rambled as she looked past Peepers for the door.

"Peepers here to help Regina."

She stopped looking for the door and focused on Peepers. "Hold on! You look like that statue thing someone left in my cab." Then it hit her. "Wait, that means it _was_ Geno's. He lied to me!" Again, she called out, "Geno, get out here now! I don't know what game you're playing here, but I'm not interested." With her eyes on Peepers she continued, "So you can call off your buddy in the creepy costume and show me where the door is." She stared at Peepers and added, "Let me out and I'll get this guy's statue."

Peepers smiled, exposing his mouth full of pointed teeth. "Geno isn't here. Peepers figure not needed in here. Peepers will set you free."

Still wide-eyed from the glimpse of Peepers teeth, Reggie backed up against the wall.

"Please do it then. Set me free. Show me where the door is."

"Soon. Peepers set you free soon."

"What do you want from me? Are you going to rape me? Oh my god, this was a trap and you guys are going to rape me." She slid to the floor.

"Peepers not interested in sex." He motioned toward the table. "Peepers will set you free after we drink."

Regina looked up at him. "You're not going to rape me? You just want to have a drink of wine with me, then you'll let me go?"

"Drink and talk. Then Peepers will set you free." Peepers returned her chair to the table and sat down in the other. He poured more wine into her glass and took a sip from the other one. His eyes closed as he savored the flavor.

Regina rose to her feet and remained pressed against the wall.

Peepers looked at her and took another sip of wine. He didn't pressure her to sit with him. Instead, he continued sipping the wine until his glass was empty. He refilled his glass and she watched as he examined it, holding the glass out in front of him as he swirled the wine.

"Good wine," he said without looking at her.

"One glass—if I drink one glass you'll let me go?" she said.

Peepers glanced over at her and looked back at his wine. He enjoyed another sip and ignored her question as he continued to swirl between sips.

Regina moved toward the table with caution. Standing across from Peepers, she grabbed the back of the chair. Peepers paid no attention to her as she eased the chair out and sat down. Her eyes were glued on his every move. Peepers filled his glass for the third time. He placed the near-empty bottle on the table and before lifting his own glass, he reached his long, bony finger to the base of her glass and slid it toward her.

She reached for the glass, picked it up, and pulled it to her chest. Her eyes returned to her captor. He sipped his wine and she took a sip from her glass.

"Geno doesn't want you," Peepers said. She didn't respond as she took another sip.

"Regina is alone. Always alone." Peepers gulped the remaining wine from his glass and placed it on the table. He lifted the bottle and tipped it over her glass. She rejected his unspoken offer to top it off with an open hand covering the glass. He pulled it back and emptied the bottle into his glass. Before placing it on the table, he turned and studied it in his hand.

"Regina's heart always empty like bottle." He put the bottle down and focused on her. She stared back. Tears welled in her eyes until they overflowed and dripped down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes in her sleeve.

She glared back at him. "So what, I'm alone. Is that your game? You and your asshole friend Geno get off on picking up lonely fat girls? Does it make you feel better about your own sorry ass lives by telling them how pathetic they are? What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?" She wiped away more tears.

Peepers grinned and leaned across the table. "Mother and father, only love Regina knew. Both die when Regina just three."

"What? How do you know that? What's going on here?"

"Regina's only love. Yet she too young to remember feeling."

"Who are you? Please stop doing this. Please let me go." She reached for her wine and chugged it down. She slammed the glass back to the table and stood.

"I finished my glass. You promised to let me go if I had a drink with you. Now please let me out." She turned and looked at the mirrors for the door to be revealed. The only thing she saw was her reflection and those of the table, two glasses, and an empty bottle of wine. She stopped, and with her back to Peepers and the table, she saw the reflection of his wine glass rising from the table and tilting. The floating glass returned upright and lowered to the table. She spun around. Peepers' arm rested over the back of his chair, folded at the elbow with his chin resting on his closed fist. His legs were crossed. He smiled and moved the hand out from under his chin and waved it in a semi-circular motion around the room. Her eyes followed his movement as she scanned the remaining mirrors. He was there in front of her, but he didn't have a reflection in the mirrors.

"What are you?" Her voice quivered. "Are you a vampire? Do you want my blood?"

Peepers turned back to the table, put his elbows down, and lowered his face into his hands. "Why do they think vampire? Vampires not real. Stupid humans think Peepers is vampire."

"You're not a vampire? Then why can't I see your reflection in the mirrors?" she asked.

Peepers lifted his head from his hands and faced her. "Peepers is spirit. Peepers here to set Regina free from pain in heart."

With a confused look, she relaxed her protective stance. "A spirit? Like an angel?"

"Yes, Peepers like angel."

"What kind of angel? Why are you dressed in black and—well, scary looking?"

Peepers stood. "Mother and father wait for Regina. Peepers free Regina to feel their love." He stepped closer.

Regina stiffened as she realized what was happening. "Oh my god! You are the Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper. You're here to end my life." She backed up to the wall. Peepers stopped and watched her as she slid to the floor.

"Does Regina desire love?"

She looked up at him and mumbled, "Yes, but I don't want to die."

"Death where Regina find love."

"Really?"

"Regina's mother and father wait."

"Mommy— Daddy," she whispered.

Peepers sat beside her. Her head leaned on his shoulder.

"Will it hurt?" she said.

"Nothing like pain of empty heart." He held her head as he slid her back to the floor. She closed her eyes and allowed him to gently release her head and fold her arms over her belly.

"I'm coming, Mommy and Daddy. I love you both," she whispered in preparation for crossing over.

Peepers stood above her with his feet planted beside each of her hips. Regina's eyes remained closed. "I can't wait to see you. I'm ready. I'm ready to feel your love and to love both of you."

Peepers silently unsheathed his dark sword. He smiled as he placed the pointed tip to her breastbone and waited.

Regina stopped praying and opened her eyes to see the sword pressed against her. The sight was too much for her and she shut her eyes tight. "Please don't make it hurt. I'm almost there, Mommy and Daddy."

Peepers laughed and her eyes sprung open. "Grim Reaper," he chuckled. He raised the sword and slashed it across her chest. She screamed and looked down at the foot-long gash oozing with blood.

"Peepers no angel. Peepers more like vampire myth," he said. His sword rose above her. She screamed and attempted to squeeze free through his legs. The sword sliced through the air and stopped as it chopped into her shoulder. Regina's screams intensified. Peepers face filled with joy as he drank in her fear. He pried the sword from her bone and raised it above his head. She looked up in terror and held out her hand to stop his blow. Swoosh! Her hand flew from her arm. Blood squirted from the stump.

She became woozy from the extreme horror and loss of blood. Her head turned to the side. Before she passed out, Peepers reached down and grabbed her face. He jerked her head back to face him. Her eyes rolled into her head. He shook her and waited for her focus to return to him. Then, with one hand still holding her face, he lowered the sword to her throat and leisurely carved to the bone.

He leaned his head to her neck and breathed deep as her last breath gurgled from the blood-filled gash.

### Chapter 24

Brenda looked back at Sammy fast asleep in the back seat. "He's already out," she said as she turned and looked at her father driving the car.

"He takes after his mother. You used to fall asleep as soon as the engine started."

Brenda smiled. "Really, you never told me that."

"Oh sure, sometimes when we put you to bed, you wouldn't stop crying. Your mother and I would put you in the car and drive around the neighborhood a few times to get you to sleep. It worked like a charm. Most times you were out before we got out of the driveway."

"Why didn't you guys tell me about that? It might have come in handy when Sammy was teething."

"I guess it didn't come up because your mother died before Sammy was born, and...well, I, eh..."

"It's okay, Daddy. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

Sam gritted his teeth and punched the dashboard in front of him. The Peepers figure bounced in front of him where it was tucked between the window and the dashboard.

"It's okay, Daddy, really."

"No, it's not okay. I should have been there for you and your mother. I should be there for you and Sammy. It's not okay."

Brenda checked to see if Sammy was still sleeping. Then she looked back at her father. "It wasn't your fault. The doctors told you not to blame yourself for what happened. You did your best."

Sam stopped the car at a red light and took in a deep breath before slowly letting it out.

"I'm sorry, Bren, it's just that it wasn't supposed to be this way. You all deserved better."

"Look, Dad, you don't have to go with us to church tomorrow. It's a big step and if you're not ready—"

"No, I'm okay. I need to focus on today forward. I _want_ to spend more time with the two of you."

"But it's okay if you decide not to go. I shouldn't have brought it up. How 'bout we go to brunch together afterwards? We'll meet you at the diner."

"No, I should go with you. God knows I don't deserve to be there, but as long as I'm not there to ask for his forgiveness, he might be okay with it."

The light turned green and Sam pressed on the gas. Peepers slid back from the window and teetered on the front edge of the dashboard. Sam pushed it back against the window.

"I'm not going to argue with that logic," Brenda said. "You may not have attended church since long before I was born, but I'm sure you know it doesn't work that way. You have to stop beating yourself up."

Sam didn't respond. He was lost in his own thoughts and Brenda became concerned from the despair in his face. "Why don't you stay with us tonight? I'll make popcorn and we can watch a movie or something. Or sports, if there's a game on; we can watch it together. I won't mind."

Her offer succeeded in rescuing him from his thoughts. "Sports? Since when did you want to watch any sports? Do you even know what sports are playing this time of year?" He laughed.

Brenda laughed with him. "Okay, I'm guessing—baseball?"

"Good guess," Sam said.

"I don't care what we watch. I just think it would be nice to spend more time with my daddy."

"That sounds nice, and I appreciate your willingness to sit through a baseball game, but I know what you're doing. You're worried about me."

"I always worry about you."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm doing fine. Really, I'm good." He drove up Brenda's driveway and put the car in park.

"Are you sure, because I make some mean popcorn."

"I'm sure, Bren," he said. He looked back at Sammy, still sleeping in the back seat. "Let me help you get him in the house." Sammy's eyes opened and he looked at their loving faces watching him. He yawned and stretched.

"I don't think we'll need any help. He doesn't like being carried when he's awake," she said.

"Oh, that's right, he's a big boy now," Sam said.

Brenda got out and opened the rear door. "There's my big boy." She helped Sammy out of the car and held his hand as she leaned through the passenger window. "The service starts at ten. It's okay if you change your mind. We'll sit in the back so it won't be hard to find us."

Sam smiled at his daughter and told her he would see them both at ten. Brenda turned and walked toward the house.

Sam waited until she was safely inside before backing out of her driveway. He pressed the gas and turned the wheel left to navigate a bend in the road. The sudden jolt sent the Peepers figure flying from the dashboard. Sam's right hand jetted out to catch the figure, but he was too late and the figure landed on the passenger seat. With the car on a straight road, Sam looked down to see the figure standing upright with its back resting against the seat.

"Wow, what are the odds?" he whispered to himself as he glanced back at the precariously positioned statue. His focus returned to the road and from his right he heard, "My name is Peepers." Sam's head spun toward the sound. He looked at the motionless figure, shook the crazy from his head, and looked back at the road.

"I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns."

Sam turned back to the figure again. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" he said before returning to his driving.

"On this day, your life will change."

These words sent Sam into a nearby parking lot, where he slammed on his brakes and parked the car. He looked back at the figure, which remained in the impossible upright position next to him.

"It can't be," he said. He reached for the volume button on his radio and turned counterclockwise. It didn't move. He twisted it clockwise and the radio clicked on with the sound of Heart's "Crazy on You" playing.

Wild man's world is cryin' in pain. What you gonna do when everybody's insane.

He flicked it off and looked back to the figure. His right hand moved to within a few inches of it and stopped. After a short pause, his index finger jutted out and pushed into its shoulder. It showed no resistance as it fell over on the seat. Tears welled in Sam's eyes and he leaned forward with both arms hugging the steering wheel. "This can't be happening. Please don't do this to me again, God. I can't go back there." He sobbed for a minute before regaining his composure. His right arm lowered from the steering wheel and he turned for another look at the figure. It remained motionless on its side, where he left it.

Sam sighed and raised his head to look up to the sky through the front windshield. The brick wall of the building in front of him blocked his view. A neon sign flashed "Riverside Bar & Grill."

"I know it's _a_ sign, but is this your way of sending me a 'sign'?" he mumbled. He leaned back and removed the keys from the ignition and exited the car. "Maybe you are listening," he said to himself as he locked his door and proceeded to the front door of the establishment.

*****

"I love carnival food," Mary said, hugging Alan's arm as they stood up to the concession stand.

"We'll have two hot dogs," Alan said to the vendor. He turned to Mary and frowned. "Sorry, did you want something else?"

"You read my mind," she said with a grin.

"I'm getting a small root beer. What do you want to drink?" he asked.

"Make it a medium and we'll share. No sense paying double," she said

Alan turned and ordered the drink. Then he turned back to Mary. "I'm gonna have medium fries. Do you want fries?"

Mary's eyes smiled back at his. Alan grinned and turned back to the person behind the counter. "And one large fries," he said.

*****

A food worker tossed a bag of trash into the Dumpster, and as he turned, from the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. He looked back and saw Geno appearing to sneak past him.

"Who let you out of your cage, freak?" he said, stopping Geno in his tracks. Geno looked at the burly middle-aged man and didn't reply. The worker shook his head in disgust as Geno turned away and continued creeping.

"That's right, keep moving. I better not see you lurking around my side of the midway again, you mutant troll monkey."

*****

"There's an empty bench over there," Mary said, pointing through the crowd. With the drink in her other hand, she rushed ahead to stake a claim on their dining location. Alan lagged behind, dodging the chaotic movement of pedestrians while maintaining a firm grip on the paper bag containing their first meal together.

Mary sat in the middle of the bench, placed the shared drink beside her, and patted the bench on the opposite side of the cup. Alan caught up and took his seat. He proceeded to remove the bag's contents by handing Mary her hot dog. Next, he took out his hot dog, then the shared fries. Using the bag as a platter, he spread it between them on the bench and tilted out some fries.

"Don't worry, I won't eat many of them," she said.

"Take as many as you want," he replied. He hoped she would be true to her word, though, because he liked his French fries.

They were unwrapping their hot dogs when Mary noticed a frail elderly couple shuffling arm in arm toward a bench beside them which just became vacant.

"Look at them, Alan," she whispered. Alan glanced at the old couple. "Aren't they cute?" she said.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess." His attention returned to the food on his lap.

The old man's eyes were locked on the bench as the pair shuffled in slow motion toward their target. With less than ten feet remaining, three ten-year-old boys with ice cream cones scrambled past the couple and plopped on the bench. The couple stopped and the old man's chin dropped in despair.

Mary picked the drink up, tapped Alan's leg, and told him to scoot over. He slid against the armrest and she picked up the bag of fries and placed them on his closed legs at mid-thigh. She closed the gap between them and called out to the couple. "Excuse me, sir." The man turned. Mary patted the bench beside her. "There's room over here," she said.

The couple looked at the space beside Mary and smiled in unison. Mary returned the smile and the couple shifted back into low gear toward them. Two more boys ran over from the opposite direction toward the newly created space. Mary raised her hand and yelled, "Not for you!" Her command appeared to knock the boys backward as if she had thrown up a force field in front of them. Stunned but unharmed, they spotted people leaving another bench fifty feet away. They shifted ninety degrees to the left and sprinted toward it.

*****

From beside a concessions trailer, Geno spotted Alan and Mary on the bench. It was a tight fit as the old couple squeezed in beside them. Mary removed the large purse from her shoulder to make more room. She handed it to Alan, who hung it from the armrest beside him.

Geno stared long at the handbag, and then watched as Alan's torso shifted toward the conversation Mary started up with their new friends.

With his bag held tight under his arm, Geno began his approach. He brushed past the crowd, always keeping himself behind the plane of the bench. To Alan and Mary, he was invisible. However, his tunnel vision to avoid detection from Alan and Mary by tiptoeing from one hiding spot to the next started to creep out everyone around him. Mothers pulled their kids out of his path and shot disgusted looks as they got as much distance as possible from the creepy stalker.

Geno was unaware of the attention he was drawing. A child asked her father who the man was. The father explained that he was probably an actor playing a trick on people. Geno didn't notice the dozens of people stopping to see what this curious character was up to. His eyes and total focus were locked on one thing—his target.

*****

Alan sat, mesmerized by Mary's ability to open up to everyone she met. In the two minutes they sat with the elderly couple, Mary showed a genuine interest in knowing everything about them. He didn't say a word, but it didn't matter. As she talked, she was sure to include Alan in the conversation by smiling back at him and grabbing hold of his hand. He looked down at their hands locked together and snapped a mental picture as a souvenir from the best night of his life. At one point, she caught him staring at her hand. When he realized she was facing him, he looked up at her. She smiled bigger than he'd ever seen her smile before and squeezed his hand three times before returning her attention to the couple.

_Three squeezes,_ he thought. _What was that? Was it some sort of code? Is she getting tired of the conversation and asking me to rescue her? Three squeezes. Is she saying, "Please—help—me"? But she looks so interested in what they're saying. Could it be that she is just the kind of person who doesn't have the ability to be rude by finding her own escape? Three squeezes. Please help me. That's got to be it. What else could it be_? he wondered?

*****

Geno sat on the ground behind the bench. Mary's purse was hanging within reach. He took the bag out from under his arm, opened it, and pulled out the figure of Peepers.

Still unsure of the hidden message Mary squeezed him, Alan looked away to think. As he did, he noticed all the people stopped and staring at him. Some were smiling while others just stood there with blank expressions. _Why are they all looking at me?_ he thought. Without taking his eyes off his audience, Alan let go of Mary's hand. She turned to see why he let go. She followed his confused stare and her eyes widened when she saw all the people watching them.

Hidden from the crowd behind the bench, Geno delicately opened Mary's bag. Just as he began lowering the figure, Alan, not realizing Geno was there, grabbed the purse and handed it to Mary. Geno retracted the figure and shoved it inside his bag. He tucked into a fetal position as Alan stood.

Alan looked at Mary and the couple and said, "I don't want to appear rude, but I really need to find the bathroom."

Mary stood. Her eyes shifted between Alan, the couple, and the strange people in the crowd staring at them.

"Okay," she said. She turned toward the elderly couple, who were oblivious to the extra eyes fixed in their direction. "Uh, what can I say? Nature calls. It was a pleasure meeting you both. Good luck with your upcoming surgery."

Alan grabbed her hand and pulled her away. The elderly couple also stood and walked away, exposing Geno, tucked in a ball behind the bench. The curious watchers lost interest and moved on.

### Chapter 25

"Ew, I hate using those things. They're so gross and disgusting," the college girl said to her three friends as they approached a row of Porta Potties.

"I hope the last person wasn't a big hairy guy taking deuce," another added.

"You guys go on. I'll wait for you out here," said the third girl.

"You're so lucky you don't have to pee, Holly. Watch my purse." The girl handed her purse to Holly. The other two handed her theirs as well before all three entered neighboring green plastic relief huts.

Holly waited beside an overflowing trash can off to the side. From inside one of the units her friend called out in a panic, "There's no toilet paper. OMFG, there's no TP in here!" The girls in the adjoining units busted out in laughter. "Holly! Bring me my purse. There's tissues in my purse," she called out in desperation.

"Stay where you are, Holly. Don't bring our purses near these things. I'll bring you some TP in a sec, Meg." Holly tried to contain her laughter as she noticed confused looks from passersby who overheard parts of their conversation.

While hanging on to the purses, she noticed an odd-looking man walking toward her in a straight line. As he passed people along his path, his head and gaze remained fixed on her. She grew nervous and looked away, but as he got closer, his pace appeared to quicken. She looked away to the ground, gripping the purses more tightly. The determined stranger was less than ten feet away. She looked up and he stopped and smiled.

He removed a bag from under his arm, pulled something out, and continued to close the distance between them.

"Are you guys finished yet?" Holly cried out to her friends in an attempt to thwart the creepy man's encroachment into her personal space.

He stopped a few feet in front of her and turned to the trashcan beside her. Holding the item over the mound of trash, he gently placed it on a clean food wrapper. She looked down at the figure and quickly turned away as he turned his head to see her watching. He folded his empty bag and returned it under his arm and walked away.

Once he was out of sight, Holly looked again at the discarded object. The Peepers figure was placed face down on the pile. She looked around to see if anyone was watching her. Confident that nobody would see her reach into the trash, she grabbed the object and turned it around to see what it was. Her faced winced as she scanned the figure.

The sound of a creaky spring followed by a slamming Porta Potty door pulled her focus from the figure.

"What's that?" Caitlyn said as she approached. Another door slammed and they turned to watch the girl crack open the door of another Porta Potty and slip a wadded up ball of toilet paper to their friend. The door closed and she joined Holly and Caitlyn to wait for Meg.

"You should have made her suffer a little longer, Loren," Caitlyn said.

Loren reclaimed her purse from Holly. "Yeah, that would have been classic. You should have said something."

All three girls chuckled over the missed opportunity to humiliate their friend. Caitlyn took her purse from Holly as Loren spotted the figure.

"Ew, what is that thing? Where did you get it?"

Holly held it out so all three of them could look it over. "Someone threw it in the trash."

"You picked it out of the trash?" Loren moaned. Caitlyn joined in.

From behind, Megan stepped up. "What are we whining about?"

Caitlyn pointed to the figure and turned to face Megan. "Holly took that thing out of the garbage."

"That's gross. What is it?" Megan said.

"It didn't touch anything. It was on some clean napkins. I don't know what it is. Looks like some kind of creepy clown thing," Holly replied.

"Put it back, it's scaring me," Loren said as she covered her eyes with her hand.

"No, don't throw it away," Caitlyn said. "We can give it to Debbie. She's scared to death of clowns. Remember how she reacted the other night when the pizza guy was dressed as a clown? That thing will freak her out big time!"

"I say throw it back in the trash," Loren said with her hand still blocking her view of it.

"C'mon, guys, think about it. We have to give it to Debbie," Caitlyn said.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Holly said. "She was terrified. That might be taking it a little too far."

"Are you kidding me?" Caitlyn said. "What about that time when Debbie turned the light out on you when you were in the basement? This will be payback."

"I still think you put her up to it, Caitlyn," Holly replied. "But even if you didn't and she did it on purpose, giving her this would be too much. I'll find another way to get back at her, but not with this."

"Will you just toss it already so I can lower my hand?" Loren said.

"What about Adam?" Megan said.

"Adam?" Caitlyn questioned. "He wouldn't be scared of it. Why would you give it to him?"

"I know he's not scared of stuff like this. He likes freaky things. He can add it to his collection of scary Halloween decorations. He'll love it."

"Good idea, I'll give it to Adam," Holly said.

