So is your mother
but I’m not allowed to judge.
Why don’t you write about something important?
Like, I dunno, something topical?
My posts are all topical.
No they are not! They are stupid!
Like your mother, we’ve established this before.
You see, they are interesting enough to elicit an emotional response. So my posts aren’t stupid after all.
Seriously. Move along. I’m not going to write essays on this blog, bro. Get used to it!
Please forgive me… I know not what I do…
Okay. Here you go. It’s synthy, but whatever.
New Jersey – Jacobus Gideon Louis Nieuwoudt
I was supposed to be Creepy Clause this year. Every Halloween one of us dress up like a creepy clown and hand out, well, creepy gifts, to the naughtiest of the office. It was a tradition the office loved. That all changed this year of course. I used to be an I.T techy before all this. I kind of loved my job, I was good at it. But that was before I got that one phone call. Much like Neo had in the Matrix. Difference was, my Morpheus wasn’t out to free my mind. My Morpheus never gave me a choice between the red and the blue pill. That choice was made for me so very long ago. He spoke the spell and I changed, like a switch being flipped – I flipped. I put down my pearl white receiver, walked over to my desk, got out a giant pair of scissors and proceeded away from my cubicle in that creepy clown suit. I’m twenty seven years old. I was engaged to be married to the single most beautiful girl I had ever laid my weary hazel brown eyes on. Not anymore. I saw Mary Beth’s lips break into a smile and then a grin when she saw me strolling down the hallway. Her demeanor changed quickly though when I started picking up speed. I was in front of her. Our eyes meeting for a few seconds before I repeatedly pushed that pair of scissors into her gut. Fifteen times I went at her before her grip finally loosened. The rest of the office thought it was a joke at first, they couldn’t have been more wrong. And when realization finally hit, they flung themselves around like crime scene tape in the wind. I killed them all. In various ways. I pushed Bill Hendrikson down a flight of stairs, he hit his head on the way down. I fed Tina Black’s pearl necklace into the paper shredder – while she was still wearing it. When it finally snapped I fed her hands into it. It cut her up bad. I threw my boss, Gary Blitson out of his window. It was the sixth floor. So he’s dead. I bashed Freddy “the office queer’s” head in with his vintage type machine. Would you rather have your son be gay or a hipster? I don’t know if I can answer that, unfortunately. I hung Carol Rose, my fiance, from an industrial ceiling fan by the neck. And then I switched it on. I still cry about that one. The moment her head snapped off, so did mine. I saw what I did, teary eyed I ran to my car, unable to process what I had just done to the most beautiful woman in the world. My Helen of Troy. Now removed from all thought but my own. Severed by a part of me that I had not known even existed before that ominous phone call, but only an inkling as if a stray kindling on a bale of hay. That was the first time. Since then? They always find me. I’ve trashed my phone but they call me on Skype. The worst is when you are in public and some random stranger whispers in your ear. That was not pretty, happened right after the office incident. Needed to clear my head. I was still in costume when I felt the air go thin around me, it feels like, it’s a fainting sensation, your head gets light and then it’s all over.
Covered in blood I made it back to my apartment. You want to know something fun. This clown suit hasn’t left my side since. When I flip, it’s there. In a cubicle, in a bathroom stall, on a hanger in a clothing store. Is it the same outfit? Probably not? But wouldn’t it be cool though?
Now, one week later. I’m on the border’s ass like fried white rice. And I’ve been tailing it for some time now. Get to Mexico, that’s all that’s been going through my head. It’s been two whole days since I flipped. I don’t stop anymore. That’s a mistake. I learned that quickly. It’s just me, the radio and that damned cowboy on my tail. I’ll make it before he catches me. I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen.
I’ll make it to freedom. Even if it kills me.
