
26 Dec Remember Only the Checkered Clown
āRemember Only the Checkered Clownā
Written by Ryan Peacock Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
š§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
ā° ESTIMATED READING TIME ā 23 minutes
People in my hometown donāt talk about what happened during the summer of 1969. Urban legends, unsolved mysteries and tragedies can be found in the history of any small town in the world and mine is no different, yet those who remember the checkered clown know why it is best forgotten.
For the purpose of anonymity, I wonāt share the name of my hometown. Most of those who know of the clown only know the twisted stories and those old enough to remember arenāt likely to share many details. Most of them would be of little help anyway. Iām quite sure there arenāt many left alive who know the truth. I may very well be the last one there is and if thatās so, it would be wrong to take that knowledge to my grave as so many have before me. As it is now, Iām staring down the barrel of old age and my youth is long gone. Itās best to come out with it while Iām still young enough to remember everything.
I was eight years old on July 14th of the year 1969. It was a sunny day, with only a few clouds drifting lazily through the sky, and even from a few blocks away you could smell the carnival.
It had been a topic of conversation amongst the boys on the block for a few weeks. Back then our little town was out of the way, surrounded on all sides by heavy forest with only a few roads connecting it to the rest of the world. Given the isolation, we didnāt see much of interest passing through our little community so, of course, the carnival was a big deal!
I remember when my mom and dad led my brother and I to the field on the edge of town. I walked happily in front of them, looking back periodically to make sure they were close behind. My dad held my little brother, Carter’s hand and they lagged behind a little. He was only 4 years old, too young to understand where we were going and I remembered heād been especially grumpy that morning. Heād just been getting over a bit of a fever so maybe that had contributed to his sour mood. Either way, I didnāt let it dampen my own enthusiasm. As soon as I smelled the deep-fried funnel cake and popcorn I broke into a run, following the delightful smells and sounds of music.
Then I saw it, the long-awaited carnival and there was an initial rush of disappointment. Iād expected something a lot more grand than what weād gotten. In the movies and on TV, carnivals seemed like endless sprawls of games, rides and food with a Ferris wheel looming over all of it. What was set up in that field was certainly something incredible but it was fairly bare-bones. There werenāt any rides, just booths with simple games and vendors with food. I saw a few of my friends at one of the vendors and Iād just been ready to go over and join them when a man had stopped me. It had been Mr. Woods whoād run the town library back in those days. I remember heād always had a kindly smile and soft eyes.
āDonāt you want your tickets?ā heād asked, and in his hand I saw strings of ticket paper waiting for me. Mr. Woodsā warm smile seemed to widen as he offered them to me and I greedily snatched them up. I glanced behind me for a moment and I saw my mom, Dad and Carter right behind me. My dad just smiled at me and waved me on towards the booths. That was all the permission Iād needed.
I sprinted towards my other friends to join them in whatever game theyād been playing and my initial disappointment was quickly forgotten.
I remember that my teacher that year, Mrs. Jenkins was watching the ring toss game and that our Principal, Mr. Hughes had volunteered for the dunk tank which was practically a dream come true.
For one glorious afternoon, me and my friends got to experience a carnival. We traded tickets for treats like funnel cake and candy apples, weād run around and played. There was even a smiling clown in a baggy white suit (who sounded a lot like my friend Michaelās dad) that painted our faces! That afternoon was almost absolutely perfect.
Iāll admit, I did lose track of my family amongst everything. I remember that I saw my mom sitting alone at one picnic table, with no sign of my dad or Carter around but I never thought much of it. Iād figured Dad had taken Carter to play some games. I had my own friends to play with and my own games to focus on! I didnāt want to drag my little baby brother around! What kid would? So I just played with my friends and enjoyed the carnival for what it was worth. We never paid much attention to what was going on in the background. I donāt think anyone did.
Most of those who saw something that day have their own stories. Some got a good look at the checkered clown, some claim they spoke with him and others only caught a glimpse of him. I fall within the latter camp.
When I saw him, heād been walking behind the booths. He was dressed in a black and red checkered outfit and wore a cap that resembled that of a stereotypical court jester. I remember the way that the bells had jingled as heād walked.
Iād only momentarily caught sight of his āfaceā when heād looked towards the children in the carnival although I canāt say I saw much. Heād kept himself covered with a black buskin mask. I remember the mournful expression on it that seemed so exaggerated. The mask looked as if it was screaming in anguish.
