Tito_Villa
01-20-2014, 06:22 AM
Below is an except from the latest story that i'm working on. It's protagonist - Emily Porter - a year 5 old who has a wild imagination and a strong hatred of clowns. Them with their red noses and ever smiling faces; she thinks them evil and that they eat kids.
Previous to this part Emily had just visited the Leopold Circus with her parents and met Clueless the Clown, she even won a toy of him at the ring toss stall. But all is not well. Clueless the Clown wasn't all smiles and laughter, and the toy seems to have a life of its own, moving when unseen and even squeaking its own nose. She hated it. Threw it into the mud. Her parents weren't happy and sent her straight to bed upon returning home, which is where this part of the story leads from...
Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!
That night after listening to her parents’ footsteps as they crossed the landing to their bedroom, Emily counted sheep to aid her on the trip to dream land; seventy-six whole sheep to be exact. Emily loved her bed, it was soft and firm and it’d taken a whole year for her to create the Emily-shaped dent in the mattress that she could snuggle into; and the sleep was perfect, so calm and restful. There were no nightmares, just sweet nothing. If only she hadn’t been awoken.
There was a squeak.
Her eyes sprang open.
On a normal morning Emily was a slow starter, that night she was awake in an instant, clutching the duvet to her chin, thinking if she pulled it all the way over her head she’d be invisible and whatever squeaked would vamoose.
The squeak came again, echoing around the bedroom, vibrating through Emily’s bones and teeth, hurting her head. With an arm that couldn’t stop shaking, she reached out of the safety of duvet and switched on the bed side-lamp. Bright white light was thrown across the room; it temporarily blinded her, creating light spots of red and orange that took her vision. She sat up, rested her back against the wall and rubbed fists into her eyes.
Slowly her sight returned for her to see a world of shadows that stretched along the floor and up the walls. Her eyes widened. In the spreading darkness she saw spiders, tentacles, hands and monsters, some with many arms, others with two, three or four heads, all with rows of sharp teeth.
Once more, dangerous, the squeak reverberated around the room and with it came smells of the circus. Sweet popcorn floated on the air, up her nose and congealed at the back of her throat. Emily gulped and turned her head in a slow arc to the source of the noise – a pile of teddies three high, four deep and many, many teddies wide. The little girl knew that if she wanted to get back to sleep (which she did, the source of the squeak had to be found. Her feet abandoned the bed and landed on the cool purple carpet that tickled her toes. To be as quiet as a mouse traversing the carpet, Emily had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
Stood in front of the pile of teddy bears Emily didn’t breathe. I need Mummy and Daddy, she thought. They’d look after me, they’d have to, they’re Mummy and Daddy. But she’s brave, took matters into her own hands. She pulled one teddy bear from the pile and placed it gently on her bed (after all, they were her friends). Her arms turned to a blur, another teddy was moved and another and another.
A long green shoe was uncovered. Emily moved quicker, throwing the toys onto the bed rather than placing them carefully; either because of exertion or fear, sweat began to dribble down her forehead and when the job was done, when Clueless the Clown was uncovered, she stood, put her hands to her heart and took heavy breaths, holding herself steady, attempting not to run, not to faint; it’s my bedroom, she thought, and I’m not running from a toy.
With his smart green and red outfit, green hair, red nose and smile; the clown taunted her. Clueless was clean. He’d had a mud bath only hours previously, and now, there wasn’t a speck of evidence on view. His colours shone like a freshly painted canvas. Emily brushed his green gloved hand with fingertips and cringed. She thought it’d be wet; proof that Mummy had cleaned him she thought (while not even trying to comprehend why it was hidden in her room). But it wasn’t so; the hand was deadly cold and at the same time, as dry as a bone.
As if Clueless were the smelliest of socks, Emily screwed up her face, picked him up between thumb and forefinger, held the toy at arm’s length and sprinted to her wardrobe, threw open the doors and chucked the clown inside. And as if her life depended on it, she scampered across the carpet, retrieved her reading chair, backed it up against the wardrobe handles and weighed it down with book after book.
