CW: disturbing. obsession. serial killer. clown.
SHOCKY THE CLOWN
The story of “Shocky the Clown” (real title TBD).
Killer picks a victim, stalks and terrifies him, kills those close to him, is arrested and executed/experiences a one of a kind death, returns for that final victim.
Popcorn fair but for your text-to-speech earholes.
Killer POV: creepy obsession. stalking. heavy introspection and f’d up stuff.
Victim POV: begins during/after the execution/death. some slight flashbacking, but just fill in deets. mostly action.
Killer POV: The feel of being electricity. Of having the power of gods. To be able to see him, and know that he was invisible, unseen, able to do anything he wanted to his dear love.
Victim POV: There was a sense of being watched. Of something frightening lurking around every corner. It was what Aaron hated the most about the whole thing: the loss of his sense of safety.
The world had become a thing of shadow and fear.
He wanted his sense of self back.
He wanted to be comfortable in his own skin.
He wanted to look around at the empty room and be able to accept that it was empty. That leering nightmare face wasn’t going to pop up in the window or behind him in the mirror.
He wanted to believe the monster was dead. And he couldn’t.
Because the monster built a home in his head. And Aaron had nowhere else to live.
Killer POV: They were chasing him. He could hear them crashing through the woods behind him.
He would not stop. Could not stop.
Because if he let them stop him, he would never see his love again. Would never taste his supple flesh and eat his strength.
And oh, but his love was strong. He’d cried over the losses he’d been dealt–“Mama, mama,” he’d screamed, a beautiful wail of pain–but he hadn’t given up. He’d still tried to fight back. And even in his failure he was beautiful.
And Ian wanted him back. Would take him back.
Because they were one soul in two bodies. They belonged together, no matter what the world said or fooled his love into believing.
They belonged together. They were ONE. Because he willed it so.
Killer POV: he doesn’t really view Aaron as a person. Refuses to call him by his name because that’s not the name his love would have.
Aaron.
Victim POV: he feels guilty that he “brought that evil clown” into his family’s life, never mind that it wasn’t his fault. He has misplaced guilt and a lot of bubbling rage.
A fukking killer supernatural clown wants to come after him?!? Aaron’s gonna fukk him up!
Alternating -> Ian || Aaron
They were chasing him. He could hear them crashing through the woods behind him.
He would not stop. Could not stop.
Because if he let them stop him, he would never see his love again. Would never taste his supple flesh and eat his strength.
And oh, but his love was strong. He’d cried over the losses he’d been dealt–“Mama, mama,” he’d screamed, a beautiful wail of pain–but he hadn’t given up. He’d still tried to fight back. And even in his failure he was beautiful.
And Ian wanted him back. Would take him back.
Because they were one soul in two bodies. They belonged together, no matter what the world said or fooled his love into believing.
They belonged together. They were ONE. Because he willed it so.
His pursuers were getting closer and the number had grown.
The strength in his legs and lungs was failing, but he urged himself on–FASTER! HARDER! STRONGER!–and refused to stop even when his legs began to tremble with the strain and his breathing took on a whistling wheeze.
He ran uphill through the woods, away from the distant lights of the town. He didn’t know where he was going, but if he could find someplace to go to ground, he would take the chance.
The feel of being electricity. Of having the power of gods. To be able to see him, and know that he was invisible, unseen, able to do anything he wanted to his dear love.
His Arianetta.
There was a sense of being watched. Of something frightening lurking around every corner. It was what Aaron hated the most about the whole thing: the loss of his sense of safety.
The world had become a thing of shadow and fear.
He wanted his sense of self back.
He wanted to be comfortable in his own skin.
He wanted to look around at the empty room and be able to accept that it was empty. That leering nightmare face wasn’t going to pop up in the window or behind him in the mirror.
He wanted to believe the monster was dead. And he couldn’t.
Because the monster built a home in his head. And Aaron had nowhere else to live.