Iād watched him for a few minutes as he passed, popping in and out of view from behind the booths as he walked purposefully away. He didnāt hold my attention for long. Instead, Iād just gone back to my games. At the time, heād made such a small impression and Iām sure I wouldāve forgotten him entirely if people hadnāt begun to notice the missing children.
Weād only been playing for a few hours before someone started calling out for their child and in the span of a few minutes the carnival fell apart. I remember my dad emerging from the crowd of other kids who looked around in confusion as their parents called for them. He grabbed my hand and tugged me sharply away from the other children towards my mom.
I could see her head darting around frantically and over the cries of the throng I could hear her yelling a name:
āCarter? CARTER!ā
There were tears rolling down her cheeks as sheād called for him and her voice was drowned out amongst several other parents screaming for their children. I remember seeing several of my friends with their own parents⦠And I remember that some of them had even had siblings who were now notably absent.
āTake Sean, Iāll find Carter,ā my dad had said as heād pushed me towards my mom. Sheād looked up at him, silent for a moment before sheād grabbed me by the hand and led me away.
I didnāt want to go! I didnāt understand what was going on. I didnāt know where Carter had gone or why everything had so suddenly stopped. I just remember looking back at the carnival. I heard no music and the smell of food was barely lingering. What I did hear were the desperate cries of frightened parents looking for boys and girls theyād never see again.
Thirty-two children went to the carnival that day and never came home, including my brother Carter. Most of them were young, five and under but there were a few older ones as well. As for what happened, well⦠No one really knew. A number of eyewitnesses said that theyād seen a clown in a red and black checkered suit leading children by the hand into the woods. To that end, most of the town joined a search party hoping to recover the children but they found nothing and after a few days, they gave up. No one ever figured out just who the checkered clown had been either. I donāt think anyone wanted to believe that theyād been part of the community. I donāt recall there being much finger-pointing at the time but I can only imagine I was too young to see its full extent. If there was anyone the community blamed, I never heard anything about it, and in the end, it hardly mattered. The final consensus was that the clown had been a stranger. Some unknown, monstrous figure whoād taken advantage of the carnival to lure away some innocent children although the questions of āWhyā and āTo Whereā were left unanswered for there were no answers to be found. No explanation and no āwhyā behind it all. Those children had simply been spirited away and that was the only answer my little community had. Loss begat grief, grief became bitterness which gradually turned into acceptance and as the years went by, people seldom spoke of the carnival. It became a sour memory for those whoād lived through it and an urban legend for those who didnāt.
Moving on after Carterās disappearance wasnāt easy but in due time I found my ways to accept that my brother was dead. Time went by. I grew up. Familiar faces aged and died off and every year the memory of the checkered clown became more and more distant.
I never left my hometown. Some of my friends did, first returning only for occasional visits that became less and less frequent before they stopped returning at all. I never resented them for that. One thing Iāve learned is that life calls people to different paths and Iād made a point to see enough of the world outside of my little bubble to know that as beautiful as it all was, there was never anywhere else in the world that I felt more at home than⦠well. Home. Besides, the next fifty years were kind to our little community.
Inevitably the town grew. A lumber mill opened in the 70s that brought newcomers and with them came growth. As the next fifty-one years crept by, the little hometown Iād grown up in changed into something modern and unrecognizable, and that fateful carnival was all but forgotten. Even the field it had taken place in was bulldozed and replaced by a small suburb of townhouses and as all of this happened I lived my life.
I met a girl, married her, had kids, and got old, and even Iād stopped thinking about the carnival. Every now and then it would creep into my mind, but like any bad memory, I didnāt let it linger. Iād decided long ago that there was no point in dwelling on the past. Instead, I just kept on working towards retirement and figuring out how Iād spend my twilight years and I was happy just to have that.
After the divorce, Iād gotten myself a little townhouse that I could comfortably afford. Originally Iād bought it for me and my two sons to live in comfortably while they were over but Iād inevitably ended up the only resident. My oldest son had gotten married and moved into the city about a year ago and my youngest was finishing college in another state and shooting to become a lawyer.
I was well enough alone although I canāt say it bothered me much. I had Toby for company and while my mom had died long ago, my dad was still kicking as he pushed ninety and Iād stop by for a visit every now and then.