“And stay there,” Emily whispered while walking backwards to her bed and sitting down. She’d wanted to open her bedroom door and throw the clown down the stairs, but that would’ve meant opening the bedroom door, which squeaks and groans every time it has to move its old hinges; she couldn’t risk waking Mummy and Daddy, couldn’t risk making them mad at her again. So she’d dealt with the clown the only way she knew how – locking it up. Out of sight meant out of mind and she hoped to be happily ignorant. She was still tired, her mind was heavy, her head hurt. All she wanted was some shut eye, not to think over how the clown entered her room without waking her. Mummy will have brought it in, she thought. It’s obvious. But why hadn’t she been woken by the door’s squeaks she asked herself. Whenever Mummy had come to check in on her before, no matter how carefully and how marginally she’d opened the door, somewhere in Emily’s sub-consciousness she’d always heard and opened her eyes to see who the intruder in her room could be.
Back in bed Emily swamped herself with the teddy bears that had been concealing the clown. She wanted to keep watch on the wardrobe doors, but she needed sleep like a fat kid needs cake, so the teddy bears were recruited into her personal bodyguard. They were to be her eyes and ears, equipped with shields, swords, guns and even lasers - her eternal cuddly defenders. And not five minutes later sleep had taken hold once more, and only relinquished its grasp as the birds that stood on the lamppost outside the bedroom window began to sing their hearts out serenading the new day hours later.
Wednesday
1
Sunshine streamed around the curtains. Shadows retreated to the crevices from which they came and Emily woke refreshed, the memory of the night’s encounter with Clueless was reduced to nothing but a whisper. She leapt from bed. And being careful not to knock one of her teddy bear defenders to the floor, went to the window, opened the curtains and smiled. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun’s power was already starting to build – just how she liked it. Better than rain and clouds, she thought, they’re so depressing, not like sunshine that’s full of possibilities and warmth.
Like a soldier on parade Emily about turned and started her morning routine with a hop and skip; she cleaned her teeth, spent a penny, had a wash and brushed her hair. It was only when back in her bedroom, stood in front of her wardrobe did she truly acknowledge the night’s events. “If ever there was a day to wear a dress, it’s today,” she told herself while thinking of the sunshine. “And no stupid clown toy’s gonna stop me!”
The books were lifted and placed back on their shelves, the chair was dragged back to its home and she grasped the wardrobe door’s handles, took in a big lungful of air, exhaled and slowly opened the doors. Inside were many dresses hung in a neat row, a spare duvet, a pair of muddy Wellington boots and an old TV covered in dust and spider webs. There was no clown. Emily didn’t know what to think. She should have felt relief, but the clown’s no-show threw up more questions. How did it escape? Where was it now?
Too much. It was way too much for a little head to comprehend. She raised a hand to her temple. She ignored the questions that a part of her mind wanted answers for. Told it to shut its trap and not bother her again; she had to get ready and carry on with her routine. Any minute Mummy would shout her for breakfast.
“Sweet-heart,” Mummy shouted, proving Emily’s theory correct. “Grub’s up!”
She slid into a dress. Next? I need my shoes, thought Emily. She looked to the matt near the door which was their home. Empty. Where could they be? She always put them there, like her morning routine, placing her shoes on the matt was ingrained into her mind. Her long hair flew as she twirled in a circle and rushed about the room. Blood rushed to her cheeks, she was anxious and the relief when she spotted a shoe strap poking from under the bed was so great, the weight of an elephant had been taken from her shoulders. She threw her body to the floor, happy, her shiny black shoes with their Velcro strap and eggs on toast filled her mind. The possibility that Clueless was hunkered down under the bed, a Velcro strap stuck to each hand was never there.
She thought the clown toy as dangerous as a king cobra, deadly, poisonous and ready to strike, Emily rolled away and uttered a low wail of horror. Clueless smiled his eternal smile and didn’t move. But why would it? After all he only a toy.
“Are you coming?” Shouted Mummy. “Your eggs are getting cold!”
“Damn it,” said Emily, who slowly, timidly reached out with shaking arms and as quickly as possible held the clown in one hand while she freed the shoes with the other. Emily expected the clown to hiss, bare the teeth she knew it had hidden, and maybe, even try to take a bite out of one of her arms. Nothing happened. The clown offered no defence. It was a fluff filled toy with a big red smile and purple hair that she left under the bed with only dust balls and shadows for company. I’ll deal with you later, she told herself, now just stay there.
“Coming,” shouted Emily as she forced her feet into the shoes and rushed to the door. Squeak. She stopped, gulped and looked back over a shoulder. Clueless was on his back with head poking from beneath the bed. You can’t escape me, his face said.