"You guys are a bunch of wusses," Caitlyn said.

"Okay, now that you know what you're gonna do with it, could you please hide it somewhere?" Loren said, peeking through her fingers.

Holly looked around for something to wrap it with.

"Put it in Megan's 'mom purse,'" Caitlyn said.

"Oh, good idea," Megan said as Holly handed her the purse. "I'll have to make room first." She removed three juice boxes and handed them to Caitlyn.

"BOXTAILS!" Caitlyn cheered. Loren peeked through her fingers as Holly lowered the figure inside the large purse. With it hidden from view she lowered her hand and opened her own purse.

"I got the juice, now where's the Goose?" Caitlyn chanted.

Loren wiggled a fifth of Grey Goose from her tight purse and raised it up. In an effort to avoid attention, Holly lowered Loren's arm and shushed the girls. Holly watched as her friends proceeded to break the seals of the juice boxes, flip them upside down, and squirt a third of the contents to the ground. Caitlyn took a pen from her purse, widened the holes of the three boxes, and returned the pen. She reached into Megan's "mom purse" and pulled out a small funnel. They replaced the spilled juice with vodka, then stuck their straws back through the holes.

"Are you sure you don't want some, Holly?" Megan said.

"No, thanks. I'm happy to be the DD."

Caitlyn raised her box. "A Goose Juice toast to Holly, our DDBFF."

Loren and Megan clacked their boxed drinks to Caitlyn's. Holly pulled her car keys from her pocket and joined their toast by jingling them above their boxtails. Holly pocketed her keys as her friends took long sips through the narrow straws.

"Was that the last of the juice?" Caitlyn asked.

"Yup," Megan replied.

"We're also out of Goose," Loren said, dangling the empty bottle above the trashcan before dropping it.

"I don't know about you guys, but I've had enough of this place. This carnival is lame," Caitlyn said.

"Oh no, I know that look. What are you thinking?" Megan said suspiciously.

Caitlyn's smile turned devious. "Well, I say we go to RBG. I know the guy at the door. He'll let is in."

"Get out!" Megan said. "How could you possibly know him?"

"He's hot for my older sister. She blows him off all the time, but I'll bet he'll let us in if I tell him I'll work on her for him."

"What are we waiting for?" Loren said. She sucked the last of her drink, crushed the box against her forehead, and tossed it in the trash. Caitlyn and Megan finished theirs and tossed them on the trash, where they both slid to the ground. Holly picked up the boxes and pressed them into the trash. She turned and sprinted a few steps to catch up with her friends.

*****

"Are you ready for another, Sam?" the bartender asked as he held out a bottle of scotch.

Sam looked down at the empty glass and slid it forward on the bar. "Sure, Jerry, hit me again."

The bartender refilled the glass and returned the bottle to the shelf along the back wall. "How are Brenda and your grandson doing?"

Sam smiled. "She's fine, they're fine. I just dropped them off. We spent the day together at the carnival." Sam gulped his scotch.

"That's great. I'm sure you all had a good time. So, how old is he now, two, three?"

"Four," he replied.

"God, I remember when Brenda was just a baby herself," Jerry said as he wiped dry a clean glass.

Sam's smile faded as he nodded and took another sip. Jerry walked to the other end of the bar to serve another customer. When he returned, Sam slid his empty glass forward. Jerry looked concerned but responded by filling it. Sam grabbed it, took a swig, and slammed the half-empty glass on the bar.

The two customers beside Sam stood from their stools and walked out together. Jerry kept one eye on Sam as he retrieved the tip and beer bottles from the bar top. He wiped the counter, then turned to Sam.

"Something isn't right," he said.

"C'mon Jerry, it's only my third scotch. You know I always cut it off at three."

"No, it's not that, Sam. It's your aura. It's dark," Jerry said.

Sam smirked. "Not that again. I thought you gave that crap up after our last case. Don't tell me you're seeing dead people again."

"No, you're right," Jerry said. "After that case, I stopped working with the FBI. But it's not something I can just give up. It doesn't go away. I just try to block it out and ignore what I'm feeling. Believe me, after seeing the things I saw back then, I'm done with it."

Sam took another sip as Jerry watched. Jerry's face turned inquisitive. "Are you in trouble Sam?" he said.

Sam sighed and looked up at Jerry. "Can I ask you a question?" he said. Jerry nodded. "First of all, I'm not saying I believe in that stuff or anything."

"That's fine," Jerry said.

"But, what exactly did you see? Did you hear—voices? Or did you just see things in your head?"

"That's a loaded question." Jerry looked around to be sure nobody was within earshot. He leaned toward Sam and spoke just above a whisper. "See, for me, it's something in the middle. It's more like 'feelings.'"

"Feelings? I don't understand. How were you able to locate those bodies from feelings? I mean, did you see where they were or did you hear voices telling you where they were?"

Jerry looked uncomfortable as he tried to verbalize his experiences. "Okay, do you remember the case you and Jack brought me in on where the body was buried deep in the woods?"

"The Owens girl?" Sam said.

"Yes, the Owens girl. Well, that was a particularly difficult one for me because the woods all look—feel—the same. All I could feel was that she was in the forest. I didn't have a creek or a hill or a nearby road to help me."

"So you saw the woods?"

"No, well, not exactly. My feelings create a fuzzy picture in my mind. In that case, we had to drive around until I got a feeling we were getting close."

"Did something speak to you?" Sam asked.

"Yes, but not the way you think. It wasn't a voice. Again, it was a feeling. When I was going in the right direction, it felt right. So in a way, something was telling me to go that way. Does this make any sense at all?"

"So you don't hear voices. And you don't see things. But then how can you say that you can see my aura? How can it be dark if you can't see it?"

Jerry's shoulders slumped as he sighed and lowered his head in defeat. Before he was able to take another pass at explaining the unexplainable, a heavyset man sat in the stool beside Sam. Both Sam and Jerry looked at the man, who wasted no time in placing his order.

"Could I get a cosmo please?" he said.

"Sure," Jerry said.

Jerry turned back to Sam. "Just be careful, friend. Don't let your demons come back to haunt you." He turned to make the customer's drink and Sam returned to his scotch.

*****

"I told you he would let us in," Caitlyn whispered to Megan as the four girls sat at a table.

"This is awesome. What should we order?" Megan asked her friends.

Before anyone could answer, the waitress arrived. They all looked at each other and then Caitlyn blurted, "Buttery nipples all around." Holly threw her hand up and told the waitress to make hers a Diet Coke. The other girls turned beet red as they gave Caitlyn disapproving looks.

"What, someone had to answer her. I had to say something before one of you guys ordered something in a juice box, or Jell-o shots."

"Fine, but why did you have to yell out 'buttery nipples'? Couldn't you go with jack and Coke or something less embarrassing?" Loren said in a low voice.

"Is buttery nipple even a drink?" Megan asked.

"Yesss, it's a real drink," Caitlyn said, rolling her eyes. "It's butterscotch schnapps and Bailey's."

"I love butterscotch!" Megan burst out as she leaned forward with her hands to her sides under the table. Her eyes opened wide and she licked her lips in anticipation. Upon seeing her reaction, her three friends broke out in laughter.

*****

The man seated next to Sam was turned away from the bar. His drink arrived and he turned back to thank Jerry. "Those girls look like they are having a good time," he said to Jerry.

"Yup," Jerry replied.

"I wish I could feel that happy tonight," he said.

Jerry glanced over at Sam, who returned a smirk.

"Do you know what happened to me tonight?" the cosmo customer asked.

"How would I?" Jerry replied.

"I was dumped. We were together for four years. Then out of nowhere—so long, have a good life. I didn't even see it coming," he said. "Now what am I supposed to do? I still have feelings. The love is still there for me. How am I supposed to go on?"

Jerry shared an annoyed look with Sam before responding. "Look, pal, my friend here can back me up when I tell you I'm probably the last person you should ask about feelings. No offense, but the truth is, I got out of the business of helping people over thirty years ago." He turned and went to help another customer at the opposite end of the bar.

The customer looked down at his drink and stirred it with a swizzle stick. "Rude!" he grumbled. Sam grinned and sipped his scotch.

*****

"Oh. My. God...this is so frickin' good," Megan said after her first taste of her buttery nipple. "I can taste the butterscotch. You barely taste the alcohol." She looked at Holly and held her drink out. "Seriously, you have to try this, Holly. You won't get drunk from a taste, and you won't even taste the alcohol."

Holly smiled and held the drink back with an open hand. "I believe you, Meg. I just don't want it."

"Have you ever had a drink, Holly? I mean, it's okay with me. You're a great DD, but our freshman year is almost over and we've never seen you drink," Loren said.

"Yes, I've had alcohol before. I know how it tastes. I just don't like what it does to me, that's all."

"Are you an alcoholic?" Caitlyn bellowed in her usual outdoor voice.

"Caitlyn!" Loren barked. "Leave her alone. It's none of our business. If she doesn't want to drink, she doesn't have to drink. We don't need to know why, so back off, chick."

"No, it's okay," Holly said. "I'm not an alcoholic, and I don't dislike the taste of liquor. Like I said, I just don't like what it does to me."

"It makes me horny," Megan chimed in.

"What doesn't make you horny?" Caitlyn said before returning her attention to Holly. "I'm sorry, Holly. I didn't mean to get in your face like that. I'm an obnoxious drunk."

"Yeah, right, only when you're drunk?" Megan quipped.

*****

"I've never done this before," cosmo drinker said, staring down at his drink. Sam looked around to discover he was the only person within hearing range of the man.

"'Scuse me?"

The man looked up from his drink. "I see it on TV and in movies all the time. That's why I'm here."

Sam's confusion intensified. "Sorry?"

"Here, a bar. Isn't this where people go when they get depressed? They go to a bar to drink their troubles away. But on TV, the bartenders are much nicer. They listen and give good advice." He looked back at his drink and slumped on his stool.

"Don't believe everything you see on TV or in the movies," Sam said.

The man looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you."

"Um, for what?" Sam replied.

"For listening. You didn't walk away like Mr. Too Busy to Listen over there. It's just a really difficult time for me and I don't have anyone to talk to."

"Hold on, buddy, I'm just here for a few drinks, then I'm leaving. I've got plenty problems of my own."

"Well, of course you have problems, silly. You're alone at a bar." He put his elbows on the bar and rested his face in his palms. "Tell me what's troubling you. I'm a great listener. It might make me feel better if I could help someone else tonight."

Sam started sliding off his stool. His eager new friend frowned. "Oh, please don't go. I'm so sorry. You don't even know me and I'm asking you to open up and share your problems." He pouted and dabbed a napkin in the corner of his eye to soak up a tear. "This is why Daniel left me. I care too much and I'm too clingy. And I don't know when to mind my own business. Please stay. I promise not to ask you anything personal."

Sam stopped halfway off his stool. Cosmo waited with a sad puppy face. Sam sighed and slid back on the stool. His new best friend smiled and clapped in joy.

"Here's the thing," Sam said. "I'm almost finished with my third scotch. I don't have or want a fourth, so I'm only going to be here for another three minutesat best."

"That's okay, sweetie. I just don't want you to leave because of me."

"Oh, and don't ask for advice," Sam added. "I'll just sit and listen for the next three minutes. Then I'm gone."

"I understand. Oh, and I won't ask you anything personal, promise."

Sam looked across the bar to see Jerry grinning from ear to ear shaking his head.

*****

The waitress placed three more shots and a Diet Coke on the table.

"I'll get this one," Megan said as she reached into her purse for money. She paid for the drinks and returned her wallet. As she removed her hand from the purse, she held the figure of Peepers and with a sly grin slammed it on the table in front of Loren. Loren shut her eyes and threw her hand out, slapping the top of the figure. The force and location of the hit should have toppled the figure over. Instead, it slid and rotated to the opposite side of the table, where it rested inches from Holly's face.

"I don't remember it having a smile before," Holly said, staring at its face.

Caitlyn grabbed it at the base and slid it back to Megan. "Now it's starting to creep _me_ out. Put it away, Meg, or you're also buying the next round," she said. Megan laughed and returned the figure inside her purse.

"Thanks, Caitlyn," Loren said as she lowered her hand from her eyes.

*****

Jerry placed another cosmo and a handful of napkins in front of the weeping customer before retreating to the far end of the bar, once again leaving Sam alone with the guy. The customer wadded up the napkins and rubbed his tear-soaked eyes and face before blowing his nose.

"It's so unfair," he cried. "The house is his and he told me to move out by Tuesday. Where am I supposed to go?" Sam returned a shrug and drank the last of his scotch.

"It's like my entire life changed in an instant. First, I lost my partner. Now I have to move out and start over. I don't know if I'm strong enough. I love him so much," he said as he looked to Sam for guidance. "Have you ever felt that way about someone? A person who knows everything about you, who means the world to you? Then they're gone, and you have this gigantic void in your heart? How will I go on?"

Sam stood and sighed. "Yes, I have. I lost my partner over thirty years ago. It destroyed me."

His new friend looked in his eyes. "Have the two of you talked since then?" he asked.

"No," Sam replied. He placed his hand on the distraught man's shoulder and said, "I wish it were that easy, son."

"But maybe it's not too late to work things out. Maybe you can get back together and be partners again," cosmo drinker said.

Sam smiled. "Maybe you should take your own advice. Maybe it's not too late for you." Sam patted his back and walked away.

Jerry noticed him heading toward the exit. "Leaving so soon, Sam?" he snickered.

Sam grinned and nodded. "Yup, I have to see an old friend."

Jerry's expression turned somber. "Take care of yourself, Sam."

Sam waved and left the bar. Outside, he stopped, took in a few deep breaths, and slowly exhaled. He peered over at his car and walked to the driver's side door. Peeking through the window, he saw the figure lying on the seat where he left it. Without hesitating, he opened the door and sat down. He grabbed the figure and took a long hard look before tossing it over his shoulder to the back seat.

"It's just a toy," he muttered as he turned the key and backed out of the parking spot. "Just a stupid toy," he repeated before shifting and driving away.

### Chapter 26

"'The Ringmaster' is his legal name. He had it changed," Alan said to Mary. "When you see him, you'll get it, but don't say anything, because he's not all there."

"I wouldn't say anything mean," she said as they approached the booth. Then Mary saw what could only be The Ringmaster in his interesting costume and stopped. "Oh, I see what you mean. Does he really think he's a ringmaster?" she said.

"No, he's not _that_ bad. He just wants to be one. He wants to be someone important, with power. He just doesn't recognize his own limitations, and he's extremely paranoid. He thinks I'm out to get him."

Mary's mouth opened as she turned to look at the curiously dressed carny. "Are you serious? He thinks you are out to get him? Why would he think that?"

"Well, he doesn't really think I want to hurt him or anything like that. He thinks I'm out to take his jobor, eh, the job he wants. I don't know what's going on under that top hat. Like I said, he's not all there."

Ringmaster noticed the two standing ten feet from his booth and snarled.

"Oh my god!" Mary mumbled. "You're right, that guy definitely doesn't like you."

"Don't worry, he's harmless. At least that's what Cracky tells me."

"Maybe we should go somewhere else. This guy looks like he's going to bite you if we get any closer," she said.

"He's harmless," Alan repeated, not knowing which of them he was trying to convince. "Let's say hi." He took Mary's hand and led her to the counter along the front of Ringmaster's booth. Ringmaster's nose cringed as their eyes met. His head turned away and he moved to set up fresh stacks of lead bottles.

"I think you scared him," Mary whispered. Alan smiled.

"Ringmaster!" he called out. The Ringmaster turned.

"Why are you back, clown? They fired you."

"I wasn't fired," Alan said. "They just didn't need me anymore due to the fire in the Labyrinth. Tonight I'm here as a customer." He looked at Mary and said, "I'm on a date."

Ringmaster didn't look at her. His eyes remained locked on Alan until customers stepped up beside the pair.

"How much?" a young man asked.

"A buck for three shots," Ringmaster replied. The customer turned to two of his friends lined up beside him and all three slapped dollar bills on the counter.

Getting back into character, Ringmaster barked out to the gathering crowd, "One dollar buys you three chances. Knock the bottles down once and win a prize. Three tries for a dollar. Three balls for a buck." He handed each of them three baseballs and stepped to the side near the stacked bottles.

"Psst!"

Ringmaster turned toward the sound. Behind the tarp wall, he saw Geno peeking out from his back room.

"Come back here. I need to talk to you about something," Geno whispered.

"On three," one of the customers said, as all three prepared to fire.

"Hey Ringmaster," Alan said. He laid a dollar on the counter. "I'd like to give it a try."

Ringmaster glared at Alan, then back through the crack at Geno.

"Now, Ringmaster," Geno ordered.

"Three!" The customers launched their balls. One missed completely while the other two toppled the top bottle from their stacks. Ringmaster held a finger up to prevent them from firing as he restacked the bottles and stepped to the opening to the rear on the opposite side. Before stepping through, he told the customers and Alan to hold on till he came back out.

"What the hell," one of the customers said. "Where'd he go? He could have at least waited until we threw a couple more balls." They all shook their heads in disbelief.

"What do you want, I'm working," Ringmaster said.

"I know, but this is important."

"Go on, then, tell me."

"I'm going to be leaving and I want you to take over the Labyrinth. The problem is that Cracky doesn't want to give it to you. He doesn't think you're ready, and he's thinking about giving it to Alan."

"The clown?" Ringmaster growled.

"Yes, but you and I know that you're the best person for the job. Hell, you'll probably be better than me."

"That's what I keep telling Cracky. I can't believe he wants to give it to that fucking clown," Ringmaster said with his teeth clenched so tight Geno could hear them grinding.

"Yeah, you have charisma. I'm good with the technical stuff, but I can teach you all that. You can't teach charisma."

"Yeah, I have charisma," Ringmaster repeated.

"That's right, buddy. The job should go to you. You've earned it, and I figured out how to make it happen. I already talked to Alan about it and he said he would back out and let you have the job if you make it so that he wins one of the big prizes for his girlfriend."

"That's it? He'll walk away for a stupid stuffed animal?"

"I know, some guys will do anything for a girl. But it can't be any prize. It has to be one of the big ones," Geno said.

Ringmaster laughed. "Stupid clown."

"I know, stupid, right? I think the clown is thinking with his little clown head," Geno said.

Ringmaster chuckled. "Small clown head," he repeated.

"Now, get back up there and stack the _special_ bottles for Alan. We'll start your training tomorrow."

Ringmaster nodded and returned to the front. Alan and Mary had already decided not to wait. They were twenty feet away when Ringmaster called out to them. "Hey, Alan, c'mon back." Alan and Mary turned to see Ringmaster smiling and waving them back to his booth.

"Dr. Jekyll, I presume," Mary muttered. Alan laughed and they returned to the booth.

The other customers finished their shots and two decided to give it another try while the third watched.

"I'm sorry, Alan," Ringmaster said. "I just found out." He grinned and winked at Alan.

"Found out what?" Alan replied.

"Here, three balls. Now give me a second to set up the first stack for you." Ringmaster turned and pulled three bottles from below the shelf. He set them up and stood to the side.

Alan and Mary shared a look of confusion. Then Alan shrugged and wound up for his first throw. At the same time, the other two customers were preparing to throw their own baseballs. All three fired within a split second of each other. Alan hit the top bottle, which took down the two below it as it fell. One of the other customers hit dead center, knocking the top bottle from the stack while the bottom two remained standing.

"You did it!" Mary cheered.

"How did he do that?" the customer beside Alan asked. "He only hit the top bottle and they all fell." His friend suggested that maybe that was the secret, that they should aim for the top bottles.

By this time, Mary's cheering and Ringmaster's calling out to the crowd, indicating they had a winner, pulled in a crowd around them. Geno stepped out from his hiding place beside the booth and shoved his way through the crowd. He was oblivious to the toes he stepped on and the rude shoves he gave people on his mission to get up close to Mary and her purse. As Alan was preparing for his second throw, Geno stood directly behind Mary in the thickening crowd.

The two guys beside Alan threw first. Both nailed the top bottles of their stacks, toppling them while the bottom bottles remained motionless.

"I don't get it," one said. "We both hit the top and the stacks didn't fall."

Alan pulled back and hurled his ball for a direct hit between the bottom bottles. The bottles not only fell, but the force blew them off the shelf completely.

Geno backed away from the zipper of Mary's purse as she jumped to cheer for Alan's second successful throw. Ringmaster formed an even larger crowd around his booth as he announced the second stack winner. Could Alan do it again and take home one of the grand prizes?

"Maybe he was just lucky," the non-playing friend advised his two buddies. "I say you aim for the middle again. Don't go for the top bottle."

They watched Alan, and waited to throw at the same time. The crowd was still as they watched in anticipation. This was Geno's last chance. With help from the increasing pressure of the crowd, he pressed closer to Mary. He began to lift the Peepers figure up to her open bag. Alan's arm cocked back. Geno had to move fast, so he laid the figure over the opening. Alan and the two customers fired at the same instant. The first two hit dead center and rocked the stacks, sending the top bottles over. Alan's ball hit the top bottle dead center, sending it to the plywood backdrop a foot behind the stack. Ringmaster clapped and nudged his knee into the table. The table shook and Alan's bottom bottles toppled over. The stacks of the other players also rocked and each lost another bottle, leaving one standing.

Mary screamed and jumped. As she did, the figure of Peepers bounced from her purse. Geno lunged and caught it before it hit the ground. The three guys huffed as they shoved Geno and others out of their path, cursing their way through the crowd.

Geno attempted to close in on Mary again, but his crowd cover was thinning, and she was too exposed for him to pull it off. Ringmaster shouted to the crowd as he handed Mary an oversized black and white panda bear. Geno slithered unnoticed to the Labyrinth.

*****

"Turn on the campus station, Bear is DJ'ing tonight," Loren shouted from the backseat. Holly pressed the button and the girls jumped right in to the hip-hop song already in progress. Their elbows rose up in front of them and they snapped and sang along to the rhythm. Megan sat beside Holly up front with her purse on the console between them. As she reached for the volume knob, her purse tipped with the opening angled between Holly and the steering wheel.

"That's right, girl, pump up the volume," Caitlyn shouted. Holly joined in, pumping one hand and hooting to the music. The song ended and Holly adjusted the volume down to a level where the thumping couldn't be felt in the cars and homes they passed.

"Oh my god, guys," Caitlyn said. "I hope they didn't eat all the Jell-o shots."

Megan threw her arms up to the roof. "Jell-o shots!" she yelled. The others glanced at her. Her eyes were half shut and she slumped into the door.