Toby was some sort of collie mix (I think he had some heeler in him?) Originally heād been my youngest son’s dog but when heād left for college, Toby had stayed with me. He was an odd animal, to say the least, scrawny no matter how much he ate, anxious to the point where the fucking rain terrified him, and if I so much as stepped out of the house heād scream blue murder until I came back. He had these big, bloodshot eyes that looked so miserable all the time and by God was he a troublemaker. I canāt say I didnāt love that dog despite his faults, though. I suppose it was nice to have something to care for and I could tell that mutt missed my boys as much as I did. We kept each other company, though.
Every Sunday morning Iād wake up a little early and cook a big breakfast of sausage and eggs. Iād make a few extra sausages for the dog and set them on a plate for him. He always seemed to appreciate that.
Then, after breakfast, Iād get his leash and weād go on a little stroll through the neighborhood. Weād pass through what used to be downtown back when I was a boy and on the way back up, weād pass the suburb that sat where that field once had. I didnāt often think about it. The carnival was a faded scar and the houses all looked so similar. Sometimes I might reminisce as we passed those houses but not often. Usually Iād keep walking with Toby, lost in my own thoughts all the way home.
That Sunday in March had been a bit colder than most. Most of the winter’s snow had defrosted but some fresh snowflakes drifted down from an otherwise clear sky that morning. I could see my breath out in front of me while Iād been out on my morning walk with Toby and I let him explore and nip at the snowflakes as I walked.
I canāt recall what I was thinking about as we passed the suburbs where the Carnival had once stood but my mind was elsewhere. Tobyās sudden barking was the only thing that brought me back into the moment, followed by the sudden yank on his leash. Iād looked up and caught sight of a white fluffy tail fleeing out around a house as Toby struggled against his leash. I felt it slip out of my hand but I wasnāt fast enough to stop it.
That dog took off like a shot, barking threats at that innocent rabbit as he gave chase and I was right behind him, yelling for him like a fool.
āTOBY! Get back here!ā
If nothing else that dog was fast. Iām not even sure I couldāve kept up with him in my prime and by the time Iād followed him around the house all I saw was a black and white blur in the distance, heading for the trees.
āToby!ā
That damn dog couldnāt have cared less and he vanished into the woods without so much as a backwards glance.
āAlright, you little bastard,ā I murmured as I reached the treeline. My boots sank a little bit into the mud and I could see the vague shape of the dog in the distance. I headed towards him, calling out again but this time he looked at me. He was panting and he had that stupid grin dogs always get on his face. I had a feeling he was going to draw this out and turn it into a game since he hadnāt got the memo that at seven years old, he wasnāt a puppy anymore. As soon as he saw me getting closer he took off a short distance away, then stopped to make sure I was still following him. While he waited for me to catch up he pranced around and rolled in the mud, probably having the time of his life in the process. As pissed off as I was, I canāt pretend that it wasnāt a little endearing.
āAlright, youāve had your fun,ā I said as I got closer to him and Toby just took off again. āAssholeā¦ā
I took another step forward but as I did I heard the creak of old wood. Not a twig snapping under my feet. No⦠This sounded more like a rotting floorboard and there was a bit of an echo to it. I didnāt have much time to wonder just what the hell it was. It was just a split second later when the ground gave way beneath my feet.
With a startled cry, I dropped down into darkness and was greeted with a splash of cold water. It hadnāt been a long fall but itād been a hard one. Iād landed on my ass and the water went up to my chest. A rancid smell filled my nostrils and I immediately began to gag. Iām not ashamed to admit that my lovely breakfast went to waste that morning.
My body ached but as far as I could tell, I wasnāt seriously hurt. In the light that filtered down from the hole Iād fallen through, I could tell that Iād only dropped about ten feet. Looking around, my first thought was that Iād fallen into some old, sealed off well. I suppose that was just my luck.
Up above, I could hear Toby barking. He was close and I saw him peek down into the pit and sniff at it before continuing to bark. I suppose the little bastard realized that something wasnāt right and was doing the only thing he logically could about it.
I fumbled around in my pocket for my cell phone and took it out. I thanked God Iād opted for a waterproof case since Iād at least be able to call for help a little more efficiently than Toby was (bless his heart for trying).
With my phone offering some light, I was allowed the chance to see my surroundings a little clearer. The water beneath me was dark, almost black and the muddy earth beneath my submerged feet felt uneven as if I were standing on rocks. When I moved, I nudged something with my foot that shifted.
