Floppy: The New Clown in Town

She died in early November, the day after Halloween. Despite this, she had at least experienced one last Halloween, which had been her favorite holiday. Tom was happy about this. However, as he stood near her coffin at Turner Family Funeral Home’s visitor parlor, he wasn’t happy. Though he smiled at those who had come to pay their respects, he had plastered a false smile on his face and longed for nothing more than to get home to his favorite chair and have some peace.

Two weeks after her funeral, Tom decided it was at last time to go through her belongings: throw away what he didn’t want, keep what he did want, and donate the rest. That Saturday had consisted of a lot of going through boxes, bags, and the various sections of the Richardson home, searching for Melanie’s various belongings.

By Saturday evening, Tom had enough items that he had decided to keep and began to take the items to the basement, taking several at a time. On the second trip, though, he seemed to have laden himself with too many items. As he stood at the top of the basement stairs, about to venture down, one of the boxes at the top began to wiggle. Tom was powerless, his hands full, to stop the box’s wiggling and fall, and he let out a yell as the other boxes tumbled out of his hands; at least two of them tumbled down the stairs, disappearing into the basement and out of sight. In his defense, though, this was more of a yell of worry: he didn’t want Melanie’s items to be damaged. Upon hearing his howl, Lucy, Tom’s Goldendoodle that had been sticking close by, ran and hid near her crate.

Tom bent down and began to gather the packages and descended into the basement. He set them on the ground, pulled over a chair, and began to go through the boxes, inspecting their contents for damage. As he went through each box, his stomach sank lower and lower. Though the fall hadn’t seemed very far, it had been just enough. A jewelry box Tom had given Melanie for her birthday, the lid was now torn off its hinges; an angel that had been roughly created by their granddaughter Brook, its head was now decapitated. Tom shook his head and leaned back in his chair, trying to keep himself from losing his temper.

Despite his best efforts, when Tom looked back up, he happened to see the box labeled Halloween Decorations. This was enough to snap Tom. He leaped to his feet and hastened to clean up the boxes; he would attempt to salvage them later. Once his wife’s belongings were dealt with, he turned his attention to the Halloween box. He grabbed the first box and hauled it outside to the garbage. He did the same thing with the second box. The garbage truck was coming on Monday, that was perfect, he thought. The truck would take all of this…garbage away, and he’d have no more painful memories of his wife’s cheeriness for all things Halloween. When he was done, Tom went to reassure Lucy and calm her down.

On Monday morning, the garbage truck came at 7:30 am, just as it always did. Tom watched from the living room window as the Halloween decorations were loaded into the back of the truck. He waved pleasantly to the workers and watched the truck until it pulled out of sight.

***

The following year passed pleasantly for Tom Richardson. He got a promotion at work, which allowed him to trade his car a new one. He welcomed his second grandchild, this one a boy named Samuel. However, it was the following October that made this an interesting, and terrifying, year for Tom. As Tom made his way into the conference room for a donut, he overheard a pair of co-workers talking to each other.

“Did you hear what the kids are saying is the new Halloween trend?” said Bill.

“No, I didn’t,” said Mary, shaking her head yet sounding intrigued.

“It’s Floppy the Clown,” said Bill. “My son Mark was talking about it last night.”

“Floppy the Clown?” said Mary, her eyebrows raised. She sounded unimpressed.

“He’s supposed to be, like, the patron saint of Halloween,” said Bill. “From what Mark said, he’s supposed to punish those that don’t celebrate Halloween.”

Tom laughed, and Bill and Mary looked over at him.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Tom. “A clown is supposed to punish people?”

“That’s just what Mark told me,” said Bill, throwing his hands up in defense. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Tom shook his head, finished his donut, and left the conference room.

***

The following weeks passed uneventful for Tom. As the morning of Halloween dawned, today on a Saturday, Tom woke and began to prepare himself some coffee, letting Lucy outside as he made his way to the kitchen. As he waited for the coffee to cool, he took out Lucy’s food, scooped it into her bowl, and returned the remainder to the cabinet. He then went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.

“Lucy!” he called. “Lucy, time for breakfast.”

Normally, when she heard the b-word, Lucy came running like a bat out of Hell. This morning, though, she did not appear right away; in fact, she didn’t appear at all.

“Lucy!” he called again, louder this time. “Lucy, it’s time for breakfast!”

