Creepy Freaking Clowns!

Standing in the bed of my truck I pull as hard as I can – this damn bag is so heavy – my boots slip from underneath me – I fall squat on my tailbone – ouch – "shit" – everything is so wet – sitting flat on my ass, exhausted, completely soaked from both rain and sweat – staring at the black triple-ply heavy-duty leaf bag.

“This thing must weigh 300 pounds…”

Looking straight up at the night sky my eyes are pelted by large cold raindrops – it actually feels kinda good considering – I can’t tell if it is raining harder now than before I started this idiotic trek – I’m assuming it has to be after 2:00am by now – I lost my watch somewhere in the woods along the way – my wife’s going to kill me – I got that watch awhile back for hitting 10 years of service at my job – she was so proud – glancing back at the water slick bag I realize I have no time to be tired – I have to hurry.

“I hope it's dead…”

A bead of sweat skitters down my spine picking up speed as it slides sideways across the arch and down my right side – feels like a little bug – I shiver.

I mentally force myself to stand – albeit a bit slowly – “I doubt it is…”

Bending over and grabbing the plastic bag with both hands a sharp pain in my right shoulder yells out reminding me I’m hurt.

“Bastard put up a descent fight that’s for sure…”

I can’t stop to worry about it now – taking in a deep breath in I pull as hard as I can sliding the mass fully onto the railed bed of my truck – letting the bag go, and with a "puh" sound I let my held breath go too – it slumps with a heavy hollow thud – too tired to climb down I simply jump-step out of the truck bed with a slap as the mud underneath my weight splashes surprisingly high.

Pulling my canvas sack of supplies up to the truck the bear trap falls out – picking it up I confirm what I thought earlier.

“No blood…”

Thinking that is literally impossible I unceremoniously chuck it in the back of the truck hitting the black bag – something moves inside – I freeze.

Trying to calm myself quickly while my eyes pop from spot to spot on the bag I think of the blonde news chick for some reason. Well I guess not for 'no reason' - that is why I came out here - I've been seeing these reports on the news about possible pervs and then copy-cat pervs dressing like clowns and running around in the woods scaring the bajambers out of folks. I have a 12 year old daughter for cripe's sake. Boy did I not see this coming...

Nothing seems to be moving in the lumpy bag...

"I'm not taking any more chances..."

Going around to the passenger's side of my trusty 'ole work truck I pull the door open and grab my even more trusty 'ole Charter Arms Bulldog .44 Special revolver out of the glove box. Feeling the nice comfortable weight of it I duck into the truck interior to get my head out of the rain checking that all 5 rounds are still in the cylinder - yup all 5 - man I haven't shot this thing since the late 1970s but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it still works.

Spinning the cylinder around with a nice whir I too spin myself toward the bed of the truck feeling a little better.

Without even a precursor whisp of sound standing not 6 feet from me is the 8 foot tall beast of a thing. I momentarily glance at the now empty bag in the bed of the truck at least verifying, thank God, that this isn't a second one.

Also, thank God, I can't see its face - it's shrouded in the darkness of night - I can only distinguish the rather bulky body with elongated arms - man they reached almost to its knees - it's wearing a very filthy off-white with red polka dotted jumpsuit. The size of this thing in that getup would probably be a bit comical if it wasn't for the fact that this behemoth was now deep breathing and was obviously more-than-a-little irritated.

Bringing my shaky pistol up towards its chest - "What do you want?"

Nothing - just this raspy dragged gravel breathing - I'm going to have to gamble a little - in my best 'tough guy' voice - "Hey!" - a little louder - "I said what do you want?" - I thrust the pistol a few inches closer.

Suddenly a sharp pain shoots from the base of my skull down my neck - as if something was pushing down hard on the top of my head - then I heard it or felt it or sensed it or... it was just so loud...

"Not... You..."

They say before discharging a firearm you must consider several things; such as don't put your finger on the trigger unless you've already decided to shoot, you can't take it back once you do it and that you 'own' the bullet that is shot from it no matter what it hits ergo you are responsible for it.

Yeah uh-huh - I closed my eyes and shot all 5 rounds as fast as possible without a thought or care.

The pain stopped as abruptly as it came - opening my eyes and looking forward all that was distinctly different was that the monstrosity was gone and there were drips of what appeared to be grease paint trailing back away from the truck.

Without a beat I run around the front of the truck - jump in - throw my gun on the passenger's seat - start it and hit that accelerator so hard I bent the pedal...

I think my truck is as scared as I am - it never peeled off entire inches of mud like that before as I flew down that slick road...

After a few seconds I finally looked in the rear-view...

"Nothing there... Go back...?"

Thinking about it for exactly 1/3rd of 1 second.

"Hell no - my wife can buy me a new watch."