Emily bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time. She sprinted into the kitchen, past Rufus who was watching the food preparation with eager eyes, past the table that held eggs on toast that filled the kitchen with their sweet aromas and threw herself into the back of Mummy who watched over another pair of eggs that fried away nicely, spitting oil with a crack and a sizzle. Emily wrapped her hands into Mummy’s jumper and pulled it over her head, attempting to bury herself. “Sorry for last night Mummy,” said the little girl. “I’ll be a good, promise.”
“Sweetheart, it’s ok. You’re my baby, I’ll always forgive you,” said Mummy who turned down the heat and moved to give her daughter a big hug. Mummy looked up to the table over Emily’s shoulder and smiled. “I’m pleased to see you’ve cleaned Clueless up and brought him to breakfast; you are such a good girl.”
Emily’s hair stood on end.
She slipped from her mother’s arms and very slowly turned to look at the kitchen table where, as her mother said, sat Clueless. She wanted to cry, shout and scream. It was wrong; she’d only just left the clown in her room. He can’t move on its own, he can’t, said Emily in her head. But it didn’t matter what the little girl thought. As plain as day, the clown had followed her.
“I left Clueless outside your door last night,” added Mummy. “I didn’t want to open the door and wake you. Are you taking him to school?”
“I…I…I,” Emily couldn’t find the words to describe how scared she was; how every cell vibrated with tension; how every hair stood on end, how sharp pain stabbed her head, her mouth was instantly as dry as a desert and all energy had been sapped from her limbs. “No!”
“And why not? All the other kids would love to see him!”
“I don’t want him to get broke.”
“I guess you’re right. Some of those kids are awful rough with their toys,” said Mummy as she plated up her eggs and sat at the table. “Come on, let’s eat or you’ll be late.”
And Mummy did eat; when she was finished there was barely a crumb or a smear of yellow egg yoke left on her plate. On the other hand, Emily only took a handful of small mouthfuls. Her hunger had deserted her and with knife and fork she moved toast and egg from one side of the plate to the other. Rufus, whose cold nose and soft fur brushed up against Emily’s bare legs, got more than his normal share of breakfast. Little by little Emily smuggled him a whole slice of toast and most of an egg. Emily didn’t want Mummy to know she wasn’t eating or had a headache; she didn’t want to worry her. Just like she didn’t want Mummy to know she was scared of Clueless, that she stole glances at him, afraid that he might turn and try to take a bite out of her for his own breakfast. She hadn’t turned the clown round to face her; she didn’t want to touch it. The only problem – while Clueless faced the cooker, its label faced Emily and it contained a new message…
No escape!
Previous to this part Emily had just visited the Leopold Circus with her parents and met Clueless the Clown, she even won a toy of him at the ring toss stall. But all is not well. Clueless the Clown wasn't all smiles and laughter, and the toy seems to have a life of its own, moving when unseen and even squeaking its own nose. She hated it. Threw it into the mud. Her parents weren't happy and sent her straight to bed upon returning home, which is where this part of the story leads from...
Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!
That night after listening to her parents’ footsteps as they crossed the landing to their bedroom, Emily counted sheep to aid her on the trip to dream land; seventy-six whole sheep to be exact. Emily loved her bed, it was soft and firm and it’d taken a whole year for her to create the Emily-shaped dent in the mattress that she could snuggle into; and the sleep was perfect, so calm and restful. There were no nightmares, just sweet nothing. If only she hadn’t been awoken.
There was a squeak.
Her eyes sprang open.
On a normal morning Emily was a slow starter, that night she was awake in an instant, clutching the duvet to her chin, thinking if she pulled it all the way over her head she’d be invisible and whatever squeaked would vamoose.
The squeak came again, echoing around the bedroom, vibrating through Emily’s bones and teeth, hurting her head. With an arm that couldn’t stop shaking, she reached out of the safety of duvet and switched on the bed side-lamp. Bright white light was thrown across the room; it temporarily blinded her, creating light spots of red and orange that took her vision. She sat up, rested her back against the wall and rubbed fists into her eyes.
Slowly her sight returned for her to see a world of shadows that stretched along the floor and up the walls. Her eyes widened. In the spreading darkness she saw spiders, tentacles, hands and monsters, some with many arms, others with two, three or four heads, all with rows of sharp teeth.