Still no sign of her, nor did he hear the familiar jingle of her tags as she ran. Tom shook his head and stepped back inside the house; maybe she was chasing after a rabbit or playing with the Corkin girl down the street.

As the morning ticked by, Tom began to grow worried as he still hadn’t seen Lucy since letting her out. He hurriedly changed into some regular clothes and went outside. He walked to the edge of the front lawn, calling her name and scanning the neighborhood for her. He noted, with a hint of disgust, that he was the only house without any sort of visible Halloween decoration. Nevertheless, he shook that thought from his head and continued his hunt.

Seeing no sign of her in the front yard, he decided to move to the backyard. When he reached it, there was no immediate sign of her. His stomach sank lower as he began to search the backyard, looking under bushes and in the flower beds. Did she somehow get stuck under the deck? Dug her way in but can’t figure out how to get back out? At last, as he neared the border of his backyard, a hint of something gold out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. As he approached the gold, he felt his mouth drop open in horror.

Lying in the grass, right on the border of his backyard and the small forest behind his house, was Lucy. Her throat was torn open, and it was like someone had given her a crude Columbian necktie: Tom could see the pink flesh of her tongue just outside the cut on her throat. He screamed and collapsed on the ground before her, unwilling to remain standing.

At last, after what seemed like hours, his tears seemed to subside, and he pulled himself to his feet. He was happy that there was a fence on his left and right sides of his yard; he didn’t want the neighbors coming out and seeing him like this. He shook his head and headed towards the garage. He returned to Lucy moments later, a black garbage bag clutched tightly in one hand. He knelt down again and slowly began to move her body into the bag. Once it was in, he tied the bag tight and carried it back to the garage. He would bury her tomorrow. Now, he longed for a drink.

***

The phone rang later that afternoon.

“Hello,” said Tom. “This is Tom Richardson.”

“Hi, dad,” said Charlie Richardson, Tom’s oldest son. “Happy Halloween.”

Tom grunted in response.

“Hey, dad,” said Charlie. “Danielle and I were wondering if we’d be able to bring the kids over tonight. Brook wants to show you her costume.”

“I’m actually going out of town tonight,” said Tom. “I’ve got a buddy over in Dell Lake. He’s having a poker game tonight. Can you come…?”

The line went dead, and the only sound was dial tone in his ear. After a second, the dial tone stopped entirely. Tom pulled the phone away from his ear like it was a hot iron and stared at it. This didn’t make any sense: as far as he knew, he was paid up with the phone company. In any case, he set the phone back down in the cradle and pulled out his cell phone. He was halfway through dialing when the cell, too, went dead. No matter what he did, Tom couldn’t get it to turn back on.

“Damn thing,” he said, shaking it in his hand to no avail. The screen remained blank. He sighed and set the phone down on the table. He’d try it later and, hopefully, it would be back then.

***

That night, like every Halloween night, the streets were bustling with kids going house to house and their choruses of “trick or treat!” Tom, on the other hand, had pulled his curtains shut and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Charlie and the kids had already come and gone; they had figured, with the phone dead, to just go over anyway and see Tom, who, despite his dislike of Halloween, had enjoyed seeing Brook and Sam. Brook was dressed as a fairy princess, and Danielle had made a homemade scarecrow costume for Sam. After checking his porch lights were shut off, Tom headed towards the living room and his favorite chair.

He had no sooner sat down in the chair and opened his beer when the doorbell rang. Tom ignored it at first, but the bell rang again and again. After the fourth ring, Tom set his beer down and stomped towards the front door. Prepared to yell, he threw it open and, to his surprise, found no one standing before him. He looked around and sure enough, there was no one on his porch; in fact, all the kids seemed in too big of a rush to even notice his house. Scowling, he withdrew back inside. However, he had barely sat down when the doorbell again.

“Goddamn kids, just leave me in peace!” Tom shouted and he stomped again to the door. He opened the door with such ferocity that it bounced, hard, off the wall. Yet again, though, nobody stood before him, their bag wide open, expecting a treat. What was sitting on the Welcome mat, though, did make him cock his head in confusion.

It was a pumpkin, and he could tell by the light flickering inside, that it was a jack-o-lantern. But who had placed it there? Tom knelt down and scooped the it up. He turned it around in his hands until he was looking at the carving. What he saw only further confused him. It was a clown, a twisted smile on its carved face. Its evil eyes flickered with light, and they gave Tom the shivers.

