A Clown Not Like Bozo

• Evan Harrison, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2008

The wind shook the old wooden house on its very foundations. The trees danced in the dark, scraping at the windows like hungry animals demanding to be let in for a feed, the rain pelted down on the tiled roof. This was the weather that Paul absolutely adored. Paul loved this weather because he was an author and it always set the perfect atmosphere for him. He wrote the scariest novels he could concoct in that seemingly disturbed mind of his. Paul tapped away on his typewriter as the branches scraped eerily on his window Paul was working on his new novel ‘A Clown Not like Bozo’
It was a horror novel about a clown that escapes from a circus and wants revenge on the world if you read the book you will understand why it wants revenge. Paul was almost finished, all he needed was an ending, he wasn’t sure if the hero should kill the clown,
And if so how?
Paul had to take a break before he got frustrated. He didn’t want to get frustrated because last time he did, he hurt someone he cared about and now they were not around anymore.

Not that long ago Paul had been an alcoholic. He had also been a husband. Paul had been upstairs all night drinking and writing when his wife came up to ask if he was coming to bed. He snapped at her and told her he was busy. She came back two more times asking if he needed anything, he snapped again and again. His rage was getting worse each time when she came in a third time he snapped. He lashed out at her catching her nose, breaking the bone. Straight after that, she packed her things and left. Later on that year she was found dead in her apartment. Suicide was the official cause of death.
Paul was devastated. Afterwards Paul took anger management courses to control his anger and it had been working for him.

Paul was in the kitchen when a door slammed upstairs. He thought nothing of it.
He just figured it was the wind he never closed the windows so it was always drafty. At a leisurely pace he ascended the stairs to his office. His story was gone. A vase shattered behind him. He turned to see a face white as snow scurry passed the doorway. A heart piercing laugh broke out in the vociferous silence Paul turned he was looking at three red buttons on a strange suit, Paul vigilantly looked up to see a face scared from a terrible accident, whatever it was raised a hand, it’s fingers were long, and it’s nails were sharp the clowns bowtie spun Paul screamed but by the time help arrived Paul was gone all the windows were shut and locked from the inside all that was left in his office were two big red boots and Paul’s unfinished story on the floor. Paul’s story finally got an ending.