On instinct, I looked down and thatās when I saw it out of the corner of my eye.
It was almost completely sunken into the dirt wall of the pit and most of it was submerged but I still recognized what I was looking at.
A human skull. The bone was brown and rotten and the lower jaw had long since fallen off. I jerked backwards, bumping against the rear wall of the pit and my eyes darted around frantically. Something broke underneath my foot. Another bone?
My pulse was racing as I looked back at the skull that had sunken into the wall. It looked⦠Small. Too small to be an adult.
My attention shifted to the wall behind it and followed it up. It occurred to me that a well wouldāve probably had more than just an old dirt wall. Hell, there shouldāve been some indicator of where it had been in the first place to prevent old idiots like me from falling in! But there hadnāt been, had there? Thereād been no marker, no warning. Nothing at all.
Looking back at the skull, I could hear Toby barking frantically above me and there was only one thing to do. With a shaking hand, I dialed the police.
I was there on the scene when the Police began to remove the skeletons from the pit. After theyād gotten me out and Iād told them what Iād seen, Iād stood by watching as one of the officers descended into that pit⦠Or perhaps it may be more accurate to simply call it a tombā¦
āWeāve got bodies down here!ā Iād heard the officer call up. Bodies⦠That word had hit me hard.
āHow many?ā
āI⦠I dunno. Skeletal remains. Multiple corpses.ā
The officer standing near the top of the pit looked pale. I canāt imagine heād seen anything quite like this before. Our little community didnāt exactly have much crime in it and thisā¦
I found myself staring at the pit as the officer inside climbed out. I barely heard what heād said to his associate. My hand absentmindedly dropped down to rest on Tobyās head as he panted obliviously beside me.
My mind was racing, trying to process all that Iād seen. My body ached but I hardly noticed. That sick, sinking feeling in my stomach grew worse as I remembered the smell of popcorn and funnel cake.
āWeāll call a team in⦠Start getting them out of there and maybe start IDing the remains,ā I heard an officer say. I saw him looking down into that mass grave and part of me wanted to tell him that I already knew who was down there. I knew that there were 32 of them and I knew all of their namesā¦
I didnāt say a word, though. Instead, my mind wandered back to Carter for the first time in years. Little Carter, that baby brother Iād so longed to avoid⦠The one Iād taken off on and abandoned the first chance Iād gottenā¦
I knew he was in that hole, along with the rest of them. His flesh long since rotted away and what was left of his bones soon following suit.
I wondered if Iād stayed with him, if Iād watched him like a good brother, whether he would have still ended up down there, or if he and I would be living out our twilight years together.
There was no answer to that. There would never be. But still I asked the question as I stood and stared at Carter’s watery grave.
I didnāt hear a thing about the discovery outside of a surprisingly brief mention in the local news. If there was ever any word of it outside of town, it was quickly buried beneath other, more pressing news stories. I wasnāt surprised to read that theyād determined there to be 32 skeletons though, all of which belonged to children.
That said, my lack of surprise didnāt keep me from following what I could about the find. The obvious questions still hung over my head and the discovery of the bodies provided precious little resolution⦠I donāt suppose anyone could have explained why someone had dropped 32 children into a pit and boarded it up.
I found precious little from what searching I did do and it had occurred to me that there wasnāt enough to announce on the news yet but that felt flimsy. 32 skeletons in a pit in the middle of the woods seemed worthy of more than just a passing mention but then again, perhaps I was just an old man with skewed memories of how the world was supposed to work.
Iād gone home after my fall and stayed there, processing everything. Iād called off work for the next day as well. I assume falling into a pit in the middle of the woods was enough of an excuse to avoid work and I knew there was somewhere more important that Iād need to be.
My dad was a stubborn old bastard and as he crept closer to ninety I was sure heād never die. Despite his age, heād still maintained most of his independence. Iām sure if I hadnāt insisted I handle his shopping heād still be out and about most days, ignorant to the fact that he wasnāt as young as heād used to be and I suppose that made two of us.
I didnāt know if heād heard about the pit in the woods. I hadnāt spoken to him on the day Iād found it. I hadnāt been sure just how to break the news to him but I knew that it had to be done.
Iād gotten up a little bit later that morning, much to Tobyās chagrin. He didnāt like it when he was denied his morning patrol of the backyard.
