Chapter One
Heavy ground fog rolled across the moss ridden cobblestones, swirling around the ankles of the silent crowd. Birds cawed from high in the trees of the dark forest that lay beyond the edges of the town. The crowd’s silence began to grow until it was nearly as heavy as the fog that roiled past them in waves.
Above the heads of the crowd the sky was darkening rapidly. Behind them rose two moons; one silver, the other the color of garnets. They were large and round, side by side as they slowly slid and settled into the sky. Nobody reacted to the strange phenomenon. Why should they, when every night they saw the same thing?
The crowd continued their silent stand.
At the edge of the quiet mass was a young man. Tall and slender, he had the same dark hair and pale skin as the people who waited in silence beside him. He stood out amongst the others blatantly, as he was the only one not wearing a mask. His narrow, upturned golden eyes scanned the people before him, searching, waiting. In the distance a raven cawed loudly.
Slowly, the young man’s hand reached into his cloak and came out holding a small black gun. He stared straight over the heads of the masked civilians as he raised the gun to the air and fired.
Pop! A swirl of smoke shot up into the inky night sky. All around, the lights of gas lamps and lanterns flared into existence. The silent crowd was lit up instantly. The heavy skirts of the woman, the trousers and boots of the men. And the macabre, garish plaster masks they all wore.
“It is middlemoon,” the raven haired young man announced firmly to the mass, whose dark heads had turned towards him after the blank had fired. His eyes purposely avoided the tall man at the edge of the crowd who bore a great resemblance to the young man and leaned against a low stone wall, watching. “The Hollows Eve celebrations may now begin. And please, remember the Children’s Curfew. Dangerous things can happen on this night.”
The crowd clapped politely and shushed the young, cheering children beside them. A few even smiled beneath their masks. The serious-faced group dispersed to different areas of the town square to indulge in the variety of different activities set up.
The young man exhaled and sat down on the edge of the wide stone fountain, watching the long skirts of women swish by, and the romping steps of small children eager to get to the candy booths. It was clear from his body language that he didn’t want to be there. He pushed dark hair behind long, pointed ears and scratched idly at his head. Unable to stand the glances from the older man by the stone wall, he flipped his cloak hood down and began pulling rolls of parchment from the bag on his shoulder. Pen nibs and ink jars rolled out from the mess, causing the young man to grumble and bend over to retrieve them.
As he reached for his last ink jar, two pairs of feet appeared behind it. One a nice pair of blue dress shoes, the other a pair of dirty, calloused feet. Both were small and that of a child’s. A girl’s voice giggled.
The young man raised his head and came face-to-face with a dark haired little girl—the owner of the pretty blue shoes. Her face was rounded and adorable, her eyes dark. Too dark to be pretty, but just dark enough to be malicious and knowing.
Beside her was another girl. She was the exact opposite with pale, veiny skin and light grey eyes that sang of pain and remorse. Her white hair was brown with dirt and grime, hanging down her back in ratty strands. The only thing covering her skinny body was a sack dress sewed up nearly as much as a patchwork quilt. Around her neck was a thick leather collar and leash, whose other end was gripped tightly in the hands of the dark haired girl.
“Hello brother dear.” The dark haired girl flashed a bittersweet smile in the young man’s direction. “You’re not going to join in the celebrations? The Hollows Eve Festival only comes once a year you know…”
The young man scowled, a sullen faced fellow if there ever was one. “Ebony, do not start. You know very well I do not care for the festival. And I am very busy—”
Ebony, the appropriately named little girl, raised a dark eyebrow in amusement. “Are you sure it’s not just because it’s the same day as your birthday, which gets overshadowed completely? Poor, unloved Crow. Just go eat sweets with the rest of the Realm. Get drunk. I’m sure you’ll have some lovely hangover dreams.”
“Sweets,” the albino girl mumbled under her breath. Ebony shot her a cold look and yanked on the leash. Hard.
“Quiet! You dirty Lights don’t get to participate in the celebrations, you know that.”
The girl fell silent immediately and bowed her head. The young man, Crow, frowned at the scrawny albino girl, gold eyes full of sympathy and regret. He turned his head away. Only once a year were the people of the Realm allowed to show their emotions in full. It felt good to get them out and into the open, but Crow still had the nagging feeling that he was committing an illegal act, especially with the man on the wall watching him so intently.
That was the point of the Hollows Eve Festival. The Realm could let loose their emotions, eat sweets, and generally just have a good time—all things that were practically illegal on any other day of the year.
“I could care less that my birthday falls upon the festival. I am irritated because Father has given me so much work,” Crow said, waving his parchment rolls in Ebony’s face and shooting a quick, accusing glance over his shoulder at the man by the wall. “And by a lot I mean a ridiculous amount.”
Ebony giggled again and started tugging the collared girl down the cobblestone street. “I have some important business to attend to, brother dearest. Please don’t wait up for me.” She said nothing else as she left; only flashing her bittersweet smile and casting one long, knowing look in Crow’s direction before disappearing around a corner where colorful booths advertised different herbs and powders.
