The Little Town of Lillston

The Clown

To sound the eight o'clock curfew, tornado sirens blew for a couple of minutes after Bryson got home from dinner with the Waywards. Bryson didn't feel bad for thinking Callie was weird, or messing with him; sure, she was correct about the eight o'clock curfew, but she was still weird. She talked too much to Bryson, especially since they had barely met each other. Bryson was unable to sleep in his bedroom because there was a gaping hole in his wall, so he slept with Hunter. Sophia was sleeping with their parents. Apparently, her fever had lowered, and so did the amount of vomit coming from her.

Bryson had trouble falling asleep that night. He assumed it was because usually, he falls asleep at around midnight, but instead, he had to go to bed early because of the curfew. It was like the little town of Lillston became a ghost town after eight. Bryson saw no one on the streets, and he heard very little noise. The trees seemed to dominate the town; a gang of trees ruled the streets at night.

But whether it was going to bed early or his roaming thoughts, Bryson couldn't sleep. It was at least past midnight, and Hunter was curled on his mattress with a soft blanket over him, his breaths calm and slow. It was the only time Hunter was ever so still. Bryson, however, kept tossing and turning, uncomfortable on the springy mattress beneath him. But that wasn't it. The darkness made him uncomfortable. It was scarier than the gang of trees outside. It was everywhere at once, always following Bryson. It swallowed the walls of the room and inched toward Bryson, blanketing the moonlight pouring in through the two windows. Bryson could no longer tell if his eyes were open or closed. The only thing keeping him calm was the sound of his little brother's breaths.

Bryson's eyes scanned the room, though he knew it was no use in trying to see through the dark. His eyes weren't capable of doing so. He skimmed past where the door was, when his breaths hitched in his throat. Something was standing at the door, inside the room. Bryson didn't dare take his eyes off of the figure. It was lighter than the darkness in the room. Bryson could make out dark jeans that weren't quite dark enough along with a shirt. Then he saw black gloves on the figure's hands. Bryson's eyes trailed up to where the head would be. There wasn't a face staring at him; instead, a bright mask covered the figure's head, vibrant in the dark. Bryson could make out a wide, smiling mouth and drooping eyes. It was a clown. A clown was in his room.

Hunter rolled over onto his side, still asleep. Bryson had to protect his brother... but the figure wasn't moving. Maybe this was a hallucination; Bryson's mind playing tricks on him. But Bryson was afraid to blink, or even close his eyes. There was a pit in his stomach, his throat had swelled so he couldn't talk, his mouth was dry, the blanket over him was clenched in his tight fists, his heart was racing like a racehorse. He had to do something. Bryson thought back to something Callie had said; she had said a kid named Jack liked to disobey the curfew. Could this be him?

Bryson stood, as if his body was being controlled by someone else. He stood slowly and quietly, the blanket falling to the floor. The clown was still there, staring at him; daring him to yell, or to run. Bryson was seventeen. He could handle this. He took a step toward the clown.

Suddenly, the clown turned and bolted into the hall. As if fire was nipping at his heels, Bryson ran after it. The clown was no taller than Bryson, yet no shorter. Maybe it really was Jack. He followed the clown all the way out into the gloomy front yard, and only then did Bryson stop. As soon as he had taken a step outside, he had lost sight of the clown. The clown could be hiding behind one of the two trees in the front yard... he couldn't have disappeared in the dark; Bryson would have seen his mask.

Then, Bryson saw them: two clowns were standing ahead of him in the middle of the street. There were more. Bryson had left the door wide open for them to hurt his family. Bryson turned around, and was suddenly staring at a vivid mask of a clown's smiling face. Bryson's throat opened; he shouted in fear and took a step back, tripping on the root of a tree and falling in the grass.