She wouldn't die...A Story by Christopher PaulIt was 9:24 in the morning. The sun was up, the sky was
clear and bright. On an open empty road,
on a cycle a man rode wearing a grey coat with a bag in the carrier. He was
going at a fast pace. He stopped peddling for a while and let the downward
nature of the road take him. He suddenly applied the brakes as he saw a tree
stump on the side of the road, the cycle came to a screeching stop. He looked
to the left of the stump and saw a dirt path leading through the forest. Turning
his cycle in that direction he began to ride into the forest. The path was
rough and uneven, the cycle was making quite a noise and the ride was painful. A
while later he came out on another road. He stopped for a while looking up and
down then continued up road. After a few minutes he saw a red brick wall on the side of
the road, a few feet away, a large metal gate. He stopped his cycle, looking at
the top of the old, rust covered gate, the metal rods read “EE, Easton Estate” in
a cursive font. He got off his cycle and trailed it to the wall and made it
rest. The gate had a thick chain with a large lock on it. He tried to rattle the
gate which refused any movement. The man took his coat off and placed it on the
cycle. He was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, rolling up his sleeves then
took the leather bag from the cycle carrier and placed the strap over his
shoulder. He caught on to the gate with one hand as he put his foot on the
horizontal bar of the grills, he began to climb. The rust covered bars with the
paint peeling off made it hard for him to get a good grip. After a little while
he was over the top of the gate from where he jumped to the ground. Landing on his feet, he wiped his hands
together trying to get the dark red-brownish rust off while looking ahead. There were low hanging branches obstructing the view. Making
his way on the grass covered path he finally came to the manor. It was huge,
old and covered in dust and cobwebs. The windows were shut, the porch covered
in leaves and a big hole in the window of the attic. There were mushrooms and
little plants growing on the side of the building. He pulled his leather bag
hanging near his waist to his stomach and began to look inside it. He pulled
out a newspaper cut out; there was an article on the paper and along its side a
picture of a house. The same one the man was standing in front of, he compared
the image to the real thing. Placing the newspaper cut out back in his bag he
took out a camera. He checked if the film was in then took a picture of the
front of the manor. He walked up onto the wooden porch, the wood made a sound as
his foot fell on it. The porch was covered in leaves with creepers growing on
the sides. The windows were closed; he walked up to the front door. There was a
dirty yellow tape hanging from one side. Running his hand along it he turned it
over, it read ‘Police’. He stepped back and took a picture of the door and the porch.
Then he placed the camera back into the bag. He walked to the window and tried to open them. They were
shut tight and refused to budge. He then walked back to the door. Placing his
hand on the knob he turned it. It was jammed and most probably locked. Turning
to the opposite side of the door while running his hand along the wood he
noticed that the upper hinge of the door was broken and applying pressure
showed a gap. He pressed the door on the middle hinge and then the lower one.
They were holding on but the wood was very old. Standing back he kicked the
door where the middle hinge was. It broke free immediately and also loosened
the lower one. Getting closed to the door he gave it another hard kick. The
last hinge broke loose cracking open the termite infested wood and the door
fell to the floor. A loud noise and a cloud of dust rose up. Waving his hand in
front of his face, trying to move the dust away he tried to look into the
darkness of the interior. It was pitch black with only a few feet visible because of
the sunlight coming from the entrance. Placing his hand into his bag he pulled
out a small torch which was quite bright. Shining the light into the darkness
he saw the room was empty. Walking in he shone the light on the windows. They
had large square plywood pieces nailed into them. Moving forward he examined
the dirty walls, the cobweb covered ceiling and got a strong smell of a really
foul odor. The room was completely empty then looking down he noticed near the
fallen door, the floor board was cracked and black. Getting on his knee he
examined it, the crack looked like something heavy and sharp hit it and the
black was as if a fire had been lit. He shone his light into the adjacent rooms
they were being illuminated by a little light coming in from a few cracks in
the window and plywood, they were empty too. He saw a staircase at the end of
the room he was in. Making his way across the noisy wooden floor he reached it.