Crow decided he despised his adopted sister twice as much as he had before. He also decided, hesitantly at first, that Ebony was correct. He should go join in the festivities, work or not. His father would have to understand that the lure of the holiday fun was too great to ignore. Tonight he was officially an adult, according to the Realm’s laws. And he felt like he deserved to legally drink wine and consume sweets before his work duties completely engulfed his social life. A much better plan than stealing them from his father’s private stores.
Crow stuffed his rolls of parchment, pens, and ink jars back into his bag. Before clasping it shut, he pulled a mask out from where it was wedged between two large, leather bound books.
It was a bone-white mask with glass eye openings and an elongated, beak shaped nose. Crow adjusted the leather bands strapped to the sides and slipped the mask over his face, where it settled neatly. Several young, pointed eared folk flashed him the thumbs up as they tottered past, clearly drunk behind their own abhorrent masks. Crow allowed himself a toothy grin that he would, on any other occasion, never allow to grace presence on his lips.
He flipped the hood of his cloak up, shouldered his bulging bag, and headed down the rough-hewn streets to indulge in the festivities of Hollows Eve.
Crow was drunk well before the celebrations made it into full swing. The children hadn’t even been sent home yet to ensure their safety and he was already emptying his fourth wine glass, his mind reeling in fantasies.
He sat on a high barstool in a small, clean building called the Raven’s Foot Tavern, one of the most renowned establishments in the Realm. The tables were full of the Realm’s dark haired, pointy eared inhabitants both young and old. Nobody was silent. Everyone was laughing, talking, flirting with one another, letting their emotions flow free without fear of ridicule.
Crow waved down the barista and ordered more wine. On the counter beside him lay his beaked mask, waiting patiently to be put back on the moment he stepped outside into the night to find his next celebration destination. His fifth refill of wine slid down the wooden counter, stopping directly in front of him, no spills. He smiled.
“Much thanks, Asphyxia,” Crow said into the rim of his glass. “You are getting very good at that trick.”
The barista, a young woman in her twenties sporting lovely golden eyes, smiled. Her already flushed cheeks turned a darker shade of red in the eerie light cast from the bobbing orange sprites. She waggled her fingers and caused a load of dirty, spotted glasses to float into the wash basin. Crow applauded for her, made her giggle, and downed the remainder of his drink in one go.
The massive grandfather clock struck the hour. Adults with children left to find them and wrestle them back home before the Children’s Curfew chimed. Crow had a brief thought that perhaps he should make an effort to locate Ebony and get her safely back to the mansion, lest her wanted his father angry at him.
A sixth glass of wine set in front of him made him forget what he was thinking about.
He looked up to thank Asphyxia, but the barista had disappeared, possibly into the back to restock the wine. He thought he saw a dark head scurry towards the back doors of the tavern while dragging something after it on a rope, but it was much too short to be the barista. Just go eat sweets with the rest of the Realm, Ebony had said. I’m sure you’ll have some lovely hangover dreams.
His drunken mind gave it no more thought and returned to its previous fantasies. Crow threw his head back and downed the wine. It burned. Much more than usual.
Crow coughed and sputtered, his throat feeling as though it had caught fire. His eyes watered and his mouth tingled. He glanced down and noticed that small clumps of powder dotted the bottom and rim of his glass. His vision began to blur and blacken around the edges, sending him into panic.
Crow flung himself from the stool, tripping over the hem of his cloak, stumbling into the nearest table. He gripped the edge tightly until his knuckles turned white and he slid towards the ground. He couldn’t see anymore. He didn’t know if people had noticed his panic, or if they’d merely mistaken his stumbling for drunkenness.
“Help?” he rasped, his voice broken and quiet against the roar in his ears, the pounding in his head, the thudding of his heart.
Nobody helped. Nobody answered. A hideous growling sound echoed through the tavern and the sound of a door being torn from its hinges crashed through the din in Crow’s head, making everything go white.
Crow slid into unconsciousness.
Chapter Two
Crow awoke to utter darkness and, not surprisingly, a splitting headache. There was no sound in the tavern, no light, nothing but Crow’s ragged breathing and growing panic. The slightest creak of floorboards made his head feel as though a bomb had been set off inside his skull. Imaginary shrapnel flew into his brain as Crow heaved himself off the floor.
He expected people to be staring down from their tables in awe of the fool that was himself. But there was no one. Where there had been rowdy, drunken individuals before, now only silence sat.
Silence and about two dozen dead bodies.
Crow staggered away from the nearest table where a middle aged man was slumped face first into his porridge, a knife stuck through his back and large chunks of flesh missing from his neck. His eyes were already glazed over with the film of death and his body was stiff with rigor mortis. And the smell…
Crow turned away, hunched over, and threw up six glasses worth of wine all over the scuffed floorboards. His stomach clenched painfully, but there was nothing left. He spent minutes on his knees, dry heaving and gagging until his stomach was satisfied that nothing more would come up. His mind screamed to get out, get out of there right now.
He more than happily obliged, choosing to ignore the destroyed door laying in the center of the tavern. He didn’t want to know.
