This contest is now closed! I'll announce the winner tomorrow afternoon.
We're four days out from Halloween, the moment of the year when the veil between the worlds is thinnest. In honor of this dark and contemplative holiday, I thought it would be fun to poke around at that edge. Take a stab at exploring the unseen. And win a free creepy read in the process.
I want you to tell me a story. It's simple. In the comments below, in 250 words or fewer, let me know what's inside this box:
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| Photo by Clay Larsen |
All entries must be received by Sunday, October 30th, at 11:59pm. So get writing!
3 comments:
After Pee Wee was forced to close his play house because he couldn't pay the interest hikes that occurred after take out equity loans in the subprime mortgage ere, he was forced to sell most of his belongings at a collector's auction. All the sub sentient furniture was hard to part with but Pee Wee could not bring himself to let go of his most cherished friend so he removed him from the auction list at the last second. Unfortunately a crazed fan waited for Pee Wee outside the auction house with sinister intent.
Pee Wee, having long been honing his senses and fighting capabilities in order to win a duel against Cowboy Curtis to impress Dixie the cab driver, sensed that something was amiss. An epic battle ensued against the assailant; the combatants faced each other far across Puppetland ultimately losing many words of the day to the carnage that ensued.
The assailant however was not alone. As the battle reached its conclusion near the Big Top circus, it seemed certain that Pee Wee would triumph. Until the treachery of the King of Cartoons was revealed after he stepped from the shadows to slay Pee Wee while his attention was turned to the original attacker (later revealed to be the playhouse gang stacked up in a trench coat).
Reward in hand the King passed down the box for many generations. Until one day a young author purchased it at a garage sale. Jambi, was finally free.
"Pay attention, my child. Inside this box lies the secret to clown-dom."
The child's solemn gaze rested on the smiling but faded clown on the side of the box. "Papa, will I be a great clown like you if I open the box?"
The aging clown shook his head, dull rainbow hair bobbing. "I'm not a great clown. I never had the courage to open the box. There is a price to be paid for becoming a great clown." He handed the dusty box to his child.
Baggy clown sleeves in purple and gold swirled as the child eagerly grasped the box. His bulbous red nose squeaked with excitement.
His father patted his head as he left the circus tent.
The child clown knelt in the sawdust, fingers pulling at the latch. His dream, his ambition, lay inside. A great clown, the greatest that ever lived.
The hinges creaked as he lifted the lid. Dust puffed along with air tasting of rancid meat. Echoes of ghostly clown laughter floated through the tent. The lamp flame fluttered in a sudden breath of wind.
The child lifted a mask from the box. Tattered rubber, stitched with black thread, red nose, rainbow hair, the white face was splotched with rusted stains of dried blood. His smile twisted to something evil as the spirit of the great clown possessed his small body. He laughed, a cackle of evil, as he slid the mask over his face.
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