Holding the railing that was covered with dust he began to go up. Half way up
the stairs he stopped. Shining his torch into the sheer darkness of the upper
floor he changed his mind. His heart was beating quite fast and he was sweeting
a lot. He also felt a sense of nervousness. He was never afraid of the dark and
places like this gave him a thrill but right now for some reason he felt as if
he was not alone. He turned around and as he put his foot on the lower step,
“THUMP, THUMP, THUMP”. He heard the noise as if someone or something moved
really fast. He froze still. His senses alert, his heart beating faster than it
already was. His torch light on the wall showing the vibration his nervous hand
was making. He was trying to force his mind, which now all of a sudden in immense
fear, to believe it was some animal but the noise was too loud for an animal to
make. Breathing really fast he looked from where he stood on the stairs, at the
entrance. Making his mind believe that it wasn’t that far and that he could
escape, he slowly and calmly placed he foot on the lower step. Suddenly “THUMP,
THUMP, THUMP” again the noise came but this time it was more frightening as it
was closer. He jumped up towards the
wall and tried not to make any movement. So much so he turned off his torch.
This was because he got a glimpse of something from the corner of his eye. As
he had lowered his foot when the noise came the second time he saw a shadowy
figure move across the floor opposite the fallen door. He couldn’t understand
what the figure was. The light coming in from the entrance was only enough to
light an outline of the figure. Standing completely still with the sound of his
own beating heart in his head he tried to think of any animal he could that
could fill in that outline. None was coming to mind. With his back to the wall he dug his nails into the wood,
clinging on for dear life. His heart beating like the engine of a formula 1
race car at top speed. Sweating, numb, mind completely blank and his body
shivering with fear. Staring straight at the entrance, he decided to make a
dash for it. But as he let go of the wall and turned to run, he tripped and he
fell down the stairs. Hitting his head on the last step with his legs in the
air he quickly gathered himself. Sitting straight he widened his eyes, his ears
alert. Looking in every direction, listening to every sound. While he kept
still as possible his right hand moved along the ground looking for the torch
he dropped. His right side turned up empty. His left hand began to move around
the last stair step still searching. He felt it, small and hard. He turned his
head in a moment of relief towards his left palm. Lifting it he found it was
not the torch but a piece of wood. Feeling disappointed he turned his head back straight only
to stare into the darkness of the eye sockets on a decomposed, deformed face
only a few inches away from his. Long messed up hair hung on the side while
pieces of decomposing flesh hung from the front. The lower jaw fell loose on
the man’s lap. As that happened in a heartbeat the man let out a scream filled
with terror that echoed through the house. He pushed himself up then ran
upstairs in to the darkness. Half way up the stair case he jumped off to the
floor and went straight to the entrance. Just a few feet away from the fallen
door he felt a tug on his foot. The next thing he saw was his vision headed
straight to the floor. He fell down with the side of his head landing on the
sharp edge of the door. He vision started to blur and eyes started to close but
the last thing he saw were two hands reaching out of the darkness near him. His eyes opened to a blurred vision. After a few blinks and
rubbing them his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him. There was an awful
disgusting odor in the room. Through the cracks in the wall orange light crept
into the room making it just a bit easier to see. But being able to see was
making him nervous. He turned his head around franticly and began to panic. He
was not in the room he had fallen unconscious in. Turning his head around he
began to move backwards to the wall. Suddenly “CRACK” something broke under the
weight of his palm. He turned to see what it was. In the darkness all he could
make out and feel was cloth. Suddenly he noticed something that brought his
mind to ease. His torch, just there right beside him. Grabbing it quickly he
turned it on. Shining it round the dark room he found it to be empty and that
the door was open. Trying to hold his breath as he couldn’t stand the smell he
got up and was about to rush to the door when “CRACK”. This time his foot fell
on something breaking it. Curious as to know what it was he shone the light to
the floor expecting a piece of branch or wood. As the light illuminated the floor he saw red, moving his
torch it turned out to be a red pant with a black hole near the knee. A little
lower were black shoes, bigger than normal. Moving the pant with his foot he
suddenly gasped and dropped his torch. With his hand over his mouth he began to
tremble. The torch lying on the floor was still on shining in the direction of
the pant revealing the hip bones of a skeleton inside them. The man stared at
it in horror as he began to realize that he was looking at the lower half of a
human body. He could make out the leg bones under the pant. The bones showing
were dirty and had no flesh on them. With his eyes fixed on them in horror he
began to lower himself to reach his torch. As his fingers touched the plastic,
out of the darkness a hand grabbed his wrist. He let out a yell as he looked at
the same decomposed face he saw earlier. He bolted for the door, he didn’t even reach for the knob he
just rushed at it shoulder first, pushing it wide open with quite a force. Out
of the room he saw he was in a dark hallway hastily looking to his left he