Iād thought about calling Dad but I wasnāt sure just what Iād say to him. The news I had deserved to be shared in person. Eventually, once Iād taken care of the dog I made myself leave the house.
Time had not left my old house alone. The tree out front Iād once climbed with my friends was long gone, as was the stump. The porch looked different and there was a new yet barren garden out beside it. Mom had set it up in her twilight years but Dad had never been able to care for it once sheād passed.
When I knocked on the front door, I didnāt wait for a response. If Dad was still upstairs Iād be waiting a good ten minutes for him to make the journey via the StairMaster.
I unlocked the door myself and as I did, I heard footsteps upstairs.
āHi, Dad!ā I called.
āSean?ā
Time and cigarettes had given my dad a rasp in his voice. He was clearly awake but I didnāt go up to bother him.
āWhat are you doing here? I thought it was Monday.ā
āIt is. I took a day off,ā I called up. āI⦠I wanted to talk to you about something.ā
āOh? Well, gimme a minute, Iāll be right down! Make yourself at home. You know where everything is!ā
I did, although I couldnāt let myself get too comfortable. Iād been out of that house for over thirty years now and so much had changed. The old floral wallpaper was gone. Most of the furniture had been replaced, and there were only a few relics of the way things had been before.
Stepping into the living room, my eyes were drawn to the pictures of Carter on the walls. Dad had kept all of them and lovingly framed them over the years, a grim reminder of what heād lost on the day of the carnival.
On the mantlepiece was an urn with Momās ashes in it.
I heard the whirr of the StairMaster behind me as Dad began his descent, and I turned around to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.
He only barely resembled the man Iād grown up with. In my memories, my dad had been a tall and proud man with a bushy mustache and stern eyes. Now, though, I saw only the vaguest resemblance to the man heād been. He was frail and hunched over. His hair was wispy and white. His jowls sagged down and heavy glasses obscured his eyes. What was left of his mustache was white, and he clutched my hand as I helped him out of the StairMaster.
āSeanā¦ā he said softly and pulled me into a half-hug. āSo nice to see you⦠Let me just get to my chair so I can sitā¦ā
I clutched his hand as I escorted him into the living room and helped him ease down into his worn-in, comfy armchair. I found a seat for myself on the sofa beside him.
āThere we go⦠Iām not as young as I used to be, kiddo,ā he said, half laughing and half melancholy. āFeels like only yesterday I was here with your mom and you were bringing the kids around⦠How are the boys anyhow?ā
āTheyāre alright,ā I said. āKeeping busy.ā
āGood⦠Goodā¦ā He nodded slowly and relaxed back into his chair.
āIt goes fast, you know⦠Once upon a time, I was your age and I thought I was oldā¦ā He laughed, eyes shifting over to one of the pictures of Carter. āLook at me nowā¦ā
He looked over at me now and noticed my polite yet vacant smile. His brow furrowed.
āYouāre a sorry sight⦠Whatās going on? Did you get fired?ā
āNo. No, things are fine at work,ā I said. I exhaled softly as I chose my words carefully.
āYou see the news at all, Dad?ā
āI donāt bother with it. Itās all bullshit and sensationalism these days, and I donāt much care what the world does anymore.ā
I nodded. His answer didnāt surprise me.
āWhy? What was on it?ā
I took a few moments to answer.
āI⦠Well⦠I⦠I found something the other day⦠in the woods, out behind that suburb where the field used to be. The one where the carnival took place.ā
Dad went silent. His eyes were trained on me, his brow furrowed heavily.
āThere were some⦠rotted wood planks in the middle of the forest that covered up this pit⦠I didnāt see them. I stepped on them by accident and I fell. Iām not injured. I didnāt need to go to the hospital or anything! Just a few scrapes and bruises and I had my phone on me so I could call for help, butā¦ā
I swallowed. The mental image of that skull embedded in the dirt wall of the pit rushed back into my mind. Had that been Carterās skull?
āThere were⦠bones⦠in the pit. Human bones. K-kids⦠I called the police. They got me out and said theyād get the skeletons out of there. I took a look on the news last night. They said there were-ā
ā32,ā my dad whispered. I nodded. I felt a tear streaming down my cheek and wiped it away.