"Dudes, she's hammered," Loren said. All three laughed as Megan tucked her hands under her head and passed out. Seated behind Holly, Caitlyn reached up and flicked Megan's shoulder with her finger. Seconds later, Megan's right hand emerged from below her head and hovered over the spot in an apparent attempt to wave off the long gone intruding finger.

"You guys are carrying her in this time," Holly said, looking in the rearview mirror with one eyebrow raised. Loren and Caitlyn looked at each other.

"No way, Loren," Caitlyn said. "It's your turn this time. She puked on me when I helped her to the toilet last Saturday."

"Yeah, that was after I helped Holly carry her from the car. It's your turn to get her into the house."

"Okay, but you have to help because I'm not strong enough," Caitlyn said.

Holly smiled as she listened to them argue it out, the whole time keeping her out of the possible scenarios. The argument and volume intensified and they started talking over each other. Holly concentrated on the road and tried to stay out of the negotiations. She stopped at a light and felt something nudge into her right leg. She looked down to see the figure slipped half out of Megan's purse.

"Ahh! It's looking at me!" she yelped. The heated discussion came to a halt as both girls looked forward. The light turned green and Holly pressed the pedal. The girls faced each other again and continued where they left off. "Fine, what if we bring one of the porch chairs to the car and put her in it?" Loren said.

"Then we wait till she throws up before we _both_ carry her inside," Caitlyn added.

As they hatched out the details of their plan, Holly looked down at the figure still pressed against her leg. Its head appeared to be slightly tilted in her direction. She glanced back and forth between the road and the figure. Suddenly its lips moved.

"My name is Peepers. I represent the Guild of Fallen Clowns," it said. Holly's face froze in a panic. Her eyes widened and locked on the object.

"Holly, watch out!" Caitlyn screamed from behind. Holly snapped her attention back to the road and slammed on her brake, avoiding the through traffic at a red light. The jolt sent the figure flying to the floor between her feet.

"Holy shit, Holly!" Caitlyn said. "I thought you were sober."

Holly tried to spot the figure on the dark floor. "It talked to me. I swear, that clown thing talked," she said.

Caitlyn and Loren shared grins. "Maybe it's not alcohol," Caitlyn said.

Loren looked forward. "Are you okay, Holly? You're not on something, are you?"

Barely disturbed from the seat beside her, Megan's head remained down when her hand rose and she cheered, "Jell-o shots." The backseat girls cracked up, forgetting about Holly's questionable driving skills.

"I don't think we'll have to wait long," Loren laughed.

Caitlyn leaned forward to look at Megan's slumped body. "True, but she'll never stay in a chair. We'll have to lay her on the grass."

A horn honked from the car behind them. Holly looked up to see the light changed. She continued driving. The whole time she moved her left foot around the floor in search of the figure. She couldn't feel it anywhere.

"Turn the station. Bear sucks tonight," Caitlyn said. Loren agreed and Holly reached to the stereo. She pressed one of the preset buttons and hovered her finger, waiting for their approval.

"Try again," Caitlyn ordered. Holly changed the station again and looked down to ready her finger for the next button. Movement caught her eye beyond the radio. She looked at Megan's leg and saw the missing figure laid across her calf. She pulled her arm away and screeched. Static cracked from the speakers from her last selection and she looked back to the road.

"Try again," the girls chanted in unison.

Holly gripped the wheel with both hands. "I need to pull over," she said.

"Are you gonna be sick?" Caitlyn asked.

"No, I just—it—I just need to get out of the car."

Caitlyn leaned forward and looked at the road. Concrete barricades lined both sides. "You can't stop here, Holly, it's a construction zone and there's nowhere to pull over."

"It's like this until we cross the river. The construction ends on the other side," Loren added.

"Will you be okay till then? You're not gonna freak out on us again, are you?" Caitlyn said.

Holly glanced back at Megan's leg and the figure was gone. She looked back to the road and nodded. "Okay, I'll make it."

Caitlyn leaned back. "Good, now do something about that noise." Again, Holly reached for the buttons, but before she could press one, the static disappeared. The gravelly voice she had heard from the figure came through the speakers. "On this day, your life will change." Immediately following the voice, a song started playing by the Black Eyed Peas. Holly turned to ice as Caitlyn and Loren butt danced and sang along from the back seat.

"Turn it up!" Caitlyn yelled. " _I've got a feeling. Tonight's gonna be a good night. Tonight's gonna be a good good night,_ " they sang.

Holly reached for the radio, but not to turn the volume up. After hearing the voice come through the radio, she wanted to turn it off. She pressed the power button, but instead of shutting the radio off, it switched to another station. A news correspondent was reporting details of a recent accident. The girls in the back continued singing as if the song were still playing. Holly pressed the power button five or six more times, in vain. The radio wouldn't turn off and the station was fixed to a news report. Holly gave up and focused on the narrow road. She was approaching a bridge, which was shut down to one lane in each direction.

"Witnesses say the accident was caused by an intoxicated, underage female. Apparently, she was driving home from a party when she lost control of her vehicle on the bridge over the lake. Her vehicle slammed into an oncoming minivan, forcing it over the edge and into the lake thirty-five feet below. The underage girl survived, but the family of four in the mini-van all perished at the scene." The news report ended and the Black Eyed Peas picked up in perfect sync with Caitlyn and Loren.

Tears flowed down Holly's cheeks as she listened to the painfully familiar report. She wiped her eyes in her sleeve and looked in the mirror for her friends. Looking back at her, from inside the mirror, were the glistening black eyes and face of the carnival figure. Terror prevented her from screaming or looking away. She reached out and lowered the mirror from her sight. A hand came out of the mirror and turned to grab and adjust the mirror to the proper position. When the hand retreated back into the mirror, Peepers was grinning at her. The girls in the back seat continued singing as if he wasn't there.

"Peepers knows your secret. Peepers here to set Holly free." He pointed ahead and Holly followed his aim back to the road, where a person was standing twenty feet in front of her car. She yanked the wheel right to avoid hitting him. The hard angle of her turn was too much of a direct hit for the bridge rail. The car ripped through the steel and dove grill first into the river below.

Standing on the spot of the bridge where the car broke through, Peepers watched the car as it sank out of sight. "Good, good night, Holly."

### Chapter 27

Standing in front of the moonlit headstone, Sam saw the name of his old friend and partner.

Jack Gates

1953 - 1986

A tear escaped and he got down to his knees and folded his hands. "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispered. Those were the only words he said as he sat and stared at the headstone. He rubbed his eyes and bowed his head.

In silence, he stared at the headstone for a good five minutes. The plot was twenty feet from the road. With his back to his car, Sam heard the closing of a car door. His head snapped back to the sound and he saw a dark shadow of a tall, thin figure approaching.

He jumped to his feet and clenched his fists. The figure stopped. A streetlight along the road behind the intruder blinded his view of the stranger. Squinting, he said, "What do you want? Do you work here? I know it's late, but the gate was open—"

"My name is Peepers," the figure said.

Sam moved his hand over the light for a better view. Peepers stepped closer until Sam's eyes opened wide. "Peepers? Wait, that's what _it_ said—"

Peepers smiled as recognition flushed over Sam's face. "The statue," Sam said. "You look like the prize I won at the carnival."

"Peepers here to help Sam."

Sam stepped backwards. "Stay there. Don't come any closer."

Peepers remained still. Standing at Jack's headstone, Sam shifted behind it for cover. "What's going on? Who are you?"

"My name is—"

"Peepers! I know, you already said that," Sam interrupted. "That means nothing to me. Who sent you and what do you want from me?"

"Peepers is spirit. Here to free Sam."

"A _spirit_ —to free me?" Sam tucked lower behind the headstone. "I'm not crazy, and you're not a ghost. You're from the institution, aren't you? I don't need more drugs, and I'm not going back there."

"Peepers free Sam."

Sam watched as Peepers' body transformed into a swirling cloud of dark smoke. The smoke stretched into a funnel, to a spot directly in front of Jack's headstone, where it spread and reappeared as a solid figure, sitting Indian-style on the grave in front of him.

"Oh my god, I am insane," Sam whispered.

Peepers' eyes lowered to the engraving on the headstone. "He waits for Sam—but Jack is not here." Sam didn't respond. Peepers looked up at him. "Peepers can bring Sam to him."

Sam remained silent, peering over the headstone.

"Sam can ask his forgiveness."

Sam became angry and jumped to his feet. "Look, I don't know if you are real, or if I'm going crazy, but I didn't come here to ask Jack to forgive me. I don't deserve it and I don't believe you. Even if you could do what you say, I doubt he would want to see me."

Peepers' body turned to swirling black smoke. The cloud floated beside Sam and rematerialized inches from his left shoulder with Peepers peering down at him.

"Why Sam come to grave?"

Sam looked up into Peepers' repulsive face and took a step to the side. "I came to pay my respects. But I didn't come to beg for his forgiveness," he insisted.

Peepers turned away. "He didn't hear Sam's apology."

"What—how did you hear? What's that have to do with anything?" Sam said.

"Sam's wish—state regret—accept punishment. Peepers free Sam. Take you to him."

Sam stepped further away from Peepers. "No way, I'm not going anywhere with you. I believe Jack can hear my apology right here. "

Peepers grinned. "Sam still coward. Paralyzed by his fear."

Sam lunged forward until his pumped-out chest was against Peepers'. "You're wrong. I'm not afraid of you."

Peepers laughed at Sam standing his ground. Then he glared down at him and said, "Peepers not thing Sam fear. Sam coward to face friend he failed."

Sam backed down and turned, facing Jack's grave.

"He waits," Peepers said.

Sam turned with a determined look in his eyes. "Where are we going?" he said. Peepers motioned Sam back to his car. Sam pulled the keys from his pocket and walked toward the car. Peepers followed.

*****

Sam's right hand grasped the doorknob and attempted to open it. It didn't turn. He looked at the Peepers figure in his left hand. "The door's locked."

The figure's face became animated as it spoke. "Above light," it said.

Sam looked at the wall sconce beside the door and reached above it. A key rested on a small ledge against the wall. He inserted the key and turned the knob. A strong breeze rushed inside as he stepped out to the roof of the building. The door slammed shut behind him.

Sam backed himself against the wall beside the door, in the center of the roof.

"Okay, I'm here. Now what?" he said. The figure of Peepers started to shake in his hand and as Sam looked down, the familiar dark swirl of smoke flowed out and drifted to the edge of the roof, twenty feet in front of him. Peepers solidified from the smoke and stepped up on the half-wall ledge of the tall building. He smiled as his body gyrated in an attempt to maintain balance.

"Come closer," Peepers said.

Sam stood firm. "You said Jack would be here. I'm here, where is he?"

"Patience, Sam. Friend is close." He turned his back to Sam and looked down to the ground two hundred feet below. His arms stretched out, aimed over the side. "He is on this side. Sam must come closer to be with friend."

With Peepers still facing away, Sam's hand crawled across the wall to the doorknob. A quick twist and jiggle confirmed that the door was locked. He had left the key in the lock on the other side.

Peepers turned and smiled. "He waits."

Sam let go of the doorknob. "Waiting for what? Waiting for me to jump to my death?"

Peepers laughed. "Sam cannot jump. Edge of this building is place where fear closed door to life. Fear must open door, to see dead friend."

"Are you saying my fear of heights is the only way for me to see Jack?"

"Yes, Sam must open door where fear is great."

Sam crept forward and stopped a yard from the edge. He looked up at Peepers, who was now seated, straddling the short wall. "This is as close as I'll go," he said.

Peepers frowned and shook his head. "Sam still coward." He reached out his hand and looked at Sam grasping his figure. "Peepers cannot help. Return to me."

Sam held the figure out. Peepers yanked it from him and turned in disgust. Sam's shoulders started to turn when he stopped and turned back to Peepers. He took a deep breath and sighed. Then with Peepers still facing away, he stepped up to the ledge and carefully lifted himself on the wall and dangled both feet over the street side. Peepers' head turned. Sam's fingers tensed as they gripped the wall to his sides. He tilted his head up to the sky, purposely avoiding the view below.

Peepers was pleased. He threw his outward leg over the wall and stood on the roof. He placed his figure on the wall beside Sam and snickered as he stepped out of Sam's peripheral view.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked nervously, never taking his focus off the night sky.

Peepers stepped behind Sam and grabbed his shoulders. Every muscle in Sam's body tensed.

"What are you doing? Don't push me," Sam begged.

Peepers' hands remained firmly gripping Sam's shoulders and he leaned in to his left ear. "The door is below," he said.

Sam closed his eyes and lowered his head.

"Open eyes," Peepers whispered.

Sam's eyes opened to slits. A vein in his neck throbbed as the view of the street below became clear. "Where is he? I don't see him. I don't see any—door."

In his left ear, Sam heard Peepers inhale deep. Peepers' eyes were closed as he savored the flavor of Sam's fear. He exhaled, and then gave Sam's shoulders a quick shake. Sam leaned back hard and raised his head to the sky with his eyes closed tight.

"What the fuck. Don't do that again!" Sam yelled.

Peepers drank in Sam's predicament.

"You lied to me," Sam whimpered. "He's not here, is he? You tricked me, didn't you? Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this?"

Peepers removed his grip on Sam's right shoulder. "Look down," he commanded.

"No!" Sam said.

Peepers pushed slowly on Sam's left shoulder until he was hunched over, close to the point of tipping. Sam gave in and opened his eyes to the ground. "Okay, okay, my eyes are open," he cried. Peepers released the pressure and allowed him to return upright on the wall. With Sam still looking down, Peepers flipped a small rock off the wall with his right hand. Sam watched as it floated in slow motion to the ground, where it shattered on impact with the sidewalk.

Peepers returned his right hand to Sam's shoulder and instructed him to keep his eyes open. Sam nodded with his head tilted down and eyes opened wide. Peepers jolted him forward and pulled back, preventing him from going over the edge.

"Please don't do that. Please let me back on the roof," Sam pleaded. Peepers grinned in pleasure as his eyes closed and his head lifted.

"Remember this place?" Peepers whispered.

"Yes, of course I remember. Why did you bring me here?" His body trembled.

"To finish job," Peepers answered.

Sam sniffled and turned his head. Peepers leaned out so Sam could look at his face. "Did you think death would stop me?" Peepers smiled.

Sam's face went flush as he realized the identity of Peepers. "The Happy Clown Killer?"

Peepers nodded. "Peepers now." He smiled.

Sam turned away. His eyes closed tight. His face was tense with fear.

"You can't kill me this time," Peepers said. "This time, Sam die _when_ Peepers finished." He let go of Sam and paced on the roof behind him with a glib sense of satisfaction. Then he moved his mouth back to Sam's ear. "The Happy Clown Killer will feed on Sam tonight."

Suddenly, the fear in Sam's face gave way to a sense of calm. His eyes opened and his muscles relaxed. "When you're ready?" Sam whispered. Then he grinned.

Peepers moved to Sam's side and looked with disgust at his expression. "What did you say?"

Sam smiled and turned to face him. "I said, 'when you're ready.'"

Again, Peepers scanned Sam's face and relaxed composure. He grew angry. "I am the Happy Clown Killer! You fear me!" he yelled. Sam nodded with a smile, which further infuriated Peepers.

"I know I'm going to die tonight," Sam said without concern. "I also know some things about you," he added.

Peepers snarled and showed his most horrific face in a failed attempt to change Sam's expression. Sam casually picked up the figure of Peepers and studied it. "You see, I know that you get off on the fear in others," he said. He turned back and chuckled at Peepers' grotesque face. "The truth is—you had me. Before you told me who you were, I was so scared that I think I pissed myself. But now that I know you were the Happy Clown Killer, I'm seeing things a lot differently." He smiled and looked back at the figure in his hands. "Oh, sure you won't let me off this roof alive, but that doesn't mean I have to feed your lust with my fear." He turned back to Peepers, who continued to stare him down.

"Yes, Sam will die," Peepers said.

"Yes, I will, but I'm okay with it because you've given me something I'm willing to die for."

Peepers looked at Sam in bewilderment.

"You don't get it, do you?" Sam said. Peepers' eyebrows lowered.

"Wow, I always thought you had every possible angle worked out. I gave you far more credit than you deserved."

"What is Sam babbling?" Peepers growled.

"Calm down, clown. I'll tell you. I'm just enjoying playing with _you_ for a change."

Peepers wrapped his arm around Sam's neck and leaned forward. "Last chance," he said.

"All right, here it is. You failed to consider my reaction to having a second chance to kill you."

"Kill Peepers?" Peepers asked.

"And that other thing I know about you is that you were terrified when you went over the edge to your death. I've never witnessed a fear as intense as yours," Sam said. Then he held Peepers' arm to his neck with one hand and held out the figure with his other. "I'll see you in hell, clown!"

Sam lunged forward, taking Peepers over the edge with him. Peepers and his figure screamed in unison as they raced toward the pavement below. The impact shattered the statue. Peepers' body evaporated into smoke. Sam's broken body landed face up—smiling.

### Chapter 28

Standing with an opened black trash bag clutched in his rubber glove-protected hand and another black bag draped over his torso like a raincoat, Geno leaned down and picked up the bloody hand beside Regina's body. He tossed it inside the bag, then reached to her side for the serrated pruning saw.

From the mirrors inside the Labyrinth, Guild clowns watched in morbid curiosity as Geno portioned the corpse into six equal weights. He lowered the safety goggles over his eyes and lifted her handless arm as he placed the saw on the shoulder joint.

Before he was able to start cutting, the building started to shake and rumble. Terror came over the faces of the Guild clowns, who looked to each other before fading from sight in the darkness of the mirrors. Still gripping the saw, Geno stood and turned to face the room. The magnitude of tremors intensified as a section of mirrored panels shook so violently that they appeared to come loose from their pivoting hinges. The saw dropped from Geno's hand as he watched from across the room.

From the center of the spectacle, a shockwave blasted across the room, knocking Geno against the wall behind him. Behind the wave, demonic screams pierced the reflective barrier as Peepers' body hurled out from the mirrors and crashed to the floor. The impact snapped and twisted his limbs in unnatural directions as blood began oozing to the floor from his half-crushed skull. The quaking subsided and Peepers' eye opened. Blood reversed course as his face and bones cracked and unfolded to his previous form. As soon as the process was complete, his body sprung from the floor to a standing position. His neck cracked as he rolled out the final kinks. Completely restored, he locked eyes with Geno as anger boiled up from inside. Geno gulped. Peepers snarled and rushed directly at him, kicking the table and chairs out of his path, sending them crashing against a wall, smashing the wine bottle and glasses into fragments around the room.

Geno's hands instinctively rose to protect his face. Peepers stopped inches from him and stared down. Buffalo-like grunting fogged Geno's goggles with putrid hot breath from Peepers' bulbous burgundy nose and clenched mouth.

Geno tried to meet Peepers' eyes, but he couldn't see through the protective goggles. He pulled them off and threw them to the floor. Peepers' eyebrows lowered. "What—what happened, Father?" Geno asked.

"McGiggles," Peepers said. He turned away from Geno and calmed himself.

"Happy McGiggles? Is he here?" Geno asked.

Still turned away, Peepers ignored Geno's questions as he continued his own search for answers to his failure with his last victim, Sam. "Prove Peepers wrong. McGiggles help Sam."

Geno stepped forward to show his support. "Let me join the Guild, Father. I'll take care of Happy McGiggles for you."

Peepers spun to face Geno. Rage filled his eyes as he fought off the compulsion to destroy his son right then and there. "You failed me!" he growled. "Cannot trust you in my Guild. Maybe Peepers kill Geno so McGiggles torture you himself." Peepers shot him a look of pure disgust before turning away again.

"But Father, I tried twice. She would recognize you, so I have to hide it in her purse. There were people, and Alan."

Peepers turned back and glared at his son. "Enough with excuses. Geno's plans flawed. Disgrace to father."

"You are right, Father. I failed you, but I'm not finished. I won't fail you again."

Peepers turned. "Fail again and the Guild will feed on your soul."

"I won't fail again. But I was wondering, Father. Why the girl? Why don't we go for him instead? I don't think I would have to hide it. I can tell him I was weak and made one last piece and he needs to destroy it for me because I can't do it myself."

"No!" Peepers shouted. "It must go to his female. Peepers make clown suffer." The sides of Peepers' lips turned up, revealing a smile. "Will take all clown loves before feed on him."

Geno nodded. "Whatever you wish. I'll try again, and I won't let you down this time. The clown's woman will take you home with her tonight," Geno said.

Peepers grinned as he considered the outcome of his plans.

*****

With his canvas sack securely tucked under his arm, Geno plowed through the crowded midway in search of Alan and Mary. Failing to find them as he rounded the last corner, he felt his heart pounding as panic set in. He stood near Cracky's booth and finally spotted the couple heading toward the exit.

Cracky was busy with a customer and didn't see Alan looking in his direction to offer a final farewell. Alan and Mary didn't want to disturb him, so they turned to leave. Geno brushed in front of the next customer in line and panted out the words, "Alan was looking for you. He's leaving." He pointed and backed himself out of sight behind the booth.

Cracky looked over the crowd and yelled out to Alan. Alan turned and Cracky smiled, waving him back to the booth. Cracky handled his last customer as Alan and Mary arrived.

"Hey, Cracky, I wanted to thank you again before we left, but you looked busy."

Cracky looked at Mary's giant panda. "Looks like you guys had a good time tonight." He smiled.

As they continued talking, Geno took advantage of the cover provided by the stuffed panda and worked his way to Mary's purse slung behind her shoulder. He eased open the zipper and removed the Peepers figure from his bag. As he reached it toward the opening, both Mary and Alan burst out in laughter over something Cracky said. Her body arched forward, pulling the purse out of reach. She shifted the panda on her hip and tugged the purse strap higher on her shoulder.

Geno remained undiscovered, but he stood back as guests stopped in front of him to discuss how many tickets they needed to purchase. One of them removed some bills from his wallet and the group moved to the front of the booth. Alan glanced at them and he and Mary backed away.

"We'll let you get back to work," Alan said. "I'll see you same time next year," he added.

"It was nice to meet you, Cracky," Mary said. Cracky winked and the two turned and walked toward the exit.

Geno went back to panic mode. His target was leaving and he still had the last Peepers figure with him. He noticed a family of seven following close behind the duo and sprinted up behind them. Once outside the gate, he broke away from the family and moved between the rows of parked cars, ducking low as he closed in. They reached her car, but Geno was still six cars back, nervously peering over the parked cars, stuttering, "Nn-ne-no!"

Hugging the panda by the trunk of her car, Mary turned and asked Alan to take her keys from her purse. He pulled them out and opened the trunk. Mary lowered the panda inside and gently positioned it face up.