found a small ladder heading towards what looked like the attic. The attic door
was open and there was a lot of orange light coming in, remembering the attic
window was broken he darted up the ladder. With his head in the attic room he saw his escape, the
attic’s round window which was broken. The evening breeze blowing through the
hole in it blew against his face. Placing his palms on the attic floor he
pushed his body up from the ladder and leaned forward when suddenly the attic
door fell over his back with a loud crash. The man’s entire body went into a
state of sheer shock. His eyes and mouth wide open, his hands shaking and his
head filled with white noise. The man lowered his head to look down; blood
began to pour out of his mouth as he saw the attic door was closed with a large
wooden cupboard over it and his spinal cord sticking out from his blood covered
shirt. His lower body was gone, cut off. His hands lost their strength and his
body fell to the floor, as his vision started to fade the last thing his
terrified eyes saw were the same two hands reaching out of the darkness towards
him. 24 hours ago The door closed as a man in a grey coat walked in from the
rain. Dusting the rain off, he made his way to the bar. He took of his coat and
a leather bag that hung from his waist. Wearing a black shirt and blue jeans he
caught the bartender’s attention. “What can I get you?” the middle aged bartender asked. “A beer” the man said. “That’ll be 1.20$” he said opening a beer bottle and placing
it in front of the man. The man pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and took
out a hundred. He placed the hundred dollar bill on the table. The bartender looked at the man in confusion for a while then opened the cash register to take out alot of change but the man said “That won’t
be necessary”. Confused the bartender looked at the man who signaled him to
come closer. The bartender came close to the man. He said “I need some
information. The hundred’s yours if you tell me what I need to know.” The bartender leaned in closer. The man brought up his
leather bag that he had placed by his feet. Opening it he took out a newspaper
cutout. He unfolded the paper and placed it on the counter facing the bartender.
The newspaper article was headlined “Police Find Sicko the Clown’s Hideout”.
Along the side of the article was a picture of an old house under which it was
captioned “The old abandoned Easton Estate”. The bartender looked at the man. “Who are you and why do you want to know about this?” he
asked as he pushed the article away. The man took the newspaper cutout and placed it in his bag. “Name’s James, James Baker. I’m a reporter for ‘The
Unreported’ news agency. We go around to small towns like this one, finding
incidents that were so horrific that the entire town went into shock that they
decided not to let the outside world hear about it. Well I found one right here
in this quite little town. ‘Sicko the Psycho Clown’ ring any bells? By the way,
exactly how many kids were there? 13? Right?”
He said as he took a large gulp from his beer. The bartender looked at James angrily. “You listen to me
son” he said. “I advise you to get on the next bus and head back to where ever it
is you came from. You’re not welcomed here.” “Alright! Can I have my change?” asked James drinking down
his beer. “It’s on the house. Now get out” the bartender said sternly. “Okay, thank you for the hospitality. Be sure to keep your
eyes on the papers and the reporters” James said as he got up to leave while
placing the empty bottle on the counter. “Reporters?” questioned the bartender “Yeah! After the world learns how the little town of Elton brutally
slaughtered 13 little orphan children, for a sacrifice ritual. 13 innocent
children all aged 5, be-headed and hung from trees in the forest. And for what?
my dear readers do you ask? Well, the wise people of Elton thought that doing
so would rid the town of evil clown spirits.” James smiled at the bartender. The bartender stared at James with anger and disgust. “You see my dear sir; a story of a psychotic clown who
killed 13 little kids isn't something I’m just going to leave. You see when a
reporter doesn't get information about a story; he has to use his own imagination.
And boy the media is going to have a
field day when they read what I’ll publish when I get back. This quite town
will be swarming with news vans, police investigations etcetera, etcetera. Oh!
And the last sentence of the article will read ‘All this was narrated by the
owner of Traver’s Traven, the 58 year old bartender Mr. Traver Jr. who occasionally
took part in the rituals.” James continued to smile at the bartender. “And if you’re thinking the town can say the article is
false or fake or that I made it up, there’ll be 21 anonymous testimonials
that’ll say different. In other words 21 people from this town who’ll agree to
everything written. Their identities will not be made public as the people of
this town are kinda crazy and that they fear for their lives. Well, regardless
what I write and what truth comes out this story will make this town quite
famous.” James added as he picked up this coat and bag. The bartender fell silent for a moment. Thinking hard he
looked at James. “Sit down” he said “Thank you” James said in a cheerful voice sitting back in
his seat. “Shut up” the bartender said angrily. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know but not now. Come
back at 10:30. The Traven will be closed no eye witnesses. But I have a condition? My name will not be in
the article or even this Bar, get it?” “Deal!” James said smiling happily. “For 800$” added the bartender. The smile on James’s face disappeared as it appeared on the
bartender’s. “800$ for the truth with proof” James said. The bartender nodded his head. James got up and looked at the clock above. It was 9:23.