Once more, dangerous, the squeak reverberated around the room and with it came smells of the circus. Sweet popcorn floated on the air, up her nose and congealed at the back of her throat. Emily gulped and turned her head in a slow arc to the source of the noise – a pile of teddies three high, four deep and many, many teddies wide. The little girl knew that if she wanted to get back to sleep (which she did, the source of the squeak had to be found. Her feet abandoned the bed and landed on the cool purple carpet that tickled her toes. To be as quiet as a mouse traversing the carpet, Emily had to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
Stood in front of the pile of teddy bears Emily didn’t breathe. I need Mummy and Daddy, she thought. They’d look after me, they’d have to, they’re Mummy and Daddy. But she’s brave, took matters into her own hands. She pulled one teddy bear from the pile and placed it gently on her bed (after all, they were her friends). Her arms turned to a blur, another teddy was moved and another and another.
A long green shoe was uncovered. Emily moved quicker, throwing the toys onto the bed rather than placing them carefully; either because of exertion or fear, sweat began to dribble down her forehead and when the job was done, when Clueless the Clown was uncovered, she stood, put her hands to her heart and took heavy breaths, holding herself steady, attempting not to run, not to faint; it’s my bedroom, she thought, and I’m not running from a toy.
With his smart green and red outfit, green hair, red nose and smile; the clown taunted her. Clueless was clean. He’d had a mud bath only hours previously, and now, there wasn’t a speck of evidence on view. His colours shone like a freshly painted canvas. Emily brushed his green gloved hand with fingertips and cringed. She thought it’d be wet; proof that Mummy had cleaned him she thought (while not even trying to comprehend why it was hidden in her room). But it wasn’t so; the hand was deadly cold and at the same time, as dry as a bone.
As if Clueless were the smelliest of socks, Emily screwed up her face, picked him up between thumb and forefinger, held the toy at arm’s length and sprinted to her wardrobe, threw open the doors and chucked the clown inside. And as if her life depended on it, she scampered across the carpet, retrieved her reading chair, backed it up against the wardrobe handles and weighed it down with book after book.
“And stay there,” Emily whispered while walking backwards to her bed and sitting down. She’d wanted to open her bedroom door and throw the clown down the stairs, but that would’ve meant opening the bedroom door, which squeaks and groans every time it has to move its old hinges; she couldn’t risk waking Mummy and Daddy, couldn’t risk making them mad at her again. So she’d dealt with the clown the only way she knew how – locking it up. Out of sight meant out of mind and she hoped to be happily ignorant. She was still tired, her mind was heavy, her head hurt. All she wanted was some shut eye, not to think over how the clown entered her room without waking her. Mummy will have brought it in, she thought. It’s obvious. But why hadn’t she been woken by the door’s squeaks she asked herself. Whenever Mummy had come to check in on her before, no matter how carefully and how marginally she’d opened the door, somewhere in Emily’s sub-consciousness she’d always heard and opened her eyes to see who the intruder in her room could be.
Back in bed Emily swamped herself with the teddy bears that had been concealing the clown. She wanted to keep watch on the wardrobe doors, but she needed sleep like a fat kid needs cake, so the teddy bears were recruited into her personal bodyguard. They were to be her eyes and ears, equipped with shields, swords, guns and even lasers - her eternal cuddly defenders. And not five minutes later sleep had taken hold once more, and only relinquished its grasp as the birds that stood on the lamppost outside the bedroom window began to sing their hearts out serenading the new day hours later.
Wednesday
1
Sunshine streamed around the curtains. Shadows retreated to the crevices from which they came and Emily woke refreshed, the memory of the night’s encounter with Clueless was reduced to nothing but a whisper. She leapt from bed. And being careful not to knock one of her teddy bear defenders to the floor, went to the window, opened the curtains and smiled. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun’s power was already starting to build – just how she liked it. Better than rain and clouds, she thought, they’re so depressing, not like sunshine that’s full of possibilities and warmth.
Like a soldier on parade Emily about turned and started her morning routine with a hop and skip; she cleaned her teeth, spent a penny, had a wash and brushed her hair. It was only when back in her bedroom, stood in front of her wardrobe did she truly acknowledge the night’s events. “If ever there was a day to wear a dress, it’s today,” she told herself while thinking of the sunshine. “And no stupid clown toy’s gonna stop me!”
The books were lifted and placed back on their shelves, the chair was dragged back to its home and she grasped the wardrobe door’s handles, took in a big lungful of air, exhaled and slowly opened the doors. Inside were many dresses hung in a neat row, a spare duvet, a pair of muddy Wellington boots and an old TV covered in dust and spider webs. There was no clown. Emily didn’t know what to think. She should have felt relief, but the clown’s no-show threw up more questions. How did it escape? Where was it now?