*****

The boisterous sounds from a rowdy group of approximately twenty college age kids approaching from fifty yards away diverted Geno's attention from Alan and Mary. The group was scattered, and they sauntered along without urgency. Geno noticed a boy with long hair and a baseball hat grabbing his crotch before tucking between parked cars to take a leak.

*****

"This isn't right," Mary said as she looked down at the panda's face smiling back at her from inside the trunk.

"What's wrong?" Alan asked.

"He shouldn't be locked in the trunk." She looked back at Alan. "How would you like to be thrown in the trunk?"

Alan smiled. "I agree," he said as he reached down and removed the panda. Still holding her keys, he pressed the remote to unlock the doors. The space between the cars was tight and Mary laughed as she watched Alan attempt to open the back door and stuff the large prize inside.

"Be careful. Don't hurt him," she said. Alan wasn't as gentle as she liked so she placed her purse in the trunk and instructed him to step aside.

"Sorry, but it's a tight fit," Alan said as he stepped back to let her finish the job.

*****

The chain of loud young people got Alan's attention as they filtered by the car. Alan looked back at Mary and grinned as she pulled the seat belt across the panda's body. Running to rejoin the group was the longhaired boy with the baseball hat. His head tipped down as he plowed into another, more athletic, boy. Irritated, the larger kid shoved back, sending him against the back of the closest car. This was Mary's car and the boy was pushed half into her trunk. He bounced back and tailed behind the group for the next five or six cars before slipping out of sight between the cars. Mary finished buckling the panda in the back seat and Alan closed the trunk on his way to the passenger seat.

*****

Returning through the carnival gates, Geno pulled a novelty baseball hat with a long hair wig attached from under his shirt and dropped it in a trashcan. He grinned and continued toward the Labyrinth.

*****

Taking her eye from the road in front of her, Mary looked in her rearview mirror to check on the panda. Alan snickered and looked back. "Don't worry, he's safe. You buckled him in good."

Mary grinned and looked back to the road. "I didn't want you to see me doing that. I must look silly," she said.

"I think it's precious," he replied. "Oh god, did I just say 'precious'? Forget about looking silly. Better than sounding gay...which I'm not...really." He sank into the seat.

Mary burst out laughing. "Now _that_ was precious," she said.

"I don't know where that came from. I never used that word before. I act so stupid around you."

"Oh, let it go, Alan. I think it's cute." She paused, then added, "Some might say you're...precious." Of course she did her best gay man impersonation of the word "precious."

Alan stared without saying a word. Her lips puckered as she fought with all her might to keep from laughing.

"Go on, let it out," he said.

Mary glanced at his stern expression. She couldn't hold it any longer and cracked up. Her repressed laughter resulted in an uncontrollable fit of snorting as she tried to catch her breath. As soon as the snorts started, her eyes opened wide and she slapped her hand over her mouth.

Alan smiled. "What was that?" he said. "Do you have a pig in here somewhere? I swear I heard a pig snorting."

They both laughed hard for the next minute. When the laughter subsided, he looked at her. She looked back and got her last chuckle out of her system before looking back at the road. "You make me laugh, Alan," she said. "I think laughter is the most important part of any relationship."

"I guess we'll be okay as long as we stay clear of Ferris wheels," Alan said.

"Or any of those other things on your list of fears," she added.

"Oh, right, I was hoping you forgot about that."

"I'm a good listener, Alan. Nothing slips by me."

"Oh, lucky me. Now you probably want to know what's on there besides my fear of heights."

"No, you can relax, for now. Besides, I never shared any of my fears with you."

"That's right, you owe me one," he said.

"I do. And I'm going to share with you something I've never told anyone."

"No, you don't have to do that, Mary. My fear of heights was nothing. Believe me, it's nothing compared to some other things, which I've never told anyone...And, I'm not ready to share them now, so please don't give me more than I'm able to return."

"Don't worry, I'm not expecting anything in return. I just feel comfortable with you and it might feel good for me to finally say it out loud to someone. You'll be doing me a favor by listening," she said. They arrived at his apartment and she put the car in park.

"Are you sure?" Alan asked. Mary looked serious and nodded.

"Okay, here it is," she said with a big sigh. "I'm a cancer survivor."

"That's it? I mean, that's great! No, I mean that's horrible. Wait, here I go again. It's great that you survived it, but it's horrible that you had it in the first place."

Mary smiled. "I know what you meant to say, but that's not the end of it."

"Oh, right, I would imagine you're afraid it might come back," he said. "No wait, that's bad. I shouldn't have assumed that. I'm sure it'll never come back." He put his hand over his forehead in an effort to slow down and think before he muttered another word.

"Actually, you're partially correct. I do worry that it might come back because I vowed to never go through the treatment again. It nearly killed me and it turned me into someone I never want to be again," she said.

"But you survived. You got through it and you're the cheeriest, most optimistic person I've ever known. You can do it again if you had to."

"But I won't. I promised myself that I'd never go through that again. I'm not afraid of what happens after I die. A big part of me looks forward to finding out because I believe it's better than this. When my time comes, I'll be ready."

Alan was confused. "I'm not going to pretend I understand. Maybe because I'm the complete opposite when it comes to the hereafter."

"You don't believe in heaven?" she asked.

"That's a good question. I'm not sure. I do know, or believe, there's something after this, but it scares me worse than the idea of there being nothing."

"What?"

"I guess I am going there," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you don't have to respond. I didn't intend to bring your fears into this. You don't have to say anything more. All I wanted to do was tell you about my thing."

"No, it's okay, but I still don't understand what you said. If you're not afraid of dying, what is it that you are afraid of?"

"I _am_ afraid of dying—the process of it. I feel like I've already suffered through it once and we humans aren't equipped to go through it more than once. I'm not worried about what happens to me after, but I do fear going through the pain and the draining of everything I am. I love life, but during that time, I wanted to die. I really wanted to die because I didn't have the will to live. That's not who I am. I'm usually a fighter, but the treatment took that fighting spirit away from me. I turned into a different person. A person I never want to be again. When my time comes, I refuse to pass over to the other side as that person. I want to die as happy as I am right now. I want to be smiling when I get there. Does that make any sense to you?"

"I suppose, but I'd go through that process a thousand times if it keeps me alive."

"Why are you afraid of what happens to our souls? What happened to you to make you fear it so much?" Mary caught herself and tried to retract her questions. "Oops, I'm being too intrusive. See, you're not the only one who blurts out whatever they are thinking."

Alan grinned. "Ever since my father died, I've had dreams. Dark dreams."

"Nightmares?" she said.

"Worse. I can't even find words to explain them, but I know they are much more than nightmares. I see through death, and it's more frightening than anything you can possibly imagine."

"Worse than chemo?" she said sarcastically.

"No, I didn't mean to compare it in any way to what you went through. I've never experienced chemo and I can't pretend to know the visions in my dreams are worse. I'm sorry if it came across that way. Like I said, these dreams are impossible to put into words. The only thing that resembles anything remotely describable is that when I'm having those dreams, I always have a feeling of some sort of evil presence behind me, showing me things."

"Showing you what?"

"I don't know. It's not something you could picture. I guess it's more like thick dread. A depressing kind of dread and weakness unlike anything in this world."

"That sounds terrible," she said. Then she grabbed his arm, hugged it tight, and leaned her head to his shoulder. She looked up to his face and smiled. "I'll tell you what. I'll die first. When I get there, I'll make sure those dreams don't come back. I'll guide you to the light and make sure those nasty nightmares are gone forever."

Alan smiled, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. She squeezed his arm and snuggled her head back into his shoulder.

*****

The key slipped into the lock. A click sounded as the hand twisted clockwise and the car's trunk began to open. The floor inside was lined with a half dozen partially filled trash bags. Two more bags were tossed in before the trunk closed and Geno moved to open the driver's side door. He entered the cab, started the engine, and slowly drove through the tall grasses in the dark field; the headlights remained off until he reached the road.

### Chapter 29

Whistling to an upbeat tune on his clock radio, Alan laid out his Boogy costume on the bed and returned to the bathroom, where he opened the cabinet below the sink and took out a tray full of clown makeup, and put it on the counter.

The phone rang, interrupting him from beginning his transformation into Boogy.

"Alan! Oh thank God," Dale said.

"Oh, hey, Dale, I'm glad you called because I've got a Boogy gig today, and I was thinking about stopping by after to see the kids."

"Sure, that's fine. I'm working, but I'm sure Cheryl and the kids would love to see you."

"Working? I thought you might be calling to see if I wanted to go to church with you guys again."

"Church? Not me. That would be Cheryl. I'm calling to be sure you're safe."

"Safe from what?"

"You went to the carnival with that Krauss chick last night, right?"

"Yeeessss..."

"And everything was okay, right? I mean, she got home okay? You dropped her off and saw her inside?"

"No, she drove. She dropped me off," he said. "What's this about, Dale? Why are you asking me who drove? My car was in the shop so she offered—"

"No, it's not about that," Dale cut in. "It looks like we might have a serial killer who killed people that were at the carnival last night. That's why I'm calling. I knew you were there last night."

"A serial killer?" Alan said.

"Yes—well, maybe. To be honest..." Dale's voice lowered. "I haven't shared this theory with anyone yet, but last night, a guy jumped off the roof of the Sycamore Building. Then a girl drove off Wilkes Bridge into the river. Her three friends got out, but she didn't make it. Now I'm at the scene where the body of a cab driver was cut up and put into a bunch of bags in her trunk. I just got off the phone with her dispatcher and he said her last fare was at the carnival. All three victims were there last night."

"Are you sure that's not just a coincidence? It sounds like the first was a suicide. The second could have been an accident. The third, well, yeah, she was obviously murdered, but why do you think there's a serial killer?" Alan said.

"Because he left a calling card. They found pieces of a broken figure near the jumper. The same creepy clown figure was in the car beside the girl that drowned. And now I'm holding the same freakishly ugly figure. This one was inside the cab of the poor women cut up in the trunk."

Alan's face went white. "Creepy clown?" he repeated.

"Yes, it has a top hat and a black nose. This thing would give _you_ nightmares, brother."

Alan's heart raced as he started pacing the floor. Peepers was back, and Geno lied to him when he said he destroyed his mold. Now at least three people were dead and he was the only person who knew the identities of the killer and his accomplice.

"Alan, hello, still there?" Dale said.

"I—I did something really bad, Dale."

"What?"

"I sculpted it. I created the mold for those figures."

"Wait, no, what? Are you, no way, are you telling me..." Dale's voice turned to a whisper. "Are you telling me you did this?"

"No, I didn't kill those people but I am responsible for creating the—calling card. I sculpted the figure and made a mold so more could be produced."

"Okay, you're starting to freak me out, Alan. You can't sculpt. Why would you tell me something like this? You're scaring me."

"I know, this doesn't make sense, but you have to trust me because it gets worse. I'll explain later, but right now I need you to trust me and do exactly what I tell you to do. I know who's responsible for the killings."

"Who is it? I'll have the entire force there in five minutes," Dale insisted.

"No, they can't help. This is something I need to do, but I need you to do something else. The figure was supposed to help people with their fears. The problem is that there are more figures, of two other clowns. "

"What do you mean, more figures? Are you saying there's more than one killer?"

"No, I don't think the others are as dangerous, but I'm not positive. They need to be destroyed."

"Other figures? I don't care about the stupid figures. I want to find the killer who's leaving them with his victims. Just tell me who you think this guy is and let the professionals handle it, Alan."

"They aren't people! They're spirits, evil spirits!" Alan stammered.

"Look, Alan, I want to believe you, bro, but do you hear yourself? Do you know what you're asking me? If you know anything, please tell me so we can stop this guy before anyone else gets hurt."

"Cheryl has one of the figures!" Alan said.

"What, is Cheryl in danger? We weren't at the carnival last night. What the hell are you telling me, Alan?"

"I wanted to help her with her fear of crowds so I made a figure for her. I thought these things were harmless, but now I don't know. You have to find the figure and destroy it. Do you know where she is now?"

"Calm down, Alan, she's probably at church with the kids. I'm sure she's fine. It's just a clown figure, right? It can't hurt her."

"Go now!" Alan demanded. "I need you to trust me, Dale. Find and destroy her clown."

"Okay, calm down. If it will make you feel better, I'll do that, but then I need to know who you think is killing these people and leaving these creepy things."

"Fine, I'll tell you everything. When you're finished, meet me outside the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors at the carnival. I need to destroy the mold."

"Is that where the killer is?"

"That's where the evil spirit that killed those people is. If you get there before me, don't go inside. Promise to wait for me. This is something I need to do on my own. I need you to watch for a guy named Geno. He's a short guy who runs the thing. If you see him come out before I get there, grab him. Don't let him go back inside. He knows where the mold is and we can't let him cast more figures. But you have to promise me that you won't go inside. Wait for me."

"Okay, I promise," Dale said. "So, you think this Geno guy is the killer?"

"Dale!" Alan snapped. "Go to Cheryl. Then wait for me at the carnival."

Alan hung up and dialed Mary's cell phone. It went to voice mail. He hung up and dialed the number a second time. Again, it went to her voice mail.

"C'mon, Mary, pick up your phone," he said as he dialed her home phone.

After three rings, Mary answered.

"Oh, good, you're okay," Alan said.

Mary laughed. "Why wouldn't I be?" she said.

"It's just that I tried your cell phone twice and you didn't answer, so I called your home phone."

"Okay, maybe the battery's dead. No, that's right, it's in my purse, in the trunk of my car. But what's with the drama? Why wouldn't I be all right?"

Alan sat on the side of his bed and sighed. "I haven't been completely honest with you about Peepers."

Mary listened as he told her the entire story, including his plans to stop Peepers and the Guild from hurting more people. She just listened and never stopped to ask questions. At the end, he made her promise to stay away from the carnival. She didn't say much but she agreed to stay away, and they hung up.

Alan shook his head. He sensed that she hadn't questioned his fantastic tale because she thought he lost his mind. He knew he lost her as a girlfriend, but her safety was more important than any negative impressions she might have formed about his mental state.

He stood from the bed and walked into the closet. A few seconds later, he returned to the living room with a new figure in his hand. He held the figure out in front of him and said, "I hope I'm right about you."

*****

Walking toward her car, Mary held out the remote and pressed the button. The trunk popped open. She stepped up to the rear of the car and lifted the lid. She grabbed her purse, closed the trunk, and returned inside the house. She placed the purse on the kitchen table, reached inside, and dug around in search of her cell phone. A puzzled look came over her face when she felt a long foreign object. The touch of her fingers couldn't identify the object, so she grasped it and removed it for a visual inspection.

Instantly recognizing the figure, she dropped it on the table and jumped back. The cell phone slipped out as the figure landed on the soft purse unharmed. Both she and the figure remained motionless as her eyes moved between it and her cell phone. She inched closer until she was within reach of her phone. Like a fisherman setting the hook, she snapped up the phone, lurched backward, and rushed toward the front door. The door slammed shut before she got there. She grabbed the knob and pulled with all her might, but it didn't budge. The house began to rumble and she turned to see a life-size Peepers digging through her purse. She flipped open her phone. The display was dark. She pressed the power button, but it didn't light up.

Peepers pulled something from her purse and turned to face her. He held out the battery to her cell phone and smiled. Mary flipped the phone in her hand and looked at the empty battery compartment. Her eyes returned to Peepers while her hands continued to turn and pull the front door.

"Your clown cannot help," Peepers said. Mary dropped her phone.

"My name is Peepers. I represent th—"

"I know who—what you are." Her eyes never left him as she crept sideways until she was blocked into the corner of the foyer. Peepers' focus moved to the knife block on her kitchen counter. He casually stepped up to the counter and removed the widest blade from the set, an eight-inch chef's knife. With his back turned away from Mary, he held the knife above his head and tilted it until he could see her reflection in the adjoining foyer.

"I've seen how you operate in Clown World, and Alan filled me in on the rest. You're here to kill me, like you killed those other people."

Peepers laughed as he faced her. Then he moved through the kitchen to the center of the foyer. "Cancer will kill you. Peepers here to set Mary free."

"Cancer? I already won that battle. I don't need your help."

Peepers stepped closer. His eyes gazed down to her right thigh, just above the knee. He grinned and gently touched the tip of his knife to her shirt over her right breast. The blade sent tingles as it slowly traced a line down her body, stopping when it reached the target of his stare.

"That battle only beginning of war. Cancer return." He looked at the tip of the blade and tilted his head left. Mary followed his eyes to her bare leg below her shorts. Peepers removed the knife. She leaned over and grabbed the skin on her leg. She twisted her foot to see behind the knee. Hidden from view she noticed a raised black mole about the size of a pea.

"No!" she screamed. The house rumbled in response to her anguish. Tears filled her eyes as she looked back at Peepers. "You did this! I was clean a week ago. Why, why would you do this to me?" She moaned and looked back at the suspicious mole.

Peepers stepped closer. She looked into his face and cried, "Why would you do this?"

"Fight cancer again, Mary will lose. Remain weak, and sick, many weeks."

Mary sobbed. With each tear that fell to the floor, the house rumbled.

"Disease and chemicals will feast on flesh. Misery till last gasp of breath squeeze from chest."

Mary's legs shook. Her body collapsed to the floor. "I can't go through it again," she whimpered, wiping her sleeve across her face.

Peepers grinned, then bent down and sat beside her. His head leaned to her ear. "Tears of memories. Dark path to despair beckon Mary's return."

Her forehead pressed into her knees as she hid her face in an upright fetal position with her arms wrapped tight around her legs. "Please leave," she said. "You did what you came here for. You made the cancer return and now I'm going to die. You've done it. You killed me. Now please leave me alone."

The dark spirit's eyes closed. He inhaled deep, basking in the savory flavors of her grief in the way a connoisseur bathed in the complex nuances of a fine wine.

"Fear what will become. Mary doomed to surrender life vision. Death sucks desire and joy from soul."

Mary's arms tightened around her legs as she continued sobbing uncontrollably. Peepers feasted in the second course of her torment. He looked at the knife in his hand and squeezed.

"Peepers set Mary free. Mary's will to live still strong. Accept death by Peepers' hand. Die with strength." Peepers stood and stared down at her. He held the blade out and twisted his wrist, flashing beams of reflected light from the polished steel surface over her tucked head. Her arms loosened and her head began to rise. Her eyes winced but didn't retreat as she met his glare. He lowered the knife and nodded his approval of her decision to accept death by his hand.

"Wise to accept swift death. Fight disease, never real choice," he growled.

She wiped the remaining tears from her face and paused before standing to her feet. Peepers nodded his pleasure.

"Thank you," she said. She smiled and closed her eyes. The muscles in her body relaxed.

Peepers' expression grew dim. "Mary grows weak in mind. Lose will to fight for life."

She opened her eyes. "You don't get it, do you? For a brief moment there, you managed to bring me back to a place I vowed never to return. For a split second I prayed you would end my life while I sat feeling sorry for myself. Then you reminded me of my will to live. My will to live is strong. That's true. I don't want to die. If you killed me when I wished for it, I would have experienced my greatest fear. I would have died as someone I'm not. So thank you for giving me time to escape that darkness."

Peepers grew angry over his failure to recognize the moment of her greatest weakness. "Mary still die at Peepers' hand. Why she stand eyes closed, arms at side?"

Mary smirked. "That's what you want, isn't it? You want me to run in fear from you, don't you? You get off on terrorizing your victims before killing them. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not going to give you that satisfaction."

Peepers snarled in anger. He turned away and stomped across the room in rage. He flung the knife across the floor, where it rested at her feet. "Pick up!" he commanded.

Mary ignored the weapon and mocked him with a fake yawn.

Peepers clenched his teeth and fists and stomped his way back to her. He leaned down and jerked the knife from the floor. He stood above her and snorted hot breath in her face. "Very well, you have nothing more to offer Peepers. Mary dies now. Your clown follows this night."

She snickered as she met his intense stare. "Then my promise to him will be fulfilled. I'll be there to guide him to the light. But your soul will remain eternally damned to hell." She lowered her head as a peaceful, closed-lip smile filled her soul.

"Foolish beliefs," he said as he stepped back. His left hand raised the knife above his head. Mary's eyelids closed as she enjoyed one last blissful breath of a joy-filled life.

Just as Peepers was about to run the blade down to her head, he stammered, "What is this?" He looked up to his hand still holding the weapon above. The knife and half of his arm were fading from the solid form of the rest of his body. Mary opened her eyes. Peepers stepped aside to make sense of his situation. In the kitchen behind him, Mary spotted a ghostly image of a large black woman in servant's clothing standing beside the table. Her left hand was placed on the figure of Peepers. It took on the solid mass lost in Peepers' own hand and arm.

"Lailah!" Mary shouted. Peepers turned to see the spirit interfering with his kill. He turned back to Mary and took the translucent knife into his right hand, where it instantly returned solid. Without haste, he raised the blade. Once again, the knife and his arm faded to a ghostly state.

Lailah now stood with both hands grasping the figure. As the powers contained within the figure drained and weakened Peepers, Lailah's image also transformed. Not only was she gaining mass to match that of Peepers, but Mary also noticed a dramatic change in her physical appearance. Her soft brown skin turned ghastly gray. Her nose swelled and turned coal black. Her hair stood on end, popping out from the sides of her bonnet. Even her clothes changed from plain and drab to a field of dark polka dots. The evil energy which gave Peepers his form was taking hold of Lailah's very soul.

"No, Lailah! You have to stop before it's too late. It's not worth the price," Mary pleaded.

Temporarily abandoning his mission to kill Mary, Peepers' half-solid image rushed toward Lailah. She let go of his figure and snarled back at him as he leapt the last ten feet. With his body aimed directly at her, she made no effort to avoid his tackle. A collision was imminent. His semi-solid, outstretched hands were inches from her throat when Lailah pulled a cast iron skillet from behind her back and gave his face a forceful undercut. Peepers' stunned body fell to the floor. Lailah rushed to Mary's side.

Dazed, Peepers rose to his feet and turned.

"Lailah, why?" Mary said.

Lailah growled, showing her newly acquired pointed teeth. She shook evil thoughts from her head and warned Mary. "Nobody gonna hurt my children. But you must leave, child, before the evil becomes too powerful for Lailah to protect you. Dis boy's evil too powerful for Miss Lailah to overcome." She turned and raised her hand toward the door. It opened. Peepers locked on his target and snorted as his paced quickened. Lailah looked back to Mary. "He comin' for me now. You run while you can, child."

Lailah stepped deeper into the living room, away from Mary's side. Peepers' focus on the pair split and locked on Lailah.