“Tell me, honey. You wanna get funny?” Carol Rose, what a babe. Raised Protestant but ended up a Catholic. Had nothing to do with me though, my parents were hippies, probably communists as well, who knows? I was too busy playing Super Nintendo to care. Met her at a comic book signing two years ago. Turns out we’re both massive Kid fans. Harvard being our favorite of course. It was kind of romantic. Time had just about been up, they called for the last book to be signed and it came down to us. She smiled shyly at me, her red curly hair sticking to her face. It happened to be a long and hot day. I looked over to kid and he, well, he happened to have a massive grin on his face. It’s kind of his thing you know? He wanted to see if I’d step out of the way. I did, of course – under one condition. We ended up in a milkshake bar discussing our love for Misogynist Fiction and Kelly Sue DeConnick – an oxymoron really, if there ever was one. She has the most beautiful dark brown eyes, and this sly smile that always leaves you guessing. We got our fix and we were on our way – Into the bathroom that was. If I had to guess and I am a gambling man it , it was probably the hotness of the day combined with the coldness of the milkshake. It made us wild. MSG is not supposed to work like that! Killer Frost’s lavatories hasn’t been rocked like that since. We ended up going our separate ways after that little toilet tumble as it were only to bump into each other at work the next day, and then again in a closet and then again in the boss’ office and then again in the kitchen. I asked her to marry me the next day. Sudden? Sure. But after that much sex it was meant to be. Also, and this is probably one hell of a shameful admission but there is a possibility that I forgot to wear protection a few times. I’m not saying it happened, but, there’s a strong probability that she’d be having my babies. So, why fight it?
Sold my Hulk 175 and my New Mutants issue 98 on ebay and got her a 22K diamond ring.
Ninety percent or bust right? She said yes, of course. I mean, why wouldn’t she? If I sell my X-Men comics from the 80’s I can buy her a house. Combined with the sex, the laughter and the fact that we both enjoy the genius that is Jon Bon Jovi and that movie Young Guns – she really had no choice. She’d found her soul mate. And today that very soul mate is set to be Creepy Clause. Bring the spooky to the kooky at tonight’s annual Halloween/Creepy Christmas Bash. It’s actually pretty old school if you think about it. Very 1970’s. Blitson Industries is pretty antiquated itself so it’s not that big of a surprise that they’d be doing something as retro as this. But, my time has finally come. Something I’ve been dreading so much up until now. And Carol, as you probably can imagine, is loving every second of my hesitation and unwillingness. She has her hands on my painted face. I have become Creepy Clause in body but in spirit I am still Lenin Starchild Marx. Mild Mannered Millennial and I.T Guy. Like I said, my parents weren’t all there. Her soft hands are crushing my cheeks under their weight. “Look at you! So cute!”
“If you think Tim Curry in IT was cute, sure.”
“Come on, Lenny. Cheer up, you’ll get to do a voice and everything.”
“I look like a total -”
“Sweetheart! Come here, I’ve never kissed a clown before, or wait, I have, every time I kiss you!”
“Very funny.” She kisses me. She always means all of her kisses. Always have. Kisses me like it’s the last time. What a babe. “Now go out there and give ’em hell.”
I’d like to imagine that those are the last words Carol Rose ever said to me. The woman I love, loved more than anything else. But it’s not. As I dragged her by her fiery curls down that long corridor into the conference room, she was begging me to stop. She was confused. She was swearing at me as I put that cable around the ceiling fan and she was asking if I had gone mad. Maybe I had? But as she hung there, there was a moment, a moment where she tried to find me. She was knocking, silently, tapping away, but I was out. I wasn’t there to answer. She stopped kicking and then she spoke. “I understand, baby. It’s okay, I understand.” I can’t tell now, if she was lying or not. It doesn’t matter. I snapped out of it the moment her body hit the carpet. Covered in blood I fell to my knees. And for five minutes I sat there, staring at her severed head. Lost in an empty tired thought. A thought of utter helplessness. I got up and walked down the now empty corridor, got into the elevator and headed down to the parking garage. I got in our – my car – and locked the doors.
Started blasting New Jersey and cried myself to sleep.
Copyright Jacobus Gideon Louis Nieuwoudt 2016