Too much. It was way too much for a little head to comprehend. She raised a hand to her temple. She ignored the questions that a part of her mind wanted answers for. Told it to shut its trap and not bother her again; she had to get ready and carry on with her routine. Any minute Mummy would shout her for breakfast.
“Sweet-heart,” Mummy shouted, proving Emily’s theory correct. “Grub’s up!”
She slid into a dress. Next? I need my shoes, thought Emily. She looked to the matt near the door which was their home. Empty. Where could they be? She always put them there, like her morning routine, placing her shoes on the matt was ingrained into her mind. Her long hair flew as she twirled in a circle and rushed about the room. Blood rushed to her cheeks, she was anxious and the relief when she spotted a shoe strap poking from under the bed was so great, the weight of an elephant had been taken from her shoulders. She threw her body to the floor, happy, her shiny black shoes with their Velcro strap and eggs on toast filled her mind. The possibility that Clueless was hunkered down under the bed, a Velcro strap stuck to each hand was never there.
She thought the clown toy as dangerous as a king cobra, deadly, poisonous and ready to strike, Emily rolled away and uttered a low wail of horror. Clueless smiled his eternal smile and didn’t move. But why would it? After all he only a toy.
“Are you coming?” Shouted Mummy. “Your eggs are getting cold!”
“Damn it,” said Emily, who slowly, timidly reached out with shaking arms and as quickly as possible held the clown in one hand while she freed the shoes with the other. Emily expected the clown to hiss, bare the teeth she knew it had hidden, and maybe, even try to take a bite out of one of her arms. Nothing happened. The clown offered no defence. It was a fluff filled toy with a big red smile and purple hair that she left under the bed with only dust balls and shadows for company. I’ll deal with you later, she told herself, now just stay there.
“Coming,” shouted Emily as she forced her feet into the shoes and rushed to the door. Squeak. She stopped, gulped and looked back over a shoulder. Clueless was on his back with head poking from beneath the bed. You can’t escape me, his face said.
Emily bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time. She sprinted into the kitchen, past Rufus who was watching the food preparation with eager eyes, past the table that held eggs on toast that filled the kitchen with their sweet aromas and threw herself into the back of Mummy who watched over another pair of eggs that fried away nicely, spitting oil with a crack and a sizzle. Emily wrapped her hands into Mummy’s jumper and pulled it over her head, attempting to bury herself. “Sorry for last night Mummy,” said the little girl. “I’ll be a good, promise.”
“Sweetheart, it’s ok. You’re my baby, I’ll always forgive you,” said Mummy who turned down the heat and moved to give her daughter a big hug. Mummy looked up to the table over Emily’s shoulder and smiled. “I’m pleased to see you’ve cleaned Clueless up and brought him to breakfast; you are such a good girl.”
Emily’s hair stood on end.
She slipped from her mother’s arms and very slowly turned to look at the kitchen table where, as her mother said, sat Clueless. She wanted to cry, shout and scream. It was wrong; she’d only just left the clown in her room. He can’t move on its own, he can’t, said Emily in her head. But it didn’t matter what the little girl thought. As plain as day, the clown had followed her.
“I left Clueless outside your door last night,” added Mummy. “I didn’t want to open the door and wake you. Are you taking him to school?”
“I…I…I,” Emily couldn’t find the words to describe how scared she was; how every cell vibrated with tension; how every hair stood on end, how sharp pain stabbed her head, her mouth was instantly as dry as a desert and all energy had been sapped from her limbs. “No!”
“And why not? All the other kids would love to see him!”
“I don’t want him to get broke.”
“I guess you’re right. Some of those kids are awful rough with their toys,” said Mummy as she plated up her eggs and sat at the table. “Come on, let’s eat or you’ll be late.”
And Mummy did eat; when she was finished there was barely a crumb or a smear of yellow egg yoke left on her plate. On the other hand, Emily only took a handful of small mouthfuls. Her hunger had deserted her and with knife and fork she moved toast and egg from one side of the plate to the other. Rufus, whose cold nose and soft fur brushed up against Emily’s bare legs, got more than his normal share of breakfast. Little by little Emily smuggled him a whole slice of toast and most of an egg. Emily didn’t want Mummy to know she wasn’t eating or had a headache; she didn’t want to worry her. Just like she didn’t want Mummy to know she was scared of Clueless, that she stole glances at him, afraid that he might turn and try to take a bite out of her for his own breakfast. She hadn’t turned the clown round to face her; she didn’t want to touch it. The only problem – while Clueless faced the cooker, its label faced Emily and it contained a new message…
No escape!