"Peepers feast on your soul," he grunted. Lailah submissively backed into the far corner of the room. He stopped to enjoy his power over her spirit. She leaned to the side and hollered out to Mary, "Run, child!"

Peepers turned to watch Mary run toward the door. He laughed and returned his attention to Lailah. "Cannot escape death. Peepers not confined to this house." His hands returned to solid form, and he reached out to Lailah's neck and squeezed. He lifted her choking body off the floor. She gasped as she tried to free herself by slapping and grabbing his locked hands. A fine mist began to emanate from her mouth. Peepers opened his own mouth and began sucking it toward him. He was attempting to suck her soul. She was too weak to resist the black hole's energy as her essence was being pulled closer to the void.

A loud crash from behind broke Peepers' grip. He dropped Lailah and his body flickered and faded in and out. Before he completely evaporated, he turned to see Mary bent over the kitchen floor, pulverizing his figure with multiple blows from a hammer.

With nothing but dust and small shards remaining, Mary dropped the hammer and ran to Lailah. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Lailah smiled and stood. Her body began to fade. As she faded, color returned to her face. Her nose remained clown-like in size, but now it was bright red. Her clothing also remained clownish in appearance, but the colorless polka dots transformed into every vibrant color of the rainbow. Both watched as she transformed in front of them into a happy clown caretaker. Lailah let out a hardy laugh of approval of her new look. Mary returned a smile.

"He's gone, but it looks like both of us were left with scars from the battle," Mary said.

As Lailah's image continued to deteriorate, she smiled and turned away. Among the field of multicolored polka dots on the back of her dress, Mary noticed a single black dot halfway down Lailah's right leg. Instantly, Mary reached down and looked at the back of her own leg. The mole was gone. She looked up, and Lailah was also gone.

### Chapter 30

Dale stepped through the open door to a room at the back of the church. Father Harris was leading prayers at the altar. Dale spotted Cheryl and the kids sitting in the center of a pew in the middle of the church, with people blocking them on both sides. Aside from the curious choice in location, she looked fine. She was safe, and she didn't appear to be agitated or anxious to leave.

He slipped outside and dialed his cell phone.

"Alan, I'm outside the church. I just looked in and Cheryl's fine. I think your imagination is getting the best of you, brother. There's nothing wrong."

"She's in the church?" Alan asked.

"Yes, it's Sunday. She always goes to church on Sunday."

"I know what day it is. Does she have her purse with her? It might be in her purse," Alan said.

"No, I doubt it. She doesn't like to bring it in with her because of all the sitting, standing, and kneeling BS. She doesn't want to keep looking over her shoulder because it would look like she doesn't trust people. That's true, but she doesn't want to send that message in church," Dale replied. "But wait, what's it matter? She's fine. Everyone is fine. I'm more concerned about you right now. I know that you think there's some sort of paranormal thing going on here, but _you_ need to listen to me now. I'm going to call for backup to meet me at the carnival so we can pick up that Geno guy."

"You can't do that!" Alan yelled. "Look, just do one thing before you make that call. Check her purse in the car and see if it's there. If it's not there, well, maybe you're right. Maybe I am losing my mind. But if it is there, destroy it. Don't leave it. Destroy it and wait for me at the carnival. I have to take care of a couple more figures, but I'll be there as soon as possible. Just wait for me."

Dale started walking through the parking lot, searching for Cheryl's car. "Fine, Alan. But if it's not there, I'm calling for help and we won't wait for you."

"And if it is there?" Alan asked.

"Well, if it is there, I'll destroy it as you asked."

"And no call for help?" Alan said.

"Fine, I won't call for help. How would I even begin to explain any of this? They would think I was as crazy as I'm thinking you are. Just get there quick because if they call me out somewhere else, I'll have to go."

Dale hung up and stepped up to the passenger door of Cheryl's car. Through the window he saw her purse half tucked under the passenger seat. Sticking out from the opening was the top portion of the Agor figure with his head tilted, appearing to be looking back at Dale with a sinister grin. Stunned at the sight, Dale jumped back before returning and yanking on the door handle. The door was locked and he didn't have the spare key with him. The car was parked along the edge of the lot where a line of mature trees shaded the first few rows of parked cars. Roots from the nearest tree raised broken chunks of concrete. Dale picked up a softball size piece of rubble and stood beside the passenger door.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he whispered before pitching the rock into the window of his wife's car. The window repelled the blow, bouncing the jagged stone into his groin before dropping on his foot and tumbling under the car.

"Son of a bitch!" he said, hunched over with both hands clutching his crotch as he hopped around in a small circle on one foot before resting against the car. He looked around to be sure nobody witnessed his embarrassment. His attention returned to the window, where he noticed a small blemish where the rock struck. As he rubbed his finger over the spot, his focus shifted to movement inside the vehicle. The purse was opened and something moved on the floor in front of it. It was the figure of Agor. He was rolling on the floor laughing, with one hand on his stomach and the other pointing directly at Dale.

"What the fuck?" Dale said as he stood locked in a frozen stare at the sight before him. "Alan was right."

The Agor figure leapt up to the passenger seat and continued to mock Dale by sticking his thumbs in his ears, wiggling his fingers, and making raspberry sounds with his protruded tongue.

Dale snapped out of his trance and reached for the rock under the car. He stood and took aim again as Agor mimicked his movement from the other side of the glass. With all of his might, Dale flung it and jumped to the side to avoid further injury. Again the stone bounced away, leaving barely a mark on the window. Inside, Agor's laughter subsided. He leaned up to the glass, wagging his finger.

"Cheryl will pay the price for your aggression," he called out through the glass.

Dale didn't understand his threat. Then, from over his right shoulder, the words came again. "Cheryl will pay the price."

Dale spun around to see a life-sized replica of the creepy clown figure wagging his finger and smiling. Dale backed against the car. The clown lowered his hand and began walking away toward the church. Before Dale could move to stop him, three more Agors appeared, all different sizes and shapes. They, too, fell into formation and sauntered toward the church.

"What's going on? Where the hell did they come from?" Dale stammered. More figures began appearing, popping up around the car, one after another. Within seconds, an army of short, tall, fat, thin, and everything in between Agors were headed for the church. He didn't understand why they didn't come after him, but he knew Cheryl was in danger if he didn't stop them.

Dale ignored the figures continuing to appear all around him. He glared back at the small figure inside the car. Agor's arms were crossed over his chest as he shot Dale a smug look. Dale glanced back at the lead character in the procession heading toward the church. A multitude of colorful duplicates closed in on him as he stepped closer to the door with his hand reaching for the handle.

"It's too late now. Cheryl will pay for your aggression toward Agor and the Guild of Fallen Clowns," Agor said from inside the car. The clown's hand grasped the handle and pulled. Dale's right hand went to his hip. He pulled out his pistol and took aim at the window. Agor gulped and his face turned sour. Without hesitation, Dale fired off a round. The bullet smashed through the glass and shattered the figure inside, peppering the interior with fragments of Agor. Dale looked back to the church. The mob had vanished; the only movement was the front door swinging closed.

Returning to his squad car, Dale noticed a crowd forming outside the church, looking for the source of the loud gunshot. He had to pass on his way to the exit. As he drove by, Cheryl and the kids ran down the steps toward him. She held the kids back and waved him down. He stopped the car and lowered the passenger window for her to lean in.

"What was that noise? Was it you? Are you okay?" she said.

"Calm down. Everything is okay. I found out about that thing that's been haunting you. It's okay now. You're safe. I took care of it."

Cheryl looked behind her to be sure nobody was nearby. Then she leaned through the open window and whispered, "How did you know? It said it would hurt the kids if I told anyone or tried to destroy it. Are you sure we're safe now?"

Dale smiled. "Yes, it can't hurt anyone. You're safe."

"Dale?" Father Harris said as he approached from behind Cheryl.

"Oh crap, Cheryl. I can't stick around. Tell Father Harris everything is okay. Oh, and you might want to park the car in the garage. You'll understand why in a minute." He shooed her with his hand. "Now back up, I gotta go." He pressed on the gas and waved to the priest as he drove off.

*****

Alan switched off the hair dryer and lowered it to his kitchen table. Held in his other hand was his latest figure, still tacky from a rushed paint job. Examining his work, he sighed and looked at its face. "I hope I'm right about this." He paused, then nodded and bent over, tucking the figure in a gym bag on the floor beside him.

He stood from the table and paced the room, the whole time second-guessing his decision to create another figure. _What will happen if I'm wrong? Will more people get hurt? I can't take that chance. But what will happen if I don't use him? Will I be strong enough to do this on my own?_ he thought.

Then he stopped pacing and stared at the bag. "Stop it, Alan!" he said with gritted teeth. "Your gut took you this far. Don't overthink this. Trust your instinct and go for it." With that, he confidently walked across the room and snatched up the bag. He opened his front door and marched across the hall to Lyle's apartment where he stood, shoulders back, and pounded out three assertive knocks.

Deep base sounds of stomping feet announced Lyle's approach. Alan centered his face to the peephole, his chin lifted and his fingers and hands flexed tighter over the bag's strap handles. The pounding stopped. The pinhole of light eclipsed as Lyle peered through to see Alan standing outside. Light returned. The door handle rattled. Lyle fiddled with the lock and the door swung open.

"Hey, Alan, c'mon in," he said. Alan stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "What's up?" Lyle said. "Is it your car? Is there a problem with the glass?"

Alan put his hand up. "No, it's not that. I'm sure the car is fine."

"Did you notice what I did?" Lyle said. Alan looked puzzled by the question. "I fixed your door lock for you. Your remote works on all the doors again."

"Oh...thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"It was nothing. I already had the panel off to replace the glass. It was a two-second fix."

"Great, thanks."

Lyle smiled. "Oh, you want a beer?" he said. He didn't wait for a reply and headed toward the kitchen. "I know it's a little early, but what the hell? It's my day off," Lyle continued.

"No. Thanks, but not now. I'd love to have some beers with you another time, but that's not why I'm here."

Lyle stopped and turned to face Alan. "Okay, sure, another time for the beer. So, uh, then why are you here?" Lyle asked nervously.

Alan's head rotated, scanning the apartment.

"What?" Lyle said. "What are you looking for?"

Alan's gaze stopped and locked. Pressed in the corner of the couch, he saw it. Spanky's figure appeared to observe his creator's curiosity.

"That!" Alan replied. He walked toward it as Lyle protested. "No, Alan, please don't make him mad."

It was too late. Alan grabbed the figure and raised it over his head.

"Do it and your friend dies." Alan looked for the source of the threat. Standing behind Lyle, Spanky stood on one foot, his giant hands loose around Lyle's neck.

"Please, Alan," Lyle pleaded. "He'll do it. He'll kill me if you don't put it down and leave."

With Spanky's figure still held over his head, Alan met Spanky's glare as he leaned down and felt around for the opening of his bag.

"What are you doing? Don't test me, I will kill him," Spanky said. His grip on Lyle's neck tightened.

Alan's fingers found the figure inside the bag. He grabbed it and stood. Spanky watched as Alan held it out in front of him.

"Is that what I think it is?" Spanky laughed. "Poppy? You really think that loser can protect you from me?" He took his hands off Lyle's neck and replaced them with his arm. Lyle's face turned red from the pressure.

"What are you doing?" Lyle squeaked. "Don't you think one is enough?"

Alan smiled and tossed the figure through the air. "Catch it, Lyle!" he yelled.

Lyle instinctively reached out and caught the figure. Realizing what he did, he flung it to the floor.

"Ha! What else you got?" Spanky jeered.

"Just put it down and go away, Alan. Please," Lyle whimpered.

Spanky continued laughing and Alan began lowering his figure to the couch beside him.

"Okay, don't hurt him," Alan said.

A tapping on Spanky's shoulder silenced his amusement. He turned, releasing his hold on Lyle. Lyle fell to the floor and scurried beside Alan. They both watched as Spanky stepped to the side, revealing another person in the room.

"Dad!" Lyle shouted. The burly man grinned at Lyle and replied, "Stinky."

Although the situation was still extremely dangerous and volatile, Alan couldn't help himself. He snorted and repeated the nickname Lyle's father had for him. "Stinky? That's rich."

Lyle glanced up at Alan and blushed. "I was a kid." His attention turned back to his father. "But this is impossible. You're dead!"

The image of Lyle's father shrugged his shoulders. Then he looked directly into Spanky's eyes and said, "Nobody screws with my kid." He moved to block Spanky from his son and held out his fists as a warning.

Spanky was a great deal larger than Lyle's scruffy father. He took one hop closer and challenged him to give him his best shot. While the two spirits took their positions, Alan managed to avoid detection by retrieving Spanky's figure. He held it behind his back and waited for an opportunity to destroy it without Spanky's interference.

"Get him, Dad!" Lyle cheered.

Spanky looked back at Lyle. "Don't think for a second that you are safe. One swipe of my hand will send your puny daddy back to the grave. You are about to pay for that comment."

"What did I tell you about messing with my kid?" Lyle's father shouted. He pulled his leg back and kicked Spanky's knee. Spanky folded to the floor. Lyle's father pounced on top of him and pounded with all his might. Spanky grabbed his arms and Lyle's father leaned his face down to Spanky's chest and bit him. Spanky screamed in pain.

With Lyle's father unleashing a lifetime of dirty fighting knowledge, Alan raised the small figure over his head. Spanky looked up in horror as Alan railed it down to the stone-top coffee table. The figure shattered and both Spanky and Lyle's father vanished.

Lyle looked up at Alan in amazement. "Who are you?" he said.

Alan grinned and retrieved Lyle's Poppy figure from the floor. "It wasn't really him," he said. Lyle's confused expression asked Alan to elaborate. "Your father. It couldn't really be him. I think Poppy has the ability to show him the way you remember him."

"But I saw him. He called me Stinky. Why would I want to remember that?" Lyle said.

"Look, Stinky." Alan grinned. "You can't choose what to remember, but somewhere deep inside you embrace your father's nickname for you. You unconsciously reflected it through Poppy. But it wasn't really him, okay?"

"Okay, it wasn't my father." Lyle looked at the figure in Alan's hand. "Can I have it back?"

"No! These things aren't meant to exist. We needed its help, but now we have to destroy it." Alan raised it over the stone table.

"Wait!" Lyle cried out. "Are there more of those Spankys out there?"

Alan lowered the figure. "Well, yes, there's one more I need to destroy."

"Let me help. Let me and my dad, or my fake dad, help take out the other one. You saw how tough my dad was. Let us help again."

"I don't think so, Lyle. It's too dangerous and I already caused enough trouble for you. Besides, your Spanky only had one leg. We might not be so lucky with the next one."

"Listen, Booger!" Lyle said. He smiled and continued, "I'm going to help and that's that."

Alan nodded with a smile. "Okay, if I let you help, you have to agree to do it my way. Are you good with that?"

Lyle jumped to his feet. "Whatever you say. You're the boss, dude. Let me go with you and I'll even agree to be your sidekick if that's what you want." Pumped full of adrenaline, he stood in front of Alan and slapped both hands down on his shoulders. "Now, let's kick some clown ass, Boogeyman!"

Alan rolled his shoulders and winced from Lyle's overly eager contact. "Boogy!" he corrected. Then Alan turned and rushed toward the door. "Meet me at my car in...three minutes." The door slammed behind him.

Lyle jumped up and pumped his fists. He looked down at the shattered remains of Spanky scattered around the room. The head from the figure remained intact in the center of the room, facing him. Lyle grinned, placed his foot on top of the small face, and ground it into the carpet as he would with the last bit of fire from the butt of a discarded cigarette.

*****

Walking into the carnival in full cop attire would draw unwanted attention to his covert mission to wait for his brother outside the Labyrinth of Haunted Mirrors. Standing at the open trunk of his police cruiser, Dale removed the gun from his holster and tucked it in the back of his pants. Then he removed the holster and placed it in the trunk. From inside a canvas bag he removed a red windbreaker and covered the top half of his uniform.

To complete the disguise, he removed his black shoes and replaced them with a pair of sneakers. The black satin stripes on his black pants were the only thing he wasn't able to hide, but it would have to do. He closed the trunk and zipped up his jacket on the way to the entrance.

His cover-up appeared to be a success, as nobody took a second look on his way to the Labyrinth. He stood across the midway, tucked from view at the narrow opening between a funnel cake concession stand and the ring toss booth.

After five minutes of waiting, he saw the door to the Labyrinth open. Geno stepped out carrying a half-full trash bag. He looked around and then leaned the bag against the building to the side of the door before returning inside. The door remained open.

It happened too fast for Dale to get close enough to apprehend Geno. He needed to get closer in case Geno were to step outside a second time. As he crossed the midway, he kept looking at the familiar black trash bag. It resembled the bags filled with body parts in the trunk of the cab a few hours earlier.

He waited another five minutes to see if Geno would shut the door or drop another potential body parts bag out front in plain view of him and dozens of clueless carnival guests. Then his curiosity got the best of him and he couldn't wait any longer. He needed to know what was in the bag. With few bystanders mulling around, Dale slipped through a gap between the iron gates. He approached the bag and stepped to the far side of it from the door. Looking back at the self-involved guests passing by, he leaned over and lifted the bag. It wasn't as heavy as the earlier discovered bags that were filled with body parts, an obvious indication that it didn't contain the severed head, torso, or thigh of another unfortunate victim.

The opening of the bag was closed with a loose knot. He had come this far, and with piqued curiosity, he needed to investigate further to be sure it didn't contain less hefty human remains, or other evidence of Geno's suspected butchery. He knelt on one knee and untied the bag. Upon opening it, he discovered common everyday garbage inside. There were mounds of fast food containers, a few blown light bulbs, some broken glass, and an empty wine bottle—nothing unusual or indicative of a crime scene.

He retied the bag, stood, and looked at his watch. "Come on, Alan," he said under his breath. After a long pause, he glanced over to the open door. His right hand moved behind his back and he crept closer. When he reached the entrance, he looked back for his brother, who still hadn't arrived.

"I said I would wait for you, brother. But I didn't say for how long," he mumbled. He turned back. With his hand now gripping his pistol still wedged in the back of his pants, he cautiously passed through the opening

### Chapter 31

Alan fought to hold back his laughter as Lyle struggled in the passenger seat to suit up in the frilled one-piece clown costume. He succeeded in pulling the mixed striped and polka dot material to waist level. The humiliation continued as he slipped his arms through the sleeves and held out his arms to view the white ruffles around his wrists before wrapping the matching frilly section around his neck.

"How does this thing stay on?" he said.

"Lean forward," Alan said. Lyle complied and Alan reached behind him and zipped it up.

Lyle leaned back in disgust. "Fuck, you just zipped me up. I'm wearing a fucking dress and now I have to pick out a wig."

Lyle's comment was too much for Alan. A short burst of laughter escaped. His hand rushed to his mouth in an attempt to hold the remaining display of humor inside.

Lyle glared at him. "You know, this wasn't what I had in mind when I said I'd be your sidekick. I'm starting to think you're making me do this as some sort of payback for what I've done to you over the years."

Alan lowered his hand, exposing a wide grin that almost turned his sad clown face into that of a happy clown. "You insisted I let you help. And you agreed to do it my way. We're going to a little boy's party Lyle. I'm the entertainment. If you weren't dressed as a clown, it would look like I brought a friend to tag along. As a clown, you'll be part of the act."

Lyle fished out a bright yellow wig from the suitcase in the back seat and pulled it over his head. He flipped down the visor and used the mirror to adjust its position.

"Part of the act?" he asked. "I don't know anything about being a clown. It's bad enough I gotta put this shit on, now you want me to act like a clown with tricks and shit?"

"Relax. If everything goes as planned, we won't be sticking around for the party."

"Whew, that's a relief," Lyle said. "Wait, if we aren't staying for the party, why you making me dress up? You don't need me to look like this, do you? This _is_ payback isn't it?" Lyle yanked off the wig.

"No! Put the wig back on and try to do something with the makeup. We need to get into the party without raising any attention—"

"By dressing as clowns?" Lyle questioned.

"Yes, they expect me to be there. We need to find Dave so he can tell us where his Spanky figure is." Alan glanced over at a confused Lyle seated next to him. "Look, if you don't want to help, fine. Wait for me in the car and I'll drop you home on my way to the carnival."

Lyle returned the wig to his head. "No, I'm going with you. I just wish you were a magician or a hypnotist instead of a clown."

"Just be glad you didn't have to wear the tights," Alan said.

"Yeah, I saw those in the suitcase. What's up with that?"

"You really don't want to know, and I don't want to explain it. The makeup is in the box inside the suitcase. I wish I could help you with it, but we don't have time to stop." Alan picked up his cell phone and dialed Dale's number. The phone rang once. "Come on Dale, pick up," he mumbled. After three more rings, it went to his voice mail. He hung up and dialed the number again. Two rings. "Answer the phone, Dale," he commanded. Again, the phone went to Dale's voice mail.

"Dale, it's Alan. I'm running late. There were a few things I needed to take care of first, but I should be there in about a half hour...I wish you would answer your phone because I need to talk to you. I want to be sure you were able to take care of Cheryl's thing. If so, I hope you didn't decide to go inside the Labyrinth before I get there. You don't know what you're dealing with. You have to listen to me and trust me on this one. It's too dangerous to do on your own. You better not have gone in without me already. Just...just wait for me. I won't be much longer. And if I don't make it, call for help. Don't go in alone."

He ended the call and looked at Lyle, who was blindly applying colored makeup to his face. Lyle turned to face him. He had thick streaks of blue above his eyes, into his eyebrows, and bright red an inch out from his lips.

"What did you mean when you said _if you don't make it_? I thought you had a plan."

"Yes, I have a plan, but I don't know if it will work. This is all new to me, Lyle. I really don't know what I'm doing. I'm winging it...sort of like you with that makeup."

Lyle looked back in the mirror. "What? Tell me what I should be doing."

"First of all, think of a clown. You're not trying to look like a sixty-year-old hooker. You don't want to scare the kids."

Lyle's impatience flared. "Well, I'm sorry! But I've never done this before and you aren't being very helpful."

"Okay, calm down," Alan said. He studied the botched job for a few seconds. "Honestly, Lyle, I don't think there's any way to fix it in the time we have. Why don't you smear the white on your hands and just wipe it over your whole face. It won't be pretty, but hopefully you won't look so scary."

Lyle did as requested, rubbing the white over his entire face. Blues and reds smeared into the white and his face ended up looking like a tie-dyed American flag.

Alan parked the car in front of Dave and Paula's house and examined Lyle one more time.

"Looks a little better," he said unconvincingly. Then his phone rang. "Dale," Alan cried as he reached for the phone. Before answering he told Lyle to switch to the blue wig.