“Well,” scoffed Tom, inspecting the carving. “It’s not even that good.”

He shook his head and went back into the house, carrying the jack-o-lantern with him. He went into the backyard, towards the border of his yard with the forest. Reaching it, he dropped the pumpkin, and it shattered on the ground. Satisfied, he turned and walked back towards the house.

***

During the following hour, things seemed to, at last, progress normally for Tom. That was until he heard a voice coming …from inside the house. When he first heard it, Tom ignored it, thinking it was merely the wind or some sort of trick. When it increased in volume, though, Tom had no choice but to investigate. As he followed the voice, he realized it was coming…from his bedroom. He went to the kitchen, grabbed one of the steak knives, and slowly approached the bedroom.

Tom reached the doorway and peered inside. Sitting on the bed, dressed in a simple white shirt and pants, was his Melanie. Her brown hair hung loosely around her face, and her skin was as white as a sheet; fixed in her hair was the butterfly pin Tom had gotten her for her birthday. Overwhelmed at the sight of her, Tom dropped the knife, which clattered against the hardwood floor.

“No,” said Tom under his breath. “That’s impossible. This…this isn’t happening.”

He shut his eyes, thinking that when he opened them again, his wife would be gone and his evening would return to normal. But when he did, Melanie still sat on the bed, but she was now looking at him, her blue eyes full of sadness; Tom could see tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.

He came over to her; as he did, she returned to looking at the floor. He knelt down in front of her, so that he could look into her eyes. He slowly touched her knee and was surprised that it was solid. He met her eyes and began to cry, softly at first and then harder.

“It’s you,” he said through his sobs, and he flung his arms around her. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

He released and looked at her, into those sad blue eyes. She blinked and looked up at him.

“You betrayed me,” she said, and her voice was like ice. “You betrayed me.”

Tom fell back in horror, looking at Melanie.

“What do you mean?” he said. “How did I betray you?”

Melanie did not answer but only began to cry harder. As he looked at her, Tom ran through their life together in his mind, trying to think of how he might’ve betrayed her. Despite his effort, he failed to think of anything concrete.

“The Halloween decorations,” said Melanie at last. “You threw them away, even though you knew it was my favorite holiday.”

“Is that what this is about?” said Tom, and Melanie shot a cold glance at him that made him shiver. She stopped crying and stood up, swaying on the spot. As she did, her eyes began to sink into her skull, and bags appeared under them. Her flesh turned a sickly grey color and began to melt away, as if it were wax exposed to a flame. Her hair began to fall out in droves, leaving a pile of it on the floor. White hair took its place, growing just as fast as the old hair had fallen.

What stood before Tom now was not his wife but, instead, her decomposed body. Tom leaped back in horror and screamed. Melanie took a step toward him, swayed on the spot again, and collapsed. As she did, her body began to evaporate into thin air until it was gone. The only thing that remained was her butterfly pin, glinting softly in the low light of the room.

Tom scrambled to his feet and started to run out of the room, his only objective to get the hell out of there. He reached the threshold to the hallway and let out a loud shriek of pain. Looking down, he saw the steak knife jammed into his bare left foot. He leaned against the door jam and slowly pulled the knife from his foot, wincing with pain. Carrying the knife in his hand, he began to limp towards the bathroom, intending to wrap his foot in gauze.

He reached the bathroom and pushed the door open. This was not his bathroom, though. Instead, he was standing in his living room, having been somehow teleported downstairs. He looked around, trying to figure out what was going on, when the doorbell rang. Tom whirled around to face the door, but before he could react, it burst open, banging against the wall. Mist spilled into the house. Among it, Tom could see a silhouette of someone standing in the doorway.

***

The person stepped forward, into the light. It was a clown. He was dressed in a black and white striped jumpsuit, and strapped to his right shoulder was a decapitated rabbit’s head. His electric yellow hair stuck out on end all over his head, as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. A belt of human ears was around his waist. His face was covered in entirely in white makeup, save for a sky-blue tear drop tattoo just below his left eye, giving him the impression of always crying. He carried a plain brown suitcase in one hand.

“Hello, Tom,” the clown said, and he flashed him a wide, toothy smile, and his teeth were, eerily, the only normal thing about him: pearly white and straight. To Tom, it made the rest of his appearance that much more unsettling.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the clown said, bowing low. “My name is Floppy the Clown, and you, Tom Richardson. I know you very well.”