āI didnāt hear anything about them identifying the bodies or dating when theyād died, butā¦ā
I looked up at my dad. He sat in his chair, dead silent. I saw tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.
āIām sorryā¦ā I whispered, but he didnāt say a word. He just stared at a picture of Carter across the room. His breathing had gotten heavier.
āIām going to find out who I can talk to, maybe ask about Carter,ā I said. āIf⦠If they can identify his remains amongst the other skeletons, maybe we could give him a proper burialā¦ā
Still no response from Dad. His hands were shaking and I stood up to draw nearer to him. I wanted to put my hand over his. I wanted to tell him that everything would be alright, yet as I drew nearer he grabbed me by the wrist. His eyes fixated on me and he sucked in a gasping breath. Sweat dripped down his brow and panic reared up in my chest.
Something was wrong with him.
āSeanā¦ā he rasped, and I instinctively went for my cell phone.
āFuck, goddamnit⦠Hold on!ā
āS-Seanā¦ā Tears and sweat dribbled down my dadās face as I dialed 911. I didnāt even let the operator speak.
āI need an ambulance, right away! My dadās having some sort of attack!ā I blurted out, followed by his address.
āSorryā¦ā Dad whispered as he clung to my arm. His eyes closed and I held him close as the operator promised me that theyād send an ambulance immediately.
I held on to his every breath, my own heart racing in my chest, terrified that this would take a turn for the worse until, at last, the paramedics arrived.
I suppose the news had been too much for him to bear. Dadās heart attack hadnāt killed him, thank God. But as I rode with him to the hospital in the ambulance, I was so sure Iād lose him, and Iād stayed as close to his side as I could until theyād moved him to his own room.
āWeāre going to keep him for observation for a few more days,ā one of the doctors had told me. āWe need to be as sure as we can that there wonāt be another incident after we discharge him.ā
Iād just nodded in response.
āYeah⦠Whatever it takes. Iāll cover the costs,ā Iād said.
The day wasnāt even half over and I already felt exhausted again. I suppose Iād known that Iād need to take another day off although that hardly bothered me. My dadās health came first.
He was asleep when Iād left the hospital. Iād stopped to get a burger in order to clear my head.
So much had happened over the past couple of days⦠It was hard not to feel a little bit blindsided by it all.
My mind drifted back to my dad, stuck in his hospital bed. I couldnāt imagine his mental state. Fifty years of not knowing what had happened to Carter and then, at last, something right out of the blue. I wondered what I wouldāve felt if it had been my sonā¦
As soon as Iād eaten, I headed back to Dadās place. Since he was clearly going to be in the hospital for a while, I wanted to bring him some things from home. His medication, a change of clothes and maybe some minor things that might make his stay just a bit better. I wanted to be there for him when he woke up, I wanted him to know that he wasnāt alone in his grief for Carter.
The door was still unlocked from when weād left and I pushed it open quietly. I glanced over at his empty armchair and at the pictures of Carter that decorated the living room before heading upstairs.
I stopped off at the bathroom first to collect his pills and then to the bedroom to get some clothes.
Iād only been in my dadās bedroom a few times before, helping with some handiwork. The queen-sized bed had one side almost untouched and the other unmade. The room was otherwise tidy and neat.
In the closet, I spotted some of Momās old clothes, still hanging up as if they were waiting for her. I suppose Dad had never been able to bring himself to throw out her old things⦠I doubt I couldāve done it, either. It hardly mattered either way. When Dad died, theyād find new homes eventually. I pushed the clothes out of the way and found some comfortable-looking T-shirts for him to wear, as well as a pair of jogging pants with some old stains on them, among other things.
Most of his old clothes were suits or button-down shirts, which I ignored and pushed out of the way as well, to see if there was anything else lingering near the back.
Then I paused.
In the low light of the closet, it was difficult to make out the checkered pattern. I was sure it was just flannel at first, but on instinct I grabbed it and pulled it out.
The outfit hung on one hanger. The pattern was worn and frayed from the moths that had gotten to it over the years but I wouldāve recognized it anywhere.
Black and red checkers. There was no sign of the mask or the hat, but there didnāt need to be.