"Dale!" Alan yelled into the phone.

"Sorry, Alan, it's me, Joe."

"Oh, Joe, I can't stay on the line because I'm waiting for a call from Dale."

"Whoa, is everything okay? You sound bothered by something."

"Yeah, uh, no. I mean, I don't know. I think Dale might be in trouble. I'm not sure, but I left him a message to call me and I don't want to miss his call."

"Okay, calm down, buddy. You have call waiting so you won't miss his call. I called to see if you could come to work tonight, but forget about that. What's going on with Dale?"

"Uh, it's complicated, Joe. I don't want to be rude, but I have to do something right now so I can get to the carnival before Dale goes into the Labyrinth. He could be in a lot of trouble and I don't have time to explain it now. I'll call you later."

Alan hung up and looked at Lyle with the blue wig. He reached to the back seat and handed him a small red hat with an elastic chin string and told him to put it on. Then he pulled a second Poppy figure from a bag and waited for Lyle to fluff the wig around the string.

Lyle looked at the figure in Alan's hand. "You have one too?" he asked.

"No, well, not yet. I don't know how these things work, but this isn't doing anything for me. I think it's because they don't work if you give them to yourself. I think someone else has to designate who it goes to in order for it to work."

"You think? So when you gave mine to me, you didn't know it would work?" Lyle asked.

"Lyle, I didn't even know these things came to life until I saw your Spanky. I told you, I'm winging it."

"So you want me to give it to you? Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

"Yes, here, I'll put it on the floor in front of you. You pick it up and give it to me. It's a complete shot in the dark, but it's all we have," Alan said. "Oh, and to answer your other question, there is one other thing."

"Go on," Lyle said.

"The thing is, even if mine does work and we have two against one, I don't know if they can do anything to Spanky."

"What?" Lyle asked. "Are you serious?"

"Your Poppy helped you against your Spanky. I don't know if _our_ Poppys can help to destroy Dave's Spanky."

"Then why don't you give yours to Dave instead of having me give it to you?"

"Because Spanky is on to us. He wouldn't let it get anywhere near Dave. And when he sees us, we won't get close either."

"Are you sure about this?" Lyle said.

"Absolutely...not. I'm not sure of anything. It's all a gut feeling, but it feels right."

Lyle sighed and picked the Poppy figure off the floor. With both hands, he held it over Alan's head and said, "I hereby knight thee." Alan reached up and grabbed the figure from him. Lyle smiled and secured the final touch of his clown costume, the round red ball nose. With both hands open he slapped the dashboard. "Let's do this, Boogy," he ordered.

*****

Inside the pizza shop, Joe removed his apron and headed toward the door. Jamie stopped in the middle of folding a box to watch. Without looking back, Joe said, "If I'm not back in an hour, close up." Jamie didn't have time to ask any questions before the door closed behind Joe.

*****

The party was already in full gear in the back yard. As Alan and Lyle walked to the side of the house, Alan instructed Lyle to hide his Poppy in the large pocket on his costume. He did the same with his Poppy. As they neared the back of the house, Paula rounded the corner and collided with Alan. The sight of two clowns resulted in a sudden shriek.

"Oh my god, Alan, you scared me to death," Paula said.

"I'm sorry, Paula. We should have taken a wider path."

"No, it's okay. I just need to catch my breath. It just caught me by surprise." Paula looked at the second clown.

"Um, I didn't know you would be working with someone else today," she said.

Alan glanced at Lyle and back to Paula. "Oh, right, this is my sidekick, Stinky. He's in training."

"Oh, Stinky? Well, welcome. The party just got started. Do whatever you need to do to get set up. I'll be right back. Dave is getting sodas from the garage and I need to tell him to get another bag of ice." Paula continued walking.

"Paula, hold on," Alan said. She stopped and he walked up to her. Lyle remained at the corner, fixated on the horde of kids running around the back yard while their parents appeared oblivious, grouped together on the deck catching up with the latest happenings.

Before Alan could say anything, Paula leaned in and whispered, "Are you sure about your friend, Stinky, there?" Her eyebrow raised and she tilted her head in Lyle's direction. "I know you said he's in training, but I'm a little concerned that his face will scare some of the children. He looks like Tammy Faye Baker in the middle of removing her makeup."

Alan smiled. "That's a good one. Yes, he'll be fine. If anyone is uncomfortable, I'll send him to the car," he said. "Hey, um, why don't you let us tell Dave about the soda's and ice? I wanted to see him anyway to see if he can help us, uh, set up some things for the act."

"Oh, sure. Like I said, he should be in the garage. If not, I'll send him back up." Paula headed back to rejoin her guests in the back yard.

Alan motioned for Lyle to follow him. When they got to the garage, Dave was frantically sopping up orange soda from the floor with mounds of paper towels.

"Hey, Dave," Alan said.

Dave looked up at them. "Oh, Alan, how's it going, buddy? Whose your friend?"

Lyle stepped in front of Alan and held out his hand. "I'm Lyle," he said as Dave shook his hand. Lyle pulled away and gripped his hand a few times before wiping it on his costume.

Dave noticed. "I'm sorry, Lyle," Dave said. "I'm all sticky from the mess here. I tried taking too many at once, and one got away. Let me get you a wet paper towel from the kitchen. I'll be right back."

He started for the door when Alan said, "Paula wanted me to tell you she needs another bag of ice."

Dave stopped and looked back at them. "You guys might as well come inside then. The freezer is in the basement. We'll wash up down there and you guys can help me take the ice and sodas out back." Dave turned and walked inside. Alan and Lyle looked at each other, shrugged, and rushed to catch up.

Dave was halfway down the steps as Alan and Lyle entered the kitchen. Alan's head pivoted like a bobble head as he took the short opportunity to look for the figure of Spanky. Lyle stood at the top of the steps and looked back at Alan veering off track into the foyer.

"Where are you going?" Lyle whispered. "He went down here." He pointed down the flight of stairs to the basement.

Alan stepped back in the kitchen and moved toward Lyle. "I was looking for it. It's got to be here somewhere."

From the basement, they heard the sound of a faucet releasing water into the utility sink. "Did I lose you guys? I'm down here," Dave called out.

Lyle led the way to the basement. Dave left the water running as he dried his hands with a rag. Lyle stepped up and rinsed the sticky beverage from his hand.

Alan scanned a wall of shelves in the unfinished space for any signs of Spanky. The shelves were packed with typical storage items, but if Spanky was amongst the clutter, he wasn't in plain view. Dave tossed Lyle the used rag. Alan knew he couldn't waste any more time searching on his own. He had to ask Dave where he kept it.

"Let's get that ice." Dave said. He moved across the room to the freezer. As he opened the door, he heard Spanky's voice behind him.

"I've been expecting you," Spanky said, facing Alan and Lyle with his back to Dave. Dave slammed the freezer door and backed against the wall beside it.

"I didn't do anything. I was nice to them." Dave's eyes were wide.

Lyle pulled his Poppy figure from his pocket and held it facing Spanky. Instantly, his father appeared, tucked in a boxing stance with his fists protecting his face.

"Who's that?" Dave cried out. "Oh my god, it's another one." Dave's body pressed against the freezer, causing it to screech as it slid into the side wall.

Spanky looked back at Dave and chuckled. He turned back to size up Lyle's father and grinned. "He fights dirty. I wasn't expecting that before. He got lucky, but he won't be so lucky this time because I'm ready for him. First I'll destroy Poppy. Then I'll kill you, Dave."

"No!" Dave shouted. "I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't tell them about you. Please don't kill me. I have a family."

"Not so fast, Spanky," Alan said. Spanky looked to Lyle's left to see Alan holding out another Poppy figure. Alan grew nervous, as the figure didn't generate his own life-size father. He gave the figure a few shakes to no avail.

Spanky clapped his hands in glee at seeing Alan grow more uncomfortable with his predicament. "Assuming you were able to figure out the secret to unleashing the power of spirits, your father along with your friend's father would be no match for me. Look at you. Your father couldn't have been much bigger or stronger than...you," Spanky sneered.

Just as Alan began to lower his Poppy figure, a ghostly vision began to solidify in front of him. A very large man in a suit tipped his head to avoid hitting the ceiling. The corners of Spanky's lips sank as his smile was replaced with a concerned frown.

A newfound confidence rushed through Alan. He stared Spanky down and said, "I was eight when he died. This is exactly how I remember him." The bigger than life memory of his father turned and winked at Alan. Alan smiled back and wiped away a tear before it rolled down his cheek.

Spanky, abandoning his original plan to take pleasure in destroying Lyle's Poppy, went to plan B. He turned toward Dave, but something yanked at his waist, slowing him down. Lyle's Poppy grabbed the loose ends of Spanky's rope belt and dug his feet into the floor. This stalled him long enough for Alan's Poppy to put Spanky into a headlock. Lyle's Poppy went low. He wrapped his arms around Spanky's legs and pulled them together, preventing him from kicking or dragging Alan's Poppy with him toward Dave.

"Where's the figure?" Alan yelled out to Dave.

Dave was too afraid to answer.

"Dave! Where's the Spanky statue? They can't hold him much longer. Where is it?"

Again, Dave didn't have the courage to call out its location. However, this time, he unconsciously turned and glanced at the open crawlspace beside Alan before lowering his head.

Alan looked at the dark crawlspace. Then he looked back at Dave. "Up there? Is it in the crawlspace?" He moved toward it.

Dave looked up. "No! You don't understand, he's going to kill me!"

Alan stepped on a wooden chest and reached in. "Please don't!" Dave pleaded. Alan pulled the figure from the darkness and held it out as he jumped off the chest.

"Can I do it?" Lyle said.

Alan paused to consider his friend's request.

"C'mon, Alan, let me do it. After everything he did to me, I deserve a chance to get even."

Alan looked back at Lyle's pleading expression and said, "I'm sorry, Lyle." He raised the figure above him and flung it to the concrete floor. Dust and small fragments went flying. Spanky vaporized from the Poppys' grip. Seconds later both Poppys disappeared from sight.

Lyle looked dejected and upset.

"I understand how you must feel, Lyle, but I couldn't allow you to do it. This isn't about getting even. That's what got us in the mess in the first place. We're simply cleaning up my mess. If we let ourselves take joy in it, we aren't much better than them."

Lyle frowned and slumped his shoulders. "Okay, Boogy. You're probably right." Seeing a larger shard on the floor in front of him, he placed his foot over it and ground it to dust.

Alan turned his attention to Dave, still huddled in the corner against the freezer. Dave scanned the room, then looked back at Alan. "What the hell just happened?"

Alan smiled. "You're free of him now. He can't hurt you, and he won't be back."

"Thanks, but...how did you know?"

Alan's mouth opened halfway but the words didn't come out. He wasn't trying to avoid answering Dave's question. His pause was the result of a deep sense of guilt and responsibility. This would be a heavy admission for him, which required a careful choice of words.

"Because he made Spanky and gave it to you," Lyle answered without looking. His attention remained locked on the task of locating and crushing as many pieces of the broken figure as he could find.

Dave's expression was a mix of anger and confusion. "Is that right?" he said, looking at Alan.

"Uh, yes, it's true Dave, but I didn't know"

"Wait, this is crazy," Dave interrupted. "That's not possible. You expect me to believe you made those clown statues, and that you have the power to bring them to life? Do you think I'm stupid or something?" He stepped away from the wall toward Alan. "Are you trying to make me look like a fool, Alan?" As he spoke he poked his finger into Alan's chest.

Before Alan could respond, his Poppy reappeared behind Dave. Alan's eyes looked up and Dave turned his head to see what took his attention from him. Poppy stared down at Dave. Dave's face turned white.

"No, Poppy!" Alan said. "I don't need your help." Poppy nodded before vanishing.

Dave turned back to face Alan.

*****

Paula was walking through the garage door when she heard the sound of Dave blowing his nose in the basement. She walked toward the top of the steps and prepared to call down to see if everything was okay when she heard Dave begin to speak. She held her words and leaned in to listen.

*****

"It's true, isn't it? Somehow you did do this."

"Yes, it's true. Don't ask me how because I don't know. And I don't have time to discuss it either. I'm really sorry."

Dave's anger returned. He pressed his chest into Alan's and got in his face. "Oh, you're sorry?"

"Yes, Dave, I'm sorry. And right now, I have to leave. I'm sorry I can't stay and do the party, but I think my brother is in trouble and he needs my help."

"Our help," Lyle added.

Alan tried to ease himself away from Dave, but Dave closed the gap. After checking over his shoulder, he glared back at Alan. "You think I don't know what's going on, do you?" Dave said.

"What? Look, I really have to leave now, so could you please step aside?"

"It's Paula, isn't it?" Dave said. The question puzzled Alan.

"You've always had a crush on her, and you thought you could use yourmagic to steal her from me. That's it, isn't it?" Dave stepped back. His allegation caught Alan by surprise.

"No Dave, that's not" Dave's fist thrust into Alan's stomach. Alan folded over as Dave held his fists up for more. Lyle stopped crushing wayward shards of Spanky and rushed to Alan's aid. Alan held him off with his hand held out.

Alan gripped his stomach as he returned upright. Dave stood in front of him, his fists bobbing as he searched for another opportunity to strike.

"Put your hands down!" Alan commanded.

Dave took a step back, but his hands remained poised to jab.

"Dave, I really don't have time for this. We're not in high school anymore. You're way off base and my brother needs my help. So get the hell out of my way or—"

"Or what?" Dave said. "Or you'll have your friend fight your battles for you?"

Alan stuffed his Poppy figure back in his pocket. "I don't need anyone's help because there's not going to be a fight." With Lyle standing at his side, Alan stared hard at Dave, exuding confidence as he waited for Dave to make a move.

Alan's strength sucked away Dave's aggression. He lowered his hands.

"Fine. Promise me it's not about Paula and I'll get out of your way."

Lyle chuckled and leaned over to whisper in Alan's ear. "He's scared of you, Boogy. I know his type. Look at him. He's scared. You don't have to say anything to this jerk. Just walk around him. He won't try anything." Lyle pulled away and leaned to move past Dave when Alan stopped him with a raised hand to his chest.

"Dave, you're right about one thing. I always did have a crush on Paula. Who didn't? She's one of the nicest people I've ever known. But this wasn't about her. It wasn't even about me. I was hoping you might start looking at things differently. You always look for someone else to blame for your own mistakes. Unfortunately, you don't stop there. After you blame others, you feel the need to punish them—physically. I couldn't let that happen."

"Are you talking about that warning I gave you?" Dave asked. His face turned red and he raised his hand and air jabbed his index finger toward Alan. "Because if it is, I stand by what I said. My family is everything to me, and I won't stand by while you or anyone else tries to take it from me. That wasn't a threat. It was a promise."

Alan shook his head and sighed. "You didn't hear anything I said. Look, I asked you nicely to get out of my way. I'm not interested in fighting you, and I'm not interested in doing anything to hurt your marriage. But my brother could be in trouble and I've already wasted too much time on you. You can either step aside and let me pass, or stay where you are and find out how far I'm willing to go to protect _my_ family."

Dave raised both hands in front of his chest and stepped to the side. "Hey, man, you understand where I'm coming from. Family is important. I'm not stopping you."

*****

Sensing they might catch her eavesdropping, Paula quietly slipped out to the garage.

*****

As Alan started up the stairs, Dave called out, "What will I tell Paula? She was looking forward to having a clown for the party."

Lyle tugged on Alan's costume to get his attention. Alan turned back to see Lyle grinning back at him.

"What about the tights?" Lyle said.

"No way, he'd never do that," Alan whispered.

"Do what?" Dave asked from a few steps behind.

*****

Standing at the open back door of his car, Alan added the final touch of makeup to Dave's face.

"This will have to do. Are you sure you want to do this, Dave?" Alan said.

Dave stepped back and looked down at his costume.

"I'm sorry, but the tights were all I had," Alan said as Dave pulled at them in the upper thigh.

"It's okay, but..." Dave replied. He tugged harder at the material covering his crotch.

"What's wrong? Too tight?" Alan said.

"No, it's not that." He pulled and examined himself. "They just make me look small. My dick isn't this small."

"Must be the material," Lyle said before winking at Alan.

"What else do you have in that suitcase?" Dave said. He leaned into the backseat and riffled through the assorted clown accouterments.

"Just gags and tricks. What are you looking for?" Alan asked.

"Aha!" Dave pulled an item out and stood beside the car." He held the bulb end of a squirting flower. Dangling from it was the long tube with a plastic flower attached at the opposite end.

"The squirting flower?" Alan asked curiously. "But it doesn't really go with that costume."

Ignoring Alan, Dave bunched the tubing and flower behind the bulb and shoved the entire piece into his tights.

Alan and Lyle watched with mouths open at the sight of Dave adjusting the bulb for maximum effect.

"Uh, you might want to buy yourself a new one," Lyle mumbled in Alan's ear.

Proud of his placement of the device, Dave stood back and pushed out his pelvis. He pointed both index fingers to his crotch and said, "Huh. Not so small anymore, is it?"

Lyle bust out laughing and opened the passenger door, but Alan couldn't take his eyes away from the sight. Sure the bulb inflated the area, but instead of appearing to be a large penis, it looked more like an enlarged third testicle. Alan didn't want to set Dave off again by telling him it didn't look right, so he thought a subtle warning might change his mind.

"You might want to think twice about using that, Dave. The bulb has water in it. If it leaks—"

"I know it has water in it. That's what keeps it from collapsing from the pressure of the tights. It's not going to leak." Dave looked down to admire himself one more time. "Look at me. The moms out back are going to be so jealous of Paula."

Alan knew it was a losing battle and he had more important things on his mind. He closed the rear car door. Lyle was already waiting in the passenger seat, still snickering at Dave through the closed window.

Dave couldn't wait to show off his new look. "Tell Paula I'm sorry we couldn't stay," Alan called out as Dave jogged across the lawn toward the back yard. Alan jumped in the car and sped away.

*****

"Didn't you say you hired a clown for the party, Paula?" one of the mothers asked.

"Yes, that was the plan, but something came up and he's not going to—" Paula stopped in mid-sentence as she watched a curious sight approaching from the side yard. Dave pranced toward them dressed in a costume that was a cross between a court jester and a circus clown.

"Did somebody order a clown for this birthday party?" Dave hollered. Everyone at the party, parents and children alike, turned to watch as he danced across the yard on his way to the deck. Kids dropped what they were doing and cheered as they rushed toward the peculiar entertainer. They gathered in front of him, blocking his path to the deck stairs.

"Hello, kiddies. My name is Chester the Jester," he said in a high-pitched voice. The children pushed to get closer, each trying to make him their own personal friend as they tugged at his arms, legs, and his bedazzled red and yellow jester's jacket.

From behind, Paula heard snickers from a group of mothers. She turned with a smile and they instantly went silent, trying to avoid eye contact with her. She turned back to see Dave gently guiding the children out of his way. For an instant, she had a clear view of the unnatural bulge protruding from his red and yellow tights. Slightly off to the left side of the raised mound, a handful of spiked points attempted to pierce the strained fabric. The plastic flower petals shifted as he moved.

Paula choked on her drink. Mortified, she stepped to the side to do her best to block the gaggle's view. "Dave, get over here!" she ordered.

Dave smiled back as more children flocked to him. A husky boy lunged in and hugged him around the waist. "I know," Dave replied to Paula. "You were expecting Alan." He nudged the boy off and stepped closer. She looked down and almost fell over from embarrassment. His crotch was now soaking wet. The trail of water continued to grow as the water leaked down the red leg of his tights.

Paula's slim frame wasn't enough to block this new development from the eyes of the moms behind her. Her eyes shot to the side, but she was too embarrassed to turn and face them. Dave was oblivious to it all, believing her concerned expression had to do with Alan's absence.

He focused on the children gathering around him. "Go back and play, kids. Chester will be back in a few minutes," he said. The children complied and he stood at the bottom of the short set of deck steps. Paula blocked his movement and rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Chill out, honey. Alan was feeling sick so I told him to go home. I think he was worried that I might beat him up if he backed out. That's why he brought his friend, as a bodyguard or something," he said.

She rolled her eyes again and gritted her teeth. "Don't do this to me," she growled.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "I calmed him down. At first, I was a little ticked off. I was like, Alan, we're not in high school anymore. Do you really see me that way after all these years? I mean, come on, dude. We're adults now, grow up. Then I insisted he go home. But first, I asked him if he had any extra clown costumes in his car so I could do his job for him. He felt bad, but I told him his health was more important than this party, so I ordered him to get some rest and not to worry. I got it covered."

Paula took a deep breath as she processed his deceptive account of what had happened in the basement. Her body calmed, and she glared into his eyes. A devious smirk replaced the anger and humiliation in her face. Dave looked at her expectantly, waiting for a verbal response that didn't come.

"So, I still need to get the sodas and ice," he said as he took one step up and waited for her to move aside so he could pass. She didn't flinch but instead looked down at the man she married, micro-nods of her head expressing agreement with unspoken thoughts.

"Do you mind?" he said, waiting for her to move.

She exhaled, and then smiled back at him. "Forget about that. Go out there and...entertain everyone. I'll get the drinks and ice," she said.

Dave shrugged. "Are you sure? It'll take a couple of trips."

"Go," she replied. She waved him off and turned toward the back door. The mothers watched her like a herd of deer caught in the headlights. Without slowing down, Paula looked at them as she opened the door. "I'm married to an idiot," she mumbled, loud enough for them to hear. The door closed behind her and the mothers relaxed, breaking out in restrained laughter.

Seconds later, one of the children yelled out, "Hey, look, Chester peed his pants!" Instantly, every child instinctively pointed at Dave and screamed out in laughter, each one trying to be louder than the rest. Looking like a little boy holding back his urge to pee, Dave cupped himself with both hands and rushed toward the house. The moms showed no mercy, laughing full out as he rushed by sideways in a feeble attempt to mask his embarrassment.

### Chapter 32

As Geno finished tying off the gag behind Joe's head, Joe struggled to free himself from the ropes restraining his body to the metal chair. Geno found humor in his struggle.

"Try as hard as you want, pizza man. Soon you will learn as they have." He moved in front of Joe and pointed to Dale and Ringmaster, bound and gagged in chairs beside him. "I'm an expert at restraining people."

Geno stepped out of the large circular space, leaving the three alone. The lights dimmed. Dale, Ringmaster, and Joe looked around the room until movement in the mirrored panel opposite them drew their attention. Peepers appeared in the glass, blocking parts of their own reflections. Through his gag, Joe let out a "huh" to express his confusion.