Ian DeMorne, the name the monster had worn when he was walking around everyday. The Clown when he put on his Face and went out to do horrible horrible things.
“My Arianetta. My darling. My love,” ground out that voice.
And though Aaron couldn’t feel the breath on his skin or those hands on his hips, he knew that they were there.
He woke the house with his screams.
Aunt Katy burst in with a mini-baseball bat in her hands and a wild determination to her eyes. “What is it? What’s going on!”
Aaron sat up from where he’d been clenching the edge of his blanket over his cheeks and scooted back until his shoulders met the headboard. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. I’m alright.”
“What’s going on in there?” Cousin Armando called from his room.
“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” Aunt Katy commanded gently.
Aaron could see the bedroom lights disappearing down the hallway behind her as six bedroom doors closed, click, click. His room was at the end of the hall; they could hear everything that he did. (There was a reason he loved music.)
“Are you all right, dear?” Aunt Katy asked. She had lowered the bat down to her side and her left arm crossed her waist to lightly rest on her right elbow.
Her nails were painted a rainbow of hues, each striped with a swirl of colors, pinks, blues, green, yellows, reds, purples, and bursts of glittery silver. He appreciated her attempts to bring color into this otherwise bland place.
“I’m alright, Aunt Katy. I’m so sorry I woke everyone.” He straightened his blankets with his hands and fought not to be exposed in his bedclothes.
“I’m sorry you’re having bad dreams again,” she said gently.
He scoffed a laugh. “I know it’s a bit morbid, but I would have thought his death would stop all the nightmares, not give me more. It just feels like I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I know it’s not real, but I feel like it is.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“I know. It’s alright,” he said. He attempted to give her a smile.
She accepted it graciously as she did all things.
There were so many limitations to their interactions. The cameras and the microphones were everywhere, and the children of Facility C were all Specials.
He was a Special.
Talking to him was dangerous to everyone around him that was lesser than a Gamma.
Aunt Katy was a Delta.
“Thank you for coming to protect me,” he said.
Her smile was something real and just for him. “I’ll always come for you,” she said. “It’s my duty as your Aunt.”
Aaron laughed. “Thank you Aunty.”
“Bad dreams all gone?” she asked.
“All gone,” he assured. His heartbeat was still a little fast, but it was already slowing.
“I’ll give you a chance to get settled,” she said, turning toward the door. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he said.
Once she was gone with the door firmly closed behind her, he scrambled out of bed to change his pajamas for another pair. He tried to be quiet as everyone was trying to sleep, but his skin was cringing away from the sweat damp fabric.
He hoped the nightmares weren’t going to get bad again.
He hated making extra work for the laundry workers.
He feels me! He knows that I am here!
It was joy bursting across his every sense. To know that his Arianetta could feel his presence.
That he could still touch his Arianetta on some level.
Watching his love, he admired the lines of his form and fretted over his health.
“I would pamper you if I could,” Ian whispered, aching to reach out and touch.
Katy couldn’t imagine letting her nephew stay in that place alone. Given everything that a growing body needed while at the same time denied the connection of family and of love.
She’d seen the adults that came out of State Youth Facilities. They always seemed mildly bewildered by the world around them as they had to adjust to making decisions of their own.
It hadn’t taken much to fudge a bit of her resume. A few creds passed here and there, and now she was “Aunt Katy” to six Specials.
It was mildly daunting.
Except one of those Specials was her nephew and she wasn’t going to leave him in this place without knowing for sure that he was being treated well and wasn’t growing up to be a robot.
“She doesn’t belong.”
“No. But she’s good for the boy. He wasn’t doing well until her arrival. I think on some level he remembers her.”
“She’s wasting her talents.”
“Perhaps for a time. But he’s only going to be young for a few more years. She’ll move on when he does. Think of this as her taking a vacation.”
“Still… What a waste.”
—
TBC
Harper Kingsley 