I stared at the outfit silently, holding it up to the light as I tried to process what I was seeing, and suddenly I felt sickā¦
I wanted to scream. I wanted to hurl the costume away like a venomous snake or bury it in the closet and pretend I hadnāt seen it, but I did neither of those things. I just stared at it like a goddamn fool as I realized the truthā¦
I left the bedroom in a haze. The smiling pictures of Carter on the walls seemed to watch me, almost with an accusatory glare. I couldnāt bring myself to look at them as the tears streamed down my cheeks. I still clutched the checkered clown outfit bunched up in a grip so tight that it turned my knuckles white…
I was shaking, and as I descended the stairs I headed for the door, consumed only by single-minded purpose.
When Dad awoke, I sat quietly in the chair beside him. The machines beeped quietly around his bedside but Iād closed the door so weād have our privacy. Outside, the sky was dim with twilight, and Dadās uneaten hospital dinner sat on a tray by his bed along with his pills.
āSeanā¦ā
His eyes were on me. He looked exhausted and weary.
I didnāt answer. I just stood up and tossed the worn outfit into his lap. He looked down at it, eyes glowing with a solemn recognition. His shaking fingers brushed against the old fabric. For a moment, I half expected him to have another heart attack.
He looked up at me again, mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say.
āWhy?ā I asked. My voice trembled with rage as I spoke.
Fresh tears gathered in the corner of Dadās eyes.
āSean⦠Iā¦ā
āWHY!?ā
My voice echoed through the room and Dad recoiled from me, panting heavily as the tears fell down his cheeks.
āCarter⦠He was your sonā¦ā
āI⦠I had toā¦ā Dadās voice was weak and mournful. āWe had no choice⦠The fever⦠The sickness⦠We didnāt know what to doā¦ā
āWhat? What are you talking about? What fever? What sickness? There was no fucking sickness!ā
āThere was!ā Dad snapped. āYou were too young, you didnāt understand! It came on so suddenly⦠It was a smaller town back then, the nearest doctor was in the next town over! P-people started getting sick, they started dying and we were scared! We didnāt know what to do⦠The adults⦠The ones who were sick, they knew to stay away. But the children? They didnāt understand and it was spreading so fast! Then they started dying and⦠and we couldnāt watch⦠We made a choice, Sean. We made a choice all those years ago, the only choice we could make! We chose mercy over suffering! It was the only choice!ā
āTo kill the children,ā I whispered. āYou murdered themā¦ā
āWe agreed⦠No one wanted to know whoād done it. The men, we held a lottery and I lost! We put on the carnival to get the children who werenāt sick together, so they wouldnāt ask questions⦠So they wouldnāt know what was going on. Then we rounded up the others⦠Kept them away from the rest of the kids and one by one I took them into the woods⦠I took them to the pit weād dug. I had a knife⦠They didnāt suffer, Carter didnāt suffer! Not like he would have if weād let the fever claim him, and the parents didnāt suffer, either! They didnāt need to watch their children die!ā
I stood there, watching my dad cry as he uttered his confession. I remembered the pictures of Carter on the walls, staring at him for every hour of every day of the rest of his life after the carnivalā¦
āAfter that⦠I⦠I never spoke of it. Weād all agreed the checkered clown would be anonymous and we could leave him behind. With the children gone and the last of the fever quarantined, we⦠we could move on. Start again and it worked, Sean! It workedā¦ā
He reached for my hand but I pulled away from him.
āIām sorryā¦ā He whispered. āBut it had to be doneā¦ā
I just stood there, silent as my dad looked into my eyes. I couldnāt find the words to say. All I could do was stare.
Behind me, I heard the door open as a nurse stepped in.
āEverything okay in here?ā she asked. āI heard shouting?ā
I didnāt give her an answer. Instead, I just pushed past her and out into the hall, leaving my dad behind.
I got the call about his suicide the next morning.
Heād overdosed on his pills. A nurse had found him just an hour before, lying in his bed and wearing that faded, checkered clown suit.
I imagine he died peacefully, and despite his sins, Iām glad that he did.
Part of me wishes Iād had a better chance to say goodbye, but at the same time, I donāt think I couldāve ever looked at him again without feeling disgust.
Iāve heard very little about the skeletons uncovered in the woods. Itās just a footnote to the legend that started in that summer of 1969, and I suspect that legend will haunt my hometown forever.
But I wonāt let it haunt me.
At long last, I know what happened that day, and I donāt know if the answers have made me feel better or just left me hollow. Either way, itās clear to me that I canāt stay there. Itās time for me to find another home.
š§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
š More stories from author: Ryan Peacock
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