Staring across the room, Peepers smiled, then moved his left foot through the glass to the floor of the labyrinth. The rest of his body soon followed until he was into the room with them. Again, Joe managed to express himself with a muffled but recognizable "What the hell?"

Peepers stepped into the center of the room and raised his arms, palms up. Ringmaster closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"My name is Peepers. I am master of the Guild of Fallen Clowns." On cue, circus music filled the room as Peepers turned to face the mirrors he had just stepped through. With his hands still raised, he watched as more images appeared from the darkness of the mirrors. Within seconds the twenty-foot span of panels filled with distorted faces and colorfully clad bodies of all sizes and shapes—a virtual gathering of the creepiest-looking clowns one could imagine. Each one celebrated their gruesome leader by pumping fists, whistling, and cheering as they slapped each other's backs, high-fived, and enthusiastically danced in place.

In the center of the frenzied apparition stood Agor and Spanky, leading the rally. Upon seeing Peepers freely moving outside the mirrors, Agor confidently jumped forward. The panel shook from the impact of his body, but the invisible shield between realms prevented his passage. Spanky understood what Agor was trying to do and decided to test his own powers against the barrier. Peepers and Agor were the only spirits watching as the others continued with their hysteria. After watching Agor's pitiful attempt, Spanky tried a more subtle approach. He pushed his hand forward. As it reached the edge, his hand encountered little resistance. Emboldened, Spanky moved his arm through to his elbow. He smiled as he gripped his freed hand. Then, without warning, his hand and half of his arm turned to a mist and evaporated in front of him. He pulled away, but his arm didn't return from the trip. Holding his stub at the elbow, he snarled at Peepers.

Peepers sneered back. "You two failed to complete tasks. Not worthy of movement to solid world."

Peepers snorted and lowered his arms. His motion quieted the music and the Guild as they focused their attention forward. Peepers stood motionless with his feet and knees pressed together. His body appeared to rotate one hundred eighty degrees until he faced the three captives. Dale matched his stare with one of contempt. Joe jerked his head and raised one nostril as he mumbled an undistinguishable obscenity from behind his gag. In the middle of them sat The Ringmaster. His eyes were still closed, his head tilted down to his shoulder. Peepers grinned.

Geno re-entered the room. His right arm held objects close to his chest. He stopped and looked at Peepers. "Now, Father?" he asked. Peepers replied with a nod. Geno moved to Joe and pulled one of the Peepers figures from under his arm and placed it on Joe's lap. Before stepping up to Ringmaster, Joe writhed his body enough to send the figure to the floor in front of him. Geno turned and started to reach for it but Peepers stopped him. "No! He cannot escape me now. Leave it."

Geno backed away and placed the second figure on Ringmaster's lap. Ringmaster's closed eyes cringed from the contact.

Dale watched as Geno placed the final figure on his lap. Like Joe, he immediately began thrusting to expel it from his lap. Geno laughed and reached for the figure. "It's already too late," he said to Dale. He removed it from his lap and stood it on the floor in front of him. Then he leaned in to Ringmaster's ear and whispered, "Now you will see what it's like in here. Be careful for what you wish for. Heh heh." He grabbed the figure from Ringmaster's lap and placed it on the floor in front of his bound feet. He stood Joe's figure upright, like the others, and moved to the side.

Peepers was deep in concentration as he locked eyes with Dale. "Peepers' powers stretched with thoughts from many. The clown's brother has secret we see clear with attachment."

"What is it? What's he hiding? Do you want me to beat it out of him?" Geno said. His hand tightened to a fist and he started toward Dale.

"No!" Peepers shouted. Geno stopped. "His vehicle draws attention. Take keys and move from grounds."

Geno reached into Dale's pocket and yanked out his keys. "I'll take care of it, Father," Geno said. He shook the keys and disappeared behind a panel leading to the rear exit.

*****

Lyle looked like a human yo-yo as he tried to keep pace with Alan's speed walk through the parking lot. He took short sprints before falling behind and sprinting again. Catching up for the fifth time, he took a few extra steps ahead to give him time to ask a question before Alan could outpace him a sixth time. "Hey, when we see Dale, can you do me a favor and don't call me Stinky?"

Alan chuckled and continued his pace. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

Lyle started into a jog to stay with him. "It's just that Dale's a cop. Our shop does a lot of work for the department and I don't want it to spread."

"Imagine how it feels to be called Booger," Alan replied.

"Yeah, good point," Lyle confessed. "Tell you what, I won't call you Booger anymore if you keep a lid on the Stinky thing."

"And if I don't?" Alan said. They reached the gate and Alan slowed his pace. Lyle tried to catch his breath as he responded. "You got me, Boogy. I still won't call you that word, even if you call me Stinky."

"Well played, my friend. But this just means we have to come up with a new name for you." Lyle agreed when Alan pointed to the ticket booth. "There's Cracky. Let's ask him if he saw Dale."

There weren't any customers at the booth when Alan and Lyle stepped up and caught Cracky by surprise. His head was turned away to exhale cigarette smoke through a crack in the side door.

"Holy bejesus, Boogy! Don't do dat to me. I almost dropped a log in my trousers."

Lyle cracked a smile and chuckled under his breath.

"Sorry, Cracky. Didn't mean to surprise you like that—"

"I'm already on round two with da undershorts, and dis is my last pair."

"Right, I'm sorry about that—"

"Round two?" Lyle asked.

"Yeah, flip um inside out and you go twice as long before having to wash um," Cracky said. "Who's your friend, Boog? And why you all dressed as clowns?"

"I'm in a hurry, Cracky—" Before he could finish, Lyle reached his hand out. "My name is...Popsicle. Popsicle the clown." Cracky shook his hand.

Alan looked back. "Really? That's what you picked?"

Lyle shrugged. "I had to think fast and I saw those kids over there eating popsicles. I choked."

Alan returned his focus to Cracky, but before he could speak, Cracky jumped in.

"Yeah, I get it. You're one of dose bomb-pops wid da red, white, and blue all over your face. Just like da red, white, and blue popsicles. Dat's clever, pal. I like it."

Lyle gave Alan a smug grin. Alan shook the entire conversation from his head and boldly inserted himself into the exchange.

"Cracky! I don't have time to explain. I need your help. I'm looking for my brother, Dale, the cop. Did you see him come in here—maybe an hour or so ago?"

Cracky thought for a few seconds. "No, I didn't see no cops today. I woulda noticed dat. I've been in dis booth for at least two hours."

"He's got to be here. Is it possible you might have missed seeing him? Maybe you were smoking and he could have slipped by without you noticing him?" Alan said.

"I suppose it's possible, Boog, but what's going on here? You look like you just saw a ghost or somethin'. Is everythin' okay?"

"Maybe he changed his clothes. Of course, he must have changed so he could wait for me without drawing attention to himself," Alan thought out loud.

"Boog, what is it?" Cracky said.

"Dale's in trouble. Geno must have done something to get him inside the Labyrinth. Peepers is going to kill him. I'm sorry, Cracky, I have to help Dale. I hope it's not too late."

Cracky grabbed Alan's forearm before he could take off running. "I don't get all what you're sayin', but I'm not lettin' you go up against Geno widout me. He's a bad apple just like his old man. Now, I'm gonna let you go, but you gotta wait for me to get out of dis booth."

"Okay, but hurry up."

Cracky released his arm and exited the booth.

"Okay, let's think about this," Alan said. They walked at a quickened pace. "Wait," Alan said as he stopped. Cracky and Lyle also stopped and stepped back to him. "What was that you said about Geno's father?"

"His old man? Aw, don't worry about that psycho killer. He died a long time ago. I was just sayin' it's possible Geno's apples come from da same apple tree as his daddy."

"Was his fathers name—Peepers?" Alan said.

"Peepers? No, I don't remember exactly. I was just a kid when it all happened. I just heard da stories. I think he had one of dem old country names. He was from Europe or one of dose other countries where everyone drinks all the time."

"Was he a clown?" Alan said.

"No, he ran da Labyrinth before Geno took over. Oh, wait."

"What? What? Wait, what?"

"There was somethin' 'bout a clown. Yeah, dat's right."

"What? What about a clown, Cracky?" Alan begged.

"They called him—Da Happy Clown Killer. Dat's right, I knew he killed a bunch of people, but I almost forgot what his serial killer name was. Probably 'cause he didn't dress like a clown when he killed people. It don't make sense, does it?"

"Then why did they call him that?" Alan said.

Cracky thought hard. Then he looked back at Alan and shrugged. "Beats me. Like I said, it was a long time ago. I was maybe ten at da time, living wit my mother. Why you asking all dese questions anyway?"

Ignoring Cracky, Alan started walking again. They followed. "It must be him. Geno isn't being forced to do anything. He's helping his father. Peepers is Geno's father."

Outside the Labyrinth, Alan stopped and walked in circles, looking for his brother. Cracky and Lyle caught up and joined in the visual search.

"I don't see him," Lyle said.

"Me neither," Cracky added.

"This isn't good, guys," Alan said, his focus moved to the Labyrinth. "Dale must have gone in without me. Damn it!"

Lyle turned toward the building. "Let's go!"

"No, wait, Lyle." Alan grabbed his shoulder. "This is my problem. It's too dangerous. I can't let you guys go in there with me. Call the police and wait for them out here."

Frustrated, Lyle jerked his shoulder out from under Alan's hand. From behind, Cracky placed his own hand on Alan's shoulder. "No way, Boog. Da cops will take too long and Geno's smarter den he looks. He's got home field advantage in dat building. You need backup support. Now what's da plan?"

"The big guy's right, Boogy. You need us," Lyle said.

Alan knew he wouldn't succeed in changing their minds. It also occurred to him that he didn't have a plan. "The plan?"

Lyle pulled his Poppy figure out of the oversized clown suit pocket. "We gonna use these again?" he asked.

Cracky's eyebrow rose as he looked at the figure. "What's dat for? You gonna whopp Geno over da noggin wid it?"

Lyle began to explain when Alan cut him off. "Look—I don't have a plan. I mean, I had one, but that was before Dale went missing." Alan glanced at the figure in Lyle's hand. "Put it away," he instructed. Lyle shoved it back into his pocket.

"So what was da plan? Maybe we can make some improvisations," Cracky said.

"Well, the plan was to destroy the molds so Peepers couldn't leave the Labyrinth and kill more people."

Cracky jumped back. "Whoa, you lost me pal. I thought dis was about Geno. What's all dis talk about molds and murderin' people? And who da hell is dis Peepers character?"

Alan shook his head. "Please, Cracky. Even if I did have the five or six hours it would take to explain it all to you, you still wouldn't believe any of it. Just trust me, you don't know what we're dealing with. It's too dangerous, and you might be able to help more by clearing the area and calling the police."

Lyle jumped between the two, facing Cracky. "We're dealing with evil clown spirits. I'm not sure who Peepers is, but Boogy's telling the truth. I've seen them with my own eyes." Again, he pulled out his Poppy figure and showed it in front of Cracky. "This is one of them—but this one isn't evil. It comes to life as my father and kicks ass against the evil ones." He turned to Alan and continued. "Alan has one too. His father is a giant. Show him, Alan."

Alan sighed. "Wow, it sounds so much worse than I thought," he grumbled. He nudged Lyle to the side and stepped closer to Cracky and whispered, "See what I mean, Cracky? And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I believe this Peepers guy is the spirit of Geno's long-dead father, the serial killer. We're obviously two very sick and potentially dangerous people. If nothing else, you might want to call the cops so they can haul us away to the loony bin. We'll be in there." He pointed to the Labyrinth. "Make sure they send the entire force because it's not just the two of us." He pulled the Poppy from his pocket and waved it in front of Cracky. There's four of us. Oh, wait." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out another. "Five, there's five of us crazies." Lyle looked surprised to see a third Poppy.

Unfazed, Cracky attempted to calm Alan by lowering his arms with the figures. "Boogy! Keep it down. Dey might hear you," he said in a low tone as he scanned the area.

"I know. That's what I'm trying to tell you. You don't want us around your customers. We'll scare them all away. Think of the children, Cracky. Think of the children," he pleaded.

"No!" Cracky gritted his teeth. "Dose spirits. We don't want to tip dem off."

Complete shock came over Alan's face. "What? You can't be serious. You believe us?"

Cracky nodded. "Yeah, I know people, and you are an honest person. I know you ain't crazy because I've seen more den my share of para-abnormal shit happenin' in dis place over da years. I ain't never seen no ghosts of clowns. Dat's a new one, but I got some stories of my own dat would make your head spin. As a matta of fact, one night, I saw a ghost walking away when its head did actually spin full circle. So stop with da crazy talk and let's figure out how we gonna free your brother."

"Full circle?" Lyle repeated. Cracky nodded.

"Okay, but now we have two objectives," Alan said. "Assuming Dale _is_ in there, and still alive, we need to get him out. The other thing is, I still need to destroy the molds." Realizing the fact that neither Cracky nor Lyle had any background of the relationship between the molds and recent deaths, Alan took a few seconds to brief them. "If the molds aren't destroyed, Geno or someone else can make an unlimited number of duplicates. The figures of Peepers allow him to go beyond the walls of the Labyrinth, where he can kill hundreds, possibly thousands, of people. I might not get another shot at this, so the molds have to be destroyed."

"I can find your brother," Cracky said.

"I think you should both find Dale," Alan said. "I'll look for the molds." He pulled the third Poppy from his pocket and held it out to Cracky. "If your father looked anything like you, this will come in handy."

"I don't look anythin' like my father. I'm puny compared to him. He was da strong man in da freak show." Both Alan and Lyle smiled, but Cracky didn't take the figure.

"Go on, take it. I brought it for Dale, but I don't think it would have worked for him because he barely remembers our father. You'll need it." Alan held it out further. Cracky raised his hands and stepped back.

"If it's all da same to you, no thanks. I can take care of myself."

"Are you sure? Peepers has some unnatural powers. This might help level the field."

"No, please put it away, Boog. I'm good," Cracky said.

Alan returned the figure to his pocket. "All right, my guess is that Dale will be in the lower section. Peepers always showed himself to me down there when he came through the mirrors."

"Wait, when you say he came through the mirrors, do you mean he walked around them?" Lyle asked.

"No, he can exist both inside and outside the mirrors," Alan replied. He continued as if there was nothing unusual about his explanation. "I'm also assuming the molds are hidden away up above. Cracky, how do I get up there and what will I see?"

"You mean up in Geno's lair?" Cracky replied.

"Seriously? You just made that up, didn't you?" Alan said.

"No, I've always called it dat because Geno is da evil genius behind da Labyrinth. If it makes you feel any better, I can call it da nest. Dat's what it used to be called."

"No, it's fine. So, tell me about—Geno's _lair_. How do I get up there?"

"You'll have to go in through the back," Cracky said. He fished a key ring from his pocket and searched through at least fifty keys before taking one off and handing it to Alan. "I hope dis still works. I haven't been up dare in years. Once you're in, you'll see a spiral staircase to da lair. Be careful, dough, because you might get spotted if da mirror is open."

"What mirror?" Alan said.

"Right in front of you is da mirror dat swivels into da big room. If it's turned, Geno might see you. You wanna slip in very quiet like, and stay to da left. At da top of da steps you'll see da entire floor is made of metal grates so he can see down into da Labyrinth. It's sorta like a wheel wid spokes, but the spoke from da stairs is wider den da others. Dat's where he stores stuff. Dose molds might be on dat one. Den, in da middle, is a round area where he controls everythin' down below. Other spokes go out from da middle so he can move out ta see what's going on as he changes up da mirrored walls. It's pretty ingenious, if you ask me. You can see why I call it his lair."

"Yeah, makes perfect sense," Alan said. He turned his attention to Lyle. "Are you sure you want to do this, Lyle? You've already helped me more than I could have ever imagined. You don't owe me anything."

Lyle smiled. "First of all, stop calling me by my street name. I'm Popsicle. Second, stop thinking this is about you. There's a killer clown on the loose, and we—you, me, and Cracky—are the best chance of stopping him. This may be new for me, but you aren't the only person who wants to do the right thing. So stop making this about you and let's go save Gotham." He reached his closed fist up between Alan and Cracky.

A triple fist bump later, they dispersed. Cracky and Lyle went for the front door while Alan slipped around back.

### Chapter 33

Lyle led the way as he and Cracky crept down the dark corridor toward the opening to the large chamber. Halfway, Cracky bumped into Lyle, who stopped to retrieve the Poppy figure from his pocket.

"Hang on, Cracky," Lyle whispered. "This is a good time to introduce you to my dad." He stretched his hand with the figure out in front of him. Nothing happened.

"I thought you said it comes ta life," Cracky replied.

Lyle gave it a few hard shakes and waited. Again, nothing happened.

"Did you break it?" Cracky asked.

Lyle pulled it back to examine the figure. Cracky's large body behind him blocked the limited light from the slit in the entry door. He looked to the sides of Cracky, but his wide shoulders and enormous chest left no room for him to step aside to allow light to pass. Lyle bent down and held the figure to the light slipping between his large legs. Cracky spread his legs, each foot pressed against opposite walls.

"Is der a button?" Cracky asked.

"No, there's no button," Lyle scoffed. "And it's not broken." He shook it again and looked over his shoulder. "I don't understand. It worked before."

"Is there a magic word? Oh, maybe you gotta rub it," Cracky said.

Rub it? Are you crazy? My father would tan my hide if I tried that," Lyle replied.

*****

The door was locked so Alan reached the key toward the lock. As he flipped it into the proper direction, the key slipped between his fingers. It bobbled between the fingers of both hands before it escaped and fell to his feet, where it bounced three times on the metal grate before falling through to the dirt below.

"Come on, Alan, hold yourself together," he muttered as he started down the steps in search of the key.

*****

"I told you, it only works for me," Lyle said, yanking the figure away from Cracky's rubbing hands.

"Well, it ain't workin' for you neither, Popsicle. I say you put it back in your pocket and we keep movin'."

"Okay," Lyle said. He returned the figure to his pocket and continued to the end of the hall.

With one hand in front of him, and the other feeling for Cracky behind him, Lyle stopped short of the doorway. "It's pitch dark. I can't see a thing," he whispered.

"Just keep goin'. Our eyes should adjust soon," Cracky said.

They continued into the room. Lyle's fingers lost touch with Cracky.

Oh, sorry, pal, I thought you went da udder way," Cracky said quietly.

"Sorry for what? I'm over here," Lyle replied from behind and to the left of Cracky.

The mirrored walls remained dark as dim light glowed throughout the space. Cracky's head was turned back to where he heard Lyle's voice. Upon seeing Lyle, he jumped back from whomever it was he bumped into in the dark. Lyle's father stood with his back to them. With his fists held out in front of him, he stared straight ahead at three Peepers lined up in front of their three prisoners bound and gagged in folding metal chairs against the opposite wall.

"He's with us," Lyle said, pointing to his father as he tightly gripped its figure in his other hand.

"You found da button," Cracky said. "Now what?"

*****

Alan grabbed the key from the dirt and returned to his feet. He pulled a black tarp off a stacked pile of pallets against the back fence and dragged it up the steps with him. With a firm grip on the key, he slid it in the lock and turned it. Before opening the door, he hooked a corner of the tarp over a bent corner of metal siding above the hinged side of the door. He held the other side above the door with his free hand, then kicked it out at his feet to spread it as wide as possible. Feeling confident that the tarp would block daylight from his opening of the door, he slowly pulled the handle until the door was opened enough for him to slip inside. He released the tarp and braced the door with his hand as he eased it back to a closed position.

Inside, Alan stood in total darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. The first thing that came into focus was a long floor to ceiling line of dim light in front of him. _That must be the panel Cracky told me about that leads into the mirrored room,_ he thought.

Seconds later, the light illuminated the corkscrew handrail of the spiral staircase leading to Geno's lair. So far, Cracky's intel was accurate. As his eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, the steps came into view and he moved his right foot on the first stair. As he rose to the next step, he heard Lyle shout, "Get them, Pops!" Alan stepped off the stair and moved to peer through the crack of light.

*****

Lyle's father stood firm as the three Peepers stepped toward him. "Even you know I can't take 'em all, Stinky. Get out of here. Save yourself," Lyle's father ordered.

From behind the panel, Alan reached for his pocket and pulled out his Poppy. He threw his shoulder into the panel, which offered zero resistance, and stumbled into the room. Instantly, his father appeared and guarded him as he moved toward his friends.

Lyle looked at Alan's father. "Why did he change?"

Alan studied the vision. When he appeared in Dave's basement, he had to duck his head in order to fit. Inside the Labyrinth, he wasn't much taller than himself. Alan glanced back to Lyle's father and didn't see any noticeable changes. His appearance was identical to when he came out in Lyle's apartment and Dave's basement.

Alan should have been focused on the three-to-two odds against them taking place in front of him, but instead, he tried to find an answer Lyle's question. He stared at his father and wondered what could have happened to cause him to shrink in size. This was of major concern to Alan because he needed the much larger version of his father to battle the Peepers.

As he stared at his back, his father's head turned. He smiled and said, "It's not me, son. It's you." Then he turned back to stand against the trio of Peepers.

With his own fists prepared to fight, Cracky became nervous with the three Peepers stepping closer, spreading apart in a half circle around them. "Hey Boog, I changed my mind. How 'bout you make dis reunion complete and gimme dat little thing you showed me before."

No further explanation was required as Alan reached to his other pocket and grabbed the third Poppy figure. With his hand barely out of his pocket, Cracky yanked it from him, held it out, and shook the dickens out of it.

"C'mon, show yourself," Cracky commanded.

He didn't have to wait long before a massive, muscle-bound man wearing wrestling tights appeared between Alan's and Lyle's fathers. His size was so large that his appearance almost knocked them over. The Peepers stopped and watched as the new father stumbled and leaned on the other fathers for support.

Cracky's father turned back and smiled at his son. "How many times do I have to tell you not to shake me out of a sound sleep, boy?"

"Sorry, Pops," Cracky replied. "Wait, how's dis possible?"

"It's not really him, Cracky. It's your memory of him," Alan said.

"My memory?"

"Yes, looks like you have a great memory," Alan replied as he took in the sight of the giant man. Lyle gave Cracky a satisfied slap on the back.

As Alan, Lyle, and their dads gained a new confidence over the sudden reversal of odds in the fight, Cracky frowned. His father's brief time of stability gave way to a drunken display of rubber legs and slurred speech.

"Next rounds'r on me!" Cracky's father stammered.

Alan shot a look at Cracky. Embarrassed, Cracky shrugged and said, "I'm sorry, Boog. My father was a drunk. Dis is how I remember him."

"Was he always drunk?" Alan asked with great concern as he watched the Peepers grow more emboldened over the sudden turn of events.

