Special Order

The address had been consuming too much water; a thawed frozen hose, spigot still on.

The poor bastard slipped on the deck’s slushy surface, landing hard on his ass. Immediately he heard a childlike voice “Would you like to come out and play?”

He peered under expecting to see a child in some kind of fort or something of the sort. Instead, he screamed. A rotting creature with blazing red eyes sat, like a king atop a huge pile of tiny bones, with thirty six more of its kind standing guard.

The worker, now sufficiently emasculated for getting frightened by a clown sitting atop a dog’s store of bones, decided to reclaim his sphincter and shut that fucking clown up. He retrieved a pry bar from his work truck and returned. He stirred up the mess underneath, like a cackling witch, bone-dust filling his lungs.

Then he saw it. From the rubble a special clown tumbled towards him. He instantly recognized it. Ten years ago he’d ordered it for his niece’s fifth birthday. She disappeared a week later.

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