“I’ve…I’ve heard about you,” stammered Tom, unable to move.

“Heard but didn’t believe. Is that right?” said Floppy. As Floppy spoke, something began to dawn on Tom.

“It’s been you, hasn’t it? It’s been you terrorizing me all night?”

“Well, who else would it be?” said Floppy, flashing those teeth again and stifling a laugh. “You heard what I do, didn’t you?”

Tom’s words failed him. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember Floppy’s purpose. That, or he simply didn’t want to remember.

“Patron saint of Halloween,” said Floppy. “Or, at least, so they say. Punish those who refuse to celebrate the spookiest night of the year. And boy, you’ve not celebrated. Have you given out any candy tonight?”

Tom shook his head, unable to form words.

“Did you put up any decorations?”

Tom shook his head again.

“Did you at least have a glass of apple cider?”

Tom shook his head a third time. Floppy shook his head, clicking his tongue with disappointment.

“See, that’s what I don’t like,” he said. “I can’t have someone not celebrating.”

He strode over to a nearby table and swiped aside a potted plant that sat there; the plant fell to the floor, where it crashed and scattered dirt in every direction. Floppy set his briefcase on top of the table, opened it, and began to rummage through it, apparently looking for something specific. At last, he smiled.

“Aha,” he said, and from the suitcase, he pulled a knife. Its blade was nearly half a foot long and shined so brightly that, when it caught the light, it reflected against the wall. Seeing the knife, Tom screamed so loud, he was sure someone would investigate, but no one did.

“Tonight is your last night, Tom,” said Floppy, coming forward, holding the knife even with his head “Tonight, there is no escape.”

Floppy reached Tom, and, moving fast, Tom slashed his knife through the air and plunged the blade into Floppy’s chest. The clown let out a horrible scream, staring at the knife sticking out of his chest. Tom smiled and began to laugh as the clown stumbled backwards. His smile quickly vanished as the clown’s scream slowly began to change to laughter: high, cold laughter that rang throughout the house; the sound was so loud Tom was sure he was going deaf.

His laughter subsiding, Floppy pulled the knife from his chest and tossed it aside, where it disappeared out of sight. With a flash of steel, Floppy brought his own blade through the air. Tom screamed and clutched his right knee as the blood spewed out. Unable to remain standing, he fell to the floor, gasping in pain. Floppy smiled again and knelt down so that he was looking into Tom’s eyes; his breath smelled so foul that Tom nearly vomited.

“I will ensure,” said Floppy, “that you remain conscious long enough to feel…”

He slashed Tom’s right arm, drawing a long wound from the top of his shoulder to the elbow.

“Every….”

He repeated the cut on Tom’s left arm. Tom’s screams of pain grew louder.

“Last…”

He sliced Tom’s forehead, and blood poured down his face, into his eyes.

“….cut,” Floppy finished, and he leaned back, admiring his twisted work. Tom was helpless as he looked up through his blood soaked eyes at the monstrous clown. That smile glinted in the dark, like a lighthouse warning the ships out at sea.

Time and time again, Floppy would bring the knife through the air, slicing a new part of Tom each time: his hands, his groin, his leg, every piece of flesh he could reach. With each new cut, Tom’s screams grew louder. At last, when Tom was a mangled mess of blood on the floor, Floppy set aside the knife and got to his feet; though panting heavily, the toothy smile stretched across his face.

“I think now,” he said, wiping a finger through the dripping blood, “is the time I show you your…new home.”

Floppy bent down and took a hold of Tom by the trousers. Using his immense strength, the clown lifted Tom and set him across his shoulders. Floppy then pointed at an electrical outlet near the front windows. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, by itself, the outlet began to short-circuit, sending sparks in every direction. A few of these sparks landed on the window curtains, catching the curtains on fire. The flames began to grow and spread until, after a few short minutes, the entire room was on fire.

Smiling widely, Floppy, still carrying Tom across his shoulder, began to walk towards the fireplace. As he grew closer, bright blue flames sprung to life. Without flinching, Floppy stepped forward into the flames. In a second, the blue flames vanished, taking Floppy and Tom with them.

***

No one was really sure what happened to Tom that night. After all, the firefighters could find no trace of his body in the wreckage. In fact, the only thing they could find, yet not explain, was a jack-o-lantern with a clown face carved into it.