"No, not always, but almost," Cracky replied.

"Okay, good," Alan said. "Think of a time when he wasn't drunk. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think so," Cracky said as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

The image of his father stabilized. His tights transformed into a two-piece suit with six-inch wide strips of patchwork fabric splitting the seams, looking as if they had been sewn in by a novice tailor in a hasty attempt to alter the garments to fit his enormous build.

"Much better," Alan said.

Cracky's eyes opened. Upon seeing the new version of his father, he smiled. "Mom's funeral."

The three Peepers backed up to their original positions in front of Dale, Ringmaster, and Joe. The Peepers attached to Joe turned and looked past Joe to the mirrored panels. His hands lifted and the dim lights brightened. "Poppy no match for Peepers and Guild of Fallen Clowns."

Circus music returned as Guild members appeared to step through a thick white fog ten feet into the mirrors. A gang of approximately thirty grotesquely twisted clown depictions amassed at the edge of the two realms behind Dale, Ringmaster, and Joe, energetically pumping their fists, taunting the Poppys, and encouraging the Peepers.

*****

Mary cautiously stepped inside and eased the door closed behind her. The pivoting door panel was partially opened about twelve inches from Alan's recent entrance to the large circular room. She backed herself out of view to the left wall and listened to the commotion of fast-paced organ music mixed with raucous voices all shouting at the same time.

Assured that she entered unnoticed, she leaned forward to peek into the room. From the left side of the opening, the panel was pivoted into the room, blocking her view of the opposite wall. She first spotted Alan. His body was tense as he stood in full Boogy dress. Beside him stood another man, also dressed as a clown, followed by the easily recognizable stature of the clown-faced Cracky. All had their backs to the mirrored wall. She leaned in further to see more men standing in front of them, like boxers poised to either attack or protect.

From her position and the tilt of the mirrored door panel, she was unable to see the target of the six men's gaze, and the source of the loud voices. With the back door closed, the eight-foot-square space was darker than the main chamber. She slid across the back wall to the other side of the space and quietly continued to the front corner. On the other side of the room, the panel swiveled into her space and she didn't need to lean to the opening for a glimpse inside.

Taking advantage of the mirror in front of her, she saw the reflections of three men tied to chairs and gagged. Each had the familiar figure of Peepers propped upright on the floor in front of them. Still fresh in her mind was her earlier encounter with a single Peepers figure. She knew this was a deadly serious situation, but the scene before her was puzzling. She leaned slightly to the left and right to see if she missed something because her reflected view of the right half of the room didn't show any opposition, just three bound men with inanimate figures by their feet.

*****

"You can't fool us, Peepers," Lyle's father said.

"They don't have the power to escape the mirrors to fight us," Alan's father added.

The Guild jeered. All three Peepers smiled as Joe's and Ringmaster's turned to acknowledge the Guild's disdain for Poppy, using their hands to pump up the intensity of their anger. Still focused on the Poppys, Dale's Peepers responded with a smug headshake.

"Now!" Cracky's father yelled, triggering all three to lunge across the floor toward the three Peepers. Joe's and Ringmaster's Peepers didn't know what hit them as Cracky's father's thick arms wrapped around their necks and pulled them to the ground with him. Both of the Peepers turned to mist and started slipping out of his grip. The mist instantly vaporized and didn't reappear. Lyle's father stood over the two partially crushed figures, stomping them into the floor. At the same time, Alan's father rushed the third Peepers, but it narrowly escaped and appeared behind Dale with his arms locked in a death grip around his neck. Alan's father thudded to the floor. His fingers knocked Dale's Peepers figure over and it slid under the chair out of his reach. All three Poppys froze.

"Twitch single muscle, Dale's neck snaps," Peepers warned.

*****

Still looking at the reflection from the mirrored panel, Mary jumped back from the sight of the three bound men jolting in their chairs as an invisible source crushed two of the Peepers statues into thousands of pieces, while the third fell back and slid below a chair. She jumped to the opposite side of the room to see if anything changed with Alan. The three front men guarding them were gone, but Alan appeared to be okay.

As she watched, three frightening clown images materialized in the mirrors behind Alan, Cracky, and the third clown. One held up a white-gloved three-fingered hand. The other two watched as three fingers turned to two, then one, and quickly folded to none. All at once, the three projections did something Mary didn't think was possible. They threw rope lassoes through the mirrors over the figures in the three men's hands. The images simultaneously yanked, freeing the figures from their grasps, and then pulled them through the solid surface of the mirrors.

Instantly following the figures, the three men previously standing in front of Alan and his two friends came into her view from mid-room as their bodies flew over Alan, Cracky, and Lyle's ducking heads. The mirrored wall rippled as their bodies passed through without reflection. Alan, Cracky, and Lyle jumped forward and turned as they watched the men fade into the dark depth beyond the surface.

Without hesitation, two of the Guild clowns inside the mirrors roped Cracky with their lassoes as the third lassoed Lyle. With a tug, their ropes pulled Cracky and Lyle's arms to their sides. Lyle's captor dug his oversized blue shoes into the ground and dragged Lyle's struggling body around the room to the right side of Dale. He pulled in the slack and tied Lyle upright to a panel.

Cracky's struggle was more difficult for his two-clown team to overcome. Six more Guild clowns rushed to their aid. They twisted the two ropes together and lined up like they were having a tug of war, the plane of the mirrors acting as a centerline. They proceeded to drag Cracky around the opposite side of the room, where they tied him upright to the left of Joe.

Alan glanced back in the mirrors, searching the empty mirrors for Guild clowns who would rope and pull him with the others. He returned his focus forward to see Peepers release his death grip on Dale before stepping to his side. Peepers folded his arms over his chest and stared back at Alan.

The volume notched up. The mob of Guild clowns began clapping in unison as they hooted and whistled. Their heads all turned toward the center, to the mirror behind Ringmaster. They shifted to the sides, opening a four-foot-wide path.

All eyes watched as a figure began to appear from the darkness. It was another Peepers. He moved through the mirror's surface and stood behind Ringmaster, where he paused and looked down at the obstacle in front of him. His right foot rose and rested on the back of Ringmaster's chair. Ringmaster shuddered from the vibration on his back. Peepers glared back at Alan and grinned wide. Then, with a sudden shove of Peepers' leg, the bound Ringmaster was propelled face first to the floor. From behind the gag, muffled pain echoed as his body and chair tipped to the side. Blood dripped from his nostrils.

Peepers stepped through the opening between Dale and Joe. Still blocked by Ringmaster's new position, he lowered his eyes. Through tear-glazed eyes, Ringmaster looked up, his body convulsing as he fought to suck sufficient air to support his racing heart through the blood- and saliva-soaked gag. Peepers inhaled slow and deep. Then he placed one foot to the side of Ringmaster and effortlessly flung him like a hockey puck across the floor. The two Peepers laughed as Ringmaster's knees smacked into the mirrored side wall. Instinctive moans of empathy briefly preceded the gallery's sick display of enjoyment over Ringmaster's suffering.

The newly emerged Peepers returned his glare on Alan, while the one attached to his brother watched from Dale's side.

Alan stepped forward. "Let them go. It's me you want. Do what you want with me. Please, just let them go. They didn't do anything to you."

Peepers laughed, sparking a chain reaction from the Guild. Dale's Peepers allowed them ten seconds of shared amusement before calmly motioning them to quiet down.

"You bargain with nothing. Alan weak—powerless—like them," Peepers scoffed.

Alan realized Peepers was right. He had nothing to offer Peepers in return for their freedom. However, he couldn't give up. "We've proven that we can destroy you. We killed two of your...other...yous," Alan stammered.

"Ha! Cannot kill what is dead," Peepers mocked. "You destroy copies. Peepers does not need copies in Labyrinth. Human cannot destroy Peepers. Only Peepers can destroy self, cast from Labyrinth." He turned and laughed. His Guild joined.

Again, Alan was at a loss. Peepers had first appeared to him before he sculpted and cast his figure. As the two Peepers and the Guild mocked Alan's empty threat, Alan noticed his brother Dale shimmy down in his chair, lunging his head forward. He was trying to tell him something, but Alan couldn't decipher his clues.

Alan shrugged. _Maybe he's trying to warn me_ , he thought. _Or maybe he's trying to tell me to run for the exit while I still can._ This wouldn't work because the door locked behind them when they moved into the room.

To be sure, Alan turned. As he did, he discovered four Guild clowns in the mirrors behind him. Upon being discovered, they smiled and unfurled long colorful silk scarves into the room. With their hands clutching one end of the fabric strips, the other ends floated around his body, then back into the mirrors. Alan tried to escape the trap by spinning around and pulling at the slick material, but they clung tight and didn't allow him to slip free. Peepers faced him, and with one hand, he pushed the air forward, sending Alan's body against the mirrors. Two Guild members in each side mirror held tight on his reins.

Peepers unsheathed his black sword and floated across the room, stopping only inches in front of him. He looked down in contempt as Alan struggled to get free.

Alan's head snapped up. His icy glare pierced the depth of Peepers' soulless black orbs. "Is this what you did in life as the Happy Clown Killer?" Alan scolded. "Yeah, that's right. I know who you are."

Peepers stood confident and grinned. "Yes, yesnow share knowledge with them." His arms flared out to waist level with his palms up as he turned to face Alan's brother and friends. "Tell them Peepers' plan. Tell of Happy Clown's reign of terror. Bring fear to faces with details of my work." With his back to Alan, Peepers basked in the growing horror in the faces of his soon to be six-course meal.

"No, Peepers, that's not what I meant. I know who _you_ are, Peepers. I know _your_ deepest, darkest secret. You are a coward. You're the worst kind of coward."

Peepers' body jerked around. His giant black clown nostrils flared from his angered breath.

"You're the one who's afraid, Peepers," Alan continued. "Everything scares you. That's why you prey on people with fears. You're trying to kill your own. You're nothing but a psychopath coward who masks his own fears with the blood and terror of others. You are weak! You are constantly searching for someone weaker than yourself to give your existence meaning. And with every life you take, you become weaker. So go ahead, Peepers. Kill me. Take the life of another defenseless person, tied to a wall and outmatched by your immortality and the blade of your sword. Run me through, you frightened coward! Go on! Do it. Take another step toward hell, asshole!"

Enraged over Alan's insolence, Peepers growled as he turned. His growl amplified like an approaching locomotive along with the speed of his three-sixty rotation. At his peek of aggression, both his movement and thundering roar abruptly ended with a loud grunt. Frozen in a crouched position, he locked eyes with Alan's. His sword hand was outstretched, its tip touching the floor at Alan's side. Alan glanced down. Blood wicked through the fabric, quickly swallowing in red of the costume's multicolored landscape.

Alan's knees buckled. The Guild clowns gave slack to the silk restraints, allowing him to slump to the floor. With both hands, he squeezed the five-inch gash midway on his right thigh.

"Spirit of messenger return," Peepers said. He straightened his lanky frame over Alan and raised the tip of his sword to his own mouth so could taste the blood.

The music playing through the speakers abruptly stopped, interrupting Peepers from sampling Alan's life energy. He looked up to the scorched shreds of black ceiling fabric barely concealing the darkened structure above. An unfamiliar mellow tune blared at full volume.

Isn't it bliss?

Don't you approve?

Both of the Peepers moved and spun with their heads, searching to the ceiling, trying to see who was responsible for the music.

One who keeps tearing around.

One who can't move.

"It's the girl," Dale's Peepers shouted.

But where are the clowns?

Send in the clowns.

Send in the clowns.

Send in the clowns.

The last statement was locked in a loop, continuously replaying as something started happening all around the mirrored walls of the room. A fleet of tiny vehicles appeared to drive toward the surface of the mirrors, in the unoccupied three-quarters of the room's circumference. As each parked, normal-looking clowns started exiting the vehicles. One after another, clowns flowed from the vehicles, quickly outnumbering the Guild clowns in the space. The creepy clowns securing Alan with scarves felt the pressure of the threatening force amassing around them. They dropped the scarves and screamed as they ran into the depths of the mirrors.

Both Peepers looked back to the remaining Guild members. The clowns continued to grow in number, squeezing the Guild into a tight ball of creepiness. One out front bent down and crawled away between the legs of the others.

"They do not exist!" Peepers yelled. The Guild ignored him, becoming more and more frightened. The new clowns ganged up to within inches of the Guild, taunting and threatening them with clenched fists and fighting gestures. Two more caved under the pressure and fled.

Alan used the distraction to wrap his wound with one of the discarded scarves. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew the clowns were there to help.

Four more Guild clowns escaped and the remaining group appeared to be on the verge of fleeing as their numbers continued to dwindle.

"No! You must stay!" Peepers screamed. "This is trick." Both Peepers moved to the sides of the room. Dale's Peepers rammed his fist through the surface into the chest of a clown. His target instantly disappeared, replaced with the words:

YOU LOSE!

Please try your luck again in:

CLOWN WORLD.

"Mary!" Alan said to himself as he looked up.

Peepers' display was too late. The remaining Guild members were already turned away, shoving and stepping over each other in a panicked stampede for safety in the darkness.

"Enough!" Peepers barked. He shoved his sword through a mirror and rushed around the room, slicing every last clown in half. Their bodies faded away, each replaced with a three-second display of the losing notice from Clown World. The room went silent.

Peepers returned to his position in front of Alan.

Still on the floor with his back to the mirror, Alan looked to the ceiling. "Mary! Run, get help."

Peepers was amused by Alan's desperate plea for help. "Messenger spirit no match for Peepers' control of Alan. Nobody in this world can save from Peepers."

"You're wrong, Peepers. You have no control over me. I fell for your lies, but you never had any control over me."

Peepers grunted what sounded like a laugh. "Peepers control Alan in dreams since was fatherless. Peepers weaken body containing messenger spirit. Control Alan to make Peepers strong."

Alan thought he was getting better at understanding Peepers' broken speech, but now he felt like he was back at square one. The only thing that made any sense to him was the part about his dreams. Was Peepers behind his lifetime of terrifying nightmares?

"That was your doing? You've been terrifying my nights all these years? Why? Why me?" Alan said.

"McGiggles," Peepers replied.

"McGiggles?" Alan repeated. "What the hell is a McGiggles, some sort of Happy Meal?" Alan's suggestion triggered snorting laughter from the gagged Lyle across the room.

"Peepers' mentor, Happy McGiggles. Gift to see powerful spirits. Use living Peepers to free from body, release messenger spirits to McGiggles."

"What's that have to do with me?" Alan asked.

"Alan, McGiggles last spirit, most powerful of all before."

"Wait, what? Are you saying this McGiggles guy wants my spirit and you're doing all of this to give it to him?"

Frustrated, Peepers said, "McGiggles wrong! Break at death. Peepers smarter, plan greater. Weaken mind of human host. Use life energy of messenger spirit. Free Peepers, feed forever."

"You think I have some sort of powerful spirit? And now you think I'll help you to kill more people? No way, I won't do it," Alan said.

"Ha!" Peepers barked. "Alan too late. Peepers' plan succeed. Peepers now take Happy McGiggles most desire. Peepers feast your spirit."

Peepers' hands gripped his sword as he slowly raised it over his head. Alan stared back defiantly as Peepers' back began to arch backwards until the tip of his sword pointed directly at Dale tied up behind him.

At the peek of Peepers' cocked position, Dale's head tilted down. With a quick flick of his bound hands behind him, the only remaining sculpted figure of Peepers brushed over his hair as it was launched through the air. The Peepers attached to Dale reached out and evaporated in a swirl of black smoke. The figure was out of reach as it rocketed in the direction of Peepers' outstretched sword. Lyle, Cracky, Joe, and Ringmaster anxiously watched what was likely to be their last hope for survival—Peepers destroying himself.

Peepers remained motionless as he looked down and smirked at Alan. The airborne figure slipped more than a foot above the blade and disappeared through a burned section of fabric in the ceiling, where it clattered out of sight on the catwalk above. With all hopes dashed, the heads of all but Dale sunk in despair.

With his sword still cocked, Peepers' torso twisted until he faced Dale. "Son of Jack misjudge," he said.

With Peepers looking at Dale, movement from above drew Alan's attention. It was Mary, pulling a tattered section of fabric to widen the opening.

Dale's eyes squinted from Peepers' mention of his and Alan's father's name.

"Soon set free. Confess to Jack, defeat at Peepers' hand," Peepers said. Then he turned back to Alan. Alan raised his hands above his head.

Peepers laughed. "Who is coward now? Hands will not stop Peepers' sword, coward."

Alan's eyes retreated upward. "I hope it's not too late, but I love you," he said.

Peepers enjoyed Alan's final plea to his creator. "Your god cannot save messenger. Love is weak. Peepers great power." He paused to enjoy the taste of Alan's distress in his final moment of life. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before snapping forward. The blade sliced through the air on its way to split Alan's body in two. As it neared the position of Alan's hands, Peepers eyes reopened to bask in the visual pleasure of his art.

As he peered through the slit of his eyes, the picture before him changed. Alan's hands weren't held up in defense or prayer. There was a familiar object held between them, a mere centimeter from the unstoppable momentum of his blade. It was his only remaining figure. The blade cut across the midsection of the statue and continued through. As it exited, the blade vanished, never reaching its intended target of destruction.

The figure turned to dust in Alan's hands. He looked in front of him to see a terrified Peepers fading away. The semi-transparent Peepers swiped his sword through Alan, to no effect. Then he charged across the room and slashed Dale's neck, which resulted in a muffled giggle and a shoulder twinge from the tingling sensation.

"NO!" Peepers screamed. His feckless tirade continued down the line, as he slashed his shadow weapon through the remaining captives.

Alan stood and looked up at Mary. Half smiling and completely embarrassed, he confessed, "I know, too soon. I thought we might die."

She grinned and mouthed, "I love you too."

With his back to the wall, Alan heard someone clearing his throat from behind. He turned to see a sea of stoic Guild faces looking past him to their broken leader. Alan jumped to the side and watched their creepy clown costumes transform into black suits with white shirts, black ties and white gloves. Their exaggerated caricature faces melted away, revealing normal but tired human features.

The fading image of Peepers shook violently as he fought to remain inside the room. As one, the Guild reached out their hands and mimed a pulling motion. Peepers couldn't resist. His struggle was fruitless as they tugged him through the mirrors, where he returned to a solid form. One member pried his fingers from the sword, dropping it to the floor inside the mirrors. Peepers shrieked and his body convulsed as they raised him over their heads and carried him into the darkness. Permanently exiled from the Haunted Labyrinth of Mirrors, Peepers and his screams faded along with visions of the Guild.

Mary switched the room lights on full, while Alan rushed across the room. Starting with Ringmaster, he removed the gag and reached for the rope securing his wrists behind his back. Suddenly Geno stormed into the room.

"Back away, Alan," he ordered with both hands aiming Dale's pistol at him. In a kneeling position, Alan raised his hands.

"It's over, Geno. Peepers is gone," Alan said.

"It's not over!" Geno yelled.

"You don't have to do this, Geno. It wasn't your fault. He forced you—"

"No!" Geno yelled. "It's not over. It's just the beginning. It's my turn now. He can't keep it from me anymore."

A screw clanged down the spiral stairway at the rear entry. Geno jerked his aim at the door.

"I know you're there. Leaving won't do you any good. The cops were right behind me. Now step in here or I'll kill your boyfriend," Geno said.

With her hands held up, Mary stepped into the room. Geno flicked the barrel of the gun to his left and she sidestepped until she was beside Lyle. Geno returned his aim to Alan. He took one hand off the gun and lowered it into his pocket and pulled out a key.

"What are you doing, Geno? The police are right outside. Don't do anything stupid," Alan pleaded.

"Shut up!" Geno said. He tossed the key to Alan. "You came here to destroy his mold, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. That key opens a hidden compartment behind that panel." He pointed to one of the mirrored panels. "The lock is in the bottom, in the frame. You need to promise me that you'll destroy it."

"Of course. I promise, but why don't you lower the gun so we can—"

"Shut up and listen!" Geno interrupted. "I'm trusting you. You'll all stay alive because I'm trusting you to finish the job."

"Okay, you can trust me," Alan said.

Geno turned and walked to the front entrance. He bent and reached his fingers under the panel and found a hidden mechanism. With a tug, the door unlatched. Before passing through the opening, he turned back and looked at Ringmaster, still lying sideways on the floor, roped to the chair.

"It'll all be yours now, Ringmaster. See you on the flip side." Geno smiled. Ringmaster's eyes widened and his head shook.

Geno started laughing. Then he turned and ran down the short pathway. His wicked laugh intensified and echoed throughout the Labyrinth. As he exited the building, three quick shots were fired, followed by dozens of rapid return fire.

Alan and Mary rushed to release their friends. Within seconds of his release, the panicked Ringmaster ran crying for the door. With his hands raised over his head, he repeatedly yelled, "Don't shoot," as he exited the building.

Two officers stormed through the rear door. Mary barely finished untying Dale when he jumped out of the chair with his hands out in front of him.

"Put the guns down, guys. Everyone is safe," Dale said. The officers lowered their guns and one asked Dale what happened. Dale glanced over to Alan, who was loosening Lyle's rope. Alan smiled and shrugged. Everyone else looked away in the hopes that they wouldn't be asked the same question.

"Uh..." Dale stalled. "What happened to Geno?"

"You mean the guy who kidnapped all of you and ran out shooting at us?" an officer replied.

"Yeah, him. I guess you answered my question. Was anyone hit?" Dale said.

"No, he aimed high and only got off three shots before we dropped him."

With everyone untied, the officers began escorting the group from the building. Alan resisted.

"No, there's something I need to do first," he said. The officer stood in his way but Dale put his hand on the officer's shoulder.

"It's okay, Tommy. He's my brother. Give him a minute. We'll wait outside." The officer shrugged and walked out with Dale.

*****

Alan turned the key and pulled the panel open. As Geno promised, the Peepers mold was inside the tight space, along with the molds for Spanky and Agor. Starting with the Peepers mold, he retrieved a cutter from his pocket and got to work shredding the silicone. Satisfied that the three molds were thoroughly beyond repair, he retracted the blade and returned it to his pocket.

Without looking back, Alan turned and walked toward the rear door. He stepped outside and the door slammed behind him. Lights dimmed in the empty building. Inside the mirrored wall, a gloved hand reached down. The fingers wrapped around the handle of Peepers' discarded sword. As the hand raised the blade from the floor, a rising sound of psychotic laughter rumbled throughout the Labyrinth.

FADE OUT

To follow The Guild of Fallen Clowns, visit our website:

<http://www.theguildoffallenclowns.com/>

