Jack-o’-Lantern
At this time of year I run away.
But I can never outrun the clown.
I pulled into the car park of a nondescript motel, the kind of place I’d usually avoid like the plague: several rows of ramshackle huts, a flashing neon sign at the entrance. A real dive, if truth be told, but it would do. I paid in cash, wrote a false name on the register, and then made my way to a musty little room.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pulled a hollowed-out pumpkin from my bag, set it on the bedside table, placed a lighted candle inside, and then switched off the lights. As midnight approached I poured myself a glass of wine. It was All Hallows’ Eve. I raised a glass to the grinning jack-o’-lantern.
Three years ago I was a real Goth. Black jacket with safety pins, long red dress, black lipstick and so much eye shadow that I looked like a panda. I’m a natural redhead, but at the time I’d died my hair jet black and it swept over my shoulders like a dark waterfall. I liked to be known as Candy, and the Goth trappings gave me a confidence that I never used to have when I was plain Mary Lou. I was seventeen years old, a wonderful time when all your dreams are still possible.
Then, one Halloween night, I left the house with my friend Jenna, looking forward to a night of fun. I had even stuffed my pockets full of candy for trick-or-treating kids. After all, everyone has fun at Halloween, don’t they?
In a dingy motel room I raised a glass to my own reflection, a faintly unnerving sight in the flickering light.
“We were best friends like forever, Jen. We shared everything. Why didn’t you share my fear?”
The masks didn’t scare me–the long white face from Scream, Frankenstein, Jason and Freddy. I thought they were cool.
But the clown …
“Pretty ladies.”
Stepping before us, a bottle of bourbon in his hand.
“Wanna party?”
There was just… something… about him that made my skin crawl.
Jenna giggled.
I grabbed her arm and said “Let’s go.” But she figured that one little drink couldn’t do any harm.
“See you at Frank’s Bar in an hour, babe.”
It was the last thing she ever said to me.
In the flickering candlelight a thin, guilt-ridden face stared back at me.
A second glass of wine only served to put an image of Jenna into my head, lying in a copse of bushes with her throat cut, her lifeless eyes open and staring and accusing. “You weren’t there when I needed you most, Candy.”
And she’d have been right. As she walked away with the clown I just stood on the sidewalk, nervously chewing my lip and wondering what to do next. In the end I set off for Frank’s Bar and waited for her.
By the time I’d finished the bottle I was bawling like a child, tears and mucus streaming down my face. I fell asleep on the floor, curled up like an animal and facing the nightmare that came to me every Halloween since the night of the murder, the terrible image that would never let me forget that night, or ever forgive myself.
I woke up at dawn, the crotch of my jeans piss-damp and my blouse soaked through with sweat. I showered and changed. Then I stuffed the pumpkin and soiled clothes into a rubbish bag.
Before checking out I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my own reflection: pale skin, eyes puffy and red and bloodshot. Smeared lipstick, making me look a little like the Joker.
But mine was a rigid, unsmiling mouth.
“Pretty lady,” I said to that ghostly, haunted face.
A clown stared back at me.
A clown would always stare back at me.
Really enjoyed this. A sad tale of guilt and despair.
Comment by jennifer walmsley — October 13, 2008 @ 9:29 am