I never understood why people are afraid of clowns. Are they scared of pretty colors or perhaps oversized shoes? If everyone knew what’s behind my makeup, they would never go to the circus.
I’m a zombie clown.
Please don’t kill me. My static, joyful expression is just face paint. The red smile hides my frown, and trust me, you don’t want to see my frown. Do you want to know what happened to the last person who saw my frown? Come closer. I’ll tell ya. I promise I won’t bite you.
Stan was an animal trainer, and he owned three hungry lions: Bobby, Robby, and Tommy. Stan never fed his lions. I told Stan to feed them some meat or something. Stan leered down at me while gripping that damn whip. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted to wrap that whip around my neck and choke the life out of me. If only he knew there was no life to choke. Poor Stan.
He walked into the bathroom and saw me putting on my red smile. Stan blocked the doorway. The whip dangled in his hand. My reflection in the mirror flickered as a light bulb buzzed and blinked. The paint couldn’t hide the rotten scars. My eyeball dangled out of its socket. Big mistake. I can put on makeup better while only using one eye. Stan didn’t understand, though.
I couldn’t let someone like Stan know that I’m a zombie clown, so I bit him until he stopped moving.
…Stan rose from the dead. I had no choice but to lock Stan inside a bathroom stall. They say it takes about eight hours to become fully zombified. He’d regain his memories, however, Stan wouldn’t be able to control his limbs until the process was complete. Most people think zombies don’t have any recollection of their past life, but that’s not true. Don’t tell anyone what I told you.
He didn’t realize he was locked in a bathroom stall. Someone forgot to flush the toilet. What? It wasn’t me. I promise. Many years ago I lost the function of my bowels.
Stan wasn’t allowed to shamble around the circus. No way. Nope. Not an option. I couldn’t let him. My cover would be blown. Did you know he hit on those lovely trapeze artists? I’ll tell you the story. Someday.
Remember when I said Bobby, Robby and Tommy didn’t eat much? Well…they ate a special meal that night—it was Stan. Please don’t judge me, okay? Did I tell you he screamed? Because he did. Did I tell you he begged? Because he did. I quit smoking cigarettes but the sound of Stan’s whining convinced me that was probably a bad idea. My lungs still work. I’m not sure why.
I should have tossed Stan into the cage an hour sooner, that way he wouldn’t have been able to feel Tommy gnaw on his leg. Bobby preferred the neck. Robby ate everything else.
And I thought zombies were gluttons. Sheesh.
(Originally featured on SlasherMonsterMagazine)