Grabbing his coat and bag he gave the bartender a nod then left. It was 10:36 when the door of the Traven that had a ‘Closed’
sign on it opened. James looked into the darkened bar. He saw at the last booth
with a lamp on the table, two glasses and a bottle, sat the bartender. Shutting
the door behind him and making sure no one was around James headed for the
booth. Placing his coat on the far end of the bench and bag on the table he sat
down as the bartender opened the bottle of rum. He poured the dark red liquid
into the glasses and pushed one towards James who had taken out a note pad and
a pen from his bag. Concealed inside his bag James had also pushed the record
button on a small tape recorder. “Let’s get one thing straight first of all. No names!” said
the bartender as he took a sip. “No names” replied James. “Okay! This happened 6 years ago. Parents started reporting
that their children had gone missing. The reports kept piling up and the police
were clue less. Almost 9 missing children. All disappeared without a trace.
Then one day Frank the gas…” The bartender looked at James then his note pad as
he was writing. “No names, don’t worry, go on.” James said. “Frank the gas station attendant saw a clown walking with a
little kid. The kid was happy with a balloon and the clown guy was telling him
some jokes. Nothing strange there until the day after when Frank saw a missing
child poster at that gas station when he came for his shift. It was the same
kid he saw with the clown. He rushed and notified the police who told the kid’s
parents. This revealed that the kid was at a friend’s birthday party the night
he disappeared. A birthday party that had a clown just as the one Frank
described. The police rounded up every clown in town. Back then there just a
hand full of them, questioned them even tortured them. Nothing, days went by
the police were helpless.” He took a sip “They couldn’t find any clues. The parents who hired the
clown got his number from the paper and the papers said they got it
anonymously. It was a dead end. To make matters worse 3 more missing kids were
reported this time not from birthday parties with a clown but from the park, one
from school and one right from his or her house. This made the people and
police more frightened. 13 children missing, no ransom call, no suspects,
nothing. Then one day a couple of kids came into the police station and told
the chief they heard screams coming from the old Easton Estate.” “Easton Estate, a little background on that?” asked James
taking a sip. “Yeah! It was built somewhere in the 20’s. Housed 4
generations of the Easton family till the only kid Charles… E? Edward Easton
moved to the city in 1990. Since then it’s been locked up and you know…. just
there.” “Okay! Go on with your story.” James said. “So when the kids told the chief about the screams they
realized that the best and only place to hide kidnapped kids was the only place
they didn’t check. I think it was the 9 of July when literary every cop car and
cop in town rushed to the Easton Estate. They had the place surrounded and then
they went in from all sides. Front door, back door, through the windows But
there was nothing. The house was completely empty, just the way it was left.
The one of the cops noticed blood trails leading to the underground wine
cellar. When they went in there….” The bartender paused for a moment. Knowing this could be a
sensitive part of the story James didn’t say a word. They both took a sip of
their rum in silence. “They went down there and the found the kids, all 13 of
them, in about 2000 pieces. This sick son of a b***h had chopped then up. Not
cut them, but chopped them up like a goddamn butcher. He was eating them. James chocked on his drink and placed his hand on his mouth. “W-What?” he said clearing his throat “Yeah! he was cooking and eating them, parts of them were
missing.” “And you know this for a fact?” “B*****d confessed.” “Wait, they caught him?” “Yeah! once they we certain this was his hideout they sent all
the cars back to the station and hid in and around the house as if nothing had
happened. Around three hours later he came back, still dressed as a goddamn
clown. As soon as he entered the house and got perfectly in near the stairway,
they jumped him but the skinny bugger ran up the stairs like a squirrel. They
knew they had him, police had the outside of the house surrounded. He ran up to
the attic, thought he could escape through the window but one of the more
pissed of cops went after him. Making sure he wouldn’t escape the cop fired a
shot at his knee cap from behind, the bullet went through his bright red pant,
flesh, muscle and bone. He yelled as he lost balance and went through the
window, had a good fall. The cops didn’t bother picking him up and taking him
in a squad car, they just threw his a*s in the back of a pickup, b*****d cried
and yelled the entire way.” The bartender said it with a smile sipping his rum. “Back at the station he was questioned for nearly an entire
week without a break but they still had no idea who he was or from where he had
come. All he told them was his name was Ponco the clown and that he liked
eating children’s meat. Said when he was a kid he bit his 4 year old sister,
sick b*****d liked it. Then when his parents left them alone one day he killed
her and roasted her flesh. In his words: ‘The best meal he ever had’ but he didn’t
tell us their names. Then he finally confessed, he was the one who kidnapped
the 14 children.” “14? You said it was 13.” “Yeah! there was a 14th victim. A girl, um…sorry
forgot her name but she was the oldest victim. She was around 18 or something.
She wasn't reported missing after she disappeared because he parents thought
she ran away cause had a thing for some guy, her parents knew about and weren't too happy. The clown’s description of her matched what she looked like the
night she disappeared.” “So they told the parents what actually happened to their
daughter?” James took the last sip in his glass. “No!” “No? Why not?” “They didn’t find a body; all the other 13 kid’s bodies were
found but not hers.” “They asked the
clown?” “Yeah!” he took the gulp of rum in his glass and refilled
both of theirs. “They asked him. This is where the story gets weird. You see
he knew the cops would eventually find out so he was leaving the town. He went
to the train station at around 2:00, early in the morning, no one’s around at
that time and the only train that passes the station is a goods train. That’s
where he found her preparing to run away with her boyfriend. Apparently he was
a no show and she was there in the dark all alone. So, he sneaked up behind her
and knocked her unconscious then took her back to the manor.” The bartender
paused “He raped her.” he said gulping down a large amount with his
hand visibly holding the glass very tightly. “Left her in the locked basement and went upstairs for a
nap. Morning he found the basement empty, she had escaped, broke the wood
around the lock. But the front door was still locked shut and so were the
windows, she was still in the house. He
began searching for her, started from the kitchen but as he entered the room
she hit him from behind the door with a hammer, making him bleed. She should
not have done that.” He said, drinking down what was left in his glass. Looking straight at James for the first time during his
narration, James knew the following could be disturbing, the bartender continued. “He caught her foot making her fall, then grabbed the
hammer, got on top of her and started to lay her out. Hitting her over and
over, again and again till, as he said, her lower jaw hung of the left side of
her face as the right side was completely torn. The flesh, muscle, bone
everything in her face was ripped off but even after that sever beating she was
still alive, still breathing. He then went into the kitchen and got a knife,
stabbed her, kept stabbing her till she died.” James looked clearly shocked, as he stared straight back at
the bartender. “Staying on her for a few minutes to make sure she was dead
he finally got off. Went upstairs to bandage his head but when he was coming down after about 20-25 minutes he got the
shock of his life. She was alive.” James looked at the bartender with disbelief. “I can tell from your face you don’t believe what I’m
saying. Thought so, here read it for yourself” the bartender tossed a file in
front of James. James opened it slowly; it was the police report about the incident.
Looking over each page slowly he came to one page with a paper clip on it. It
was the clown’s narration about what had happened. I placed aid of cotton on hurt in my head and went down, needed to eat
girl before it go bad. I was on stairs when I saw she alive, living, still
breathing. She was not dead. On her stomach she crawling towards door. I beat,
stab but she alive. She not human, voodoo girl. I went to kitchen, on wall cupboard top I hide axe. I take it and go towards
girl, she crying., jaw hanging, blood flowing. I put my foot on her back and
axe her midway. I keep axing till she now in two. I pull her legs from body,
she scream and cry. When she not move I went to back house to get gas. But when
I come back she gone. She would not die.
Now clearly terrified James looked at the bartender who was drowsy.
He read on. Her top body was not there where I left, only her legs. I put gas on
lefts and set fire. I search but she nowhere.
“They went back, to the house to look for her. They did find
that the front room’s floor had an axe cut marks and a fire had burnt it black.
Searched the entire house no body, they couldn’t even find the leg bones.” “So what happened to the clown? Hanged?” “He escaped!” “What? Escaped? How?” “When he was in jail, one night two guards went it to finish
him off. They underestimated the clown, tricked both of them then escaped. They
looked everywhere, kept a group at the estate waiting in case he goes back. 2
years nothing. He vanished, just hope and pray he died a horrible death for
what he did. Well, that’s the story. You happy?” “Yeah” James said as he closed the file and placed it in his
bag and took out a bundle of notes and placed it in front of the bartender. “1000$,
I’m also buying your cycle” he said getting up. “hmm….um…sure, as you
wish” the bartender said dozing off. James got up with his coat and bag and headed for the bar. Over the counter was a map of the town. He looked at it carefully, reading each line, each name, remembering it well. When he was done he looked over at the sleeping bartender then headed out the door. © 2014 Christopher PaulAuthor's Note
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