He stumbled out of the Raven’s Foot and into a ghost town. Crushed plaster masks littered the cobblestones like discarded trash. The remains of the Hollows Eve Festival were evident up and down the streets; trampled candy wrappers, empty bottles, women’s shawls, men’s hats and canes, cloaks, and even the dirty body of a stuffed panda toy, dropped by some child. Crow shook his head and continued his drunken walk up the street, checking the doors and windows of shops and houses. All were locked, which seemed strange to Crow. He couldn’t have been out for more than an hour or two at the least. The celebrations should’ve still been going.
And that’s when he saw the clown.
He didn’t realize it was a clown at first because he’d never seen anything like it before. Clowns were not the bright, colorful things they were in the Human World. In the Realm they were practically nonexistent, only popping up here and there as a small joke… usually ending in bloodshed of one form or another. Still, it was always a person in a costume.
Crow stopped in his tracks and stared up the street to where the clown was currently rummaging through the front window of a weapons shop. Shattered glass was sprinkled across the cobblestones where it had landed after being smashed through with the hammer held in the clown’s hands.
He watched as the clown pocketed several knives, turned, and lumbered farther up the street, heading in the direction of the hills that bordered the west end of town. Nestled between the hills sat a large, glittering white mansion. Crow would’ve recognized the mansion anywhere, having lived in it his entire life thus far.
Crow rubbed his temples, trying to wrap his mind around the current situation and failing horribly to do so. There was nobody around, dead silence engulfed the littered streets, and a single clown roamed free. He wondered briefly if he was having a strange, alcohol induced fever dream. Honestly, he was hoping it to be just that.
Unable to think of a better plan, Crow dashed up the street in pursuit of the clown. As the ground underfoot inclined, the mansion came into focus.
A grand structure, it had many white marble pillars leading to the entrance, and large, wooden double doors that came to a point at the top. The doors were complete with gold knockers that gleamed brightly when the light hit them correctly. A long pool was located around the cobblestone walkway.
And there at the front doors stood the clown.
As Crow traveled up the walkway a sudden, horrendous realization struck him. The clown was huge, easily breaking the eight-foot mark. Over two feet taller than Crow, the clown was steadily becoming more and more terrifying. Crow’s nerves got the better of him. He spun on heel and dove into the rectangular hedges that lined the walkway. He tried to steady his breathing and peered through a gap in the prickly leaves.
The clown stood in front of the doors, unmoving. Its colorful suit was torn and muddy from its trek through the sudden apocalyptic streets. In its hand was a long knife, which he held with an iron grip that sent a chill down Crow’s spine. He turned his head away and tried to beat back the sick feeling that had risen in his stomach.
Crow wondered where everyone had gone. He guessed if they were smart they were probably holed up in their houses… Or dead like the poor saps in the tavern. He found himself worried for the safety of his father and sister, which worried him immensely, more so than the ratty clown standing outside his home.
Crow glanced through the bushes once more and felt the air leave his lungs in one giant whoosh of breath. He clutched his stomach as the sick feeling returned.
The clown was no longer in sight.
Crow didn’t understand why he was so scared. He didn’t know for sure if the clown had murdered the people in The Raven’s Foot Tavern… Though that was most likely what happened. He prayed to the gods that he was only hungover and hallucinating. He wanted it to be true more than anything else in the world. He was even prepared to accept that this was all punishment for putting off his work to have a little fun.
Slowly, Crow rose from the bushes, watching the front doors for any sign of the clown. So far he saw nothing. A cold wind blew through, pulling at his clothes and scattering dry leaves across the finely trimmed lawn.
The sound of rustling branches made him realize too late that he should’ve been watching his back. Large hands gripped his thin shoulders.
He was thrown to the ground with enough force to crack ribs and leave him struggling for his next breath. The little air traveling through his lungs felt like shards of glass cutting into him. Looming over him was the clown, knife in hand. And now that Crow could see its face, he wished he could unsee it.
Where the nose and mouth should’ve been there was nothing but a huge, gaping hole filled with rows and rows of overlapping teeth. He wasn’t even comfortable calling them teeth. They were better described as shards of bone and enamel. Above the horrendous gap were two single black slits for eyes. Black goop dripped thickly from the sockets and ran down the clown’s cheeks, merging and distorting the rest of its macabre makeup.
Crow swallowed the taste of bitter wine and bile, unable to look away from the monster pinning him to the ground. He could feel his ribs slowly knitting back together beneath his skin and he willed them, unsuccessfully, to repair themselves faster. He wriggled frantically beneath the clown, hoping against hope that he was fast enough to worm his way to safety.
Crow freed his arm and jabbed the point of his elbow into the clown’s face. Black goop dropped from the creature’s eye sockets and spattered against Crow’s face in fat chunks. It felt like hot tar but burnt like acid. He screamed, clawing at his face desperately.
His fingers scraped together a ball of goo and he flung it aside into the neatly trimmed shrubbery. Crow pulled himself from under the monster and shot along the edge of the mansion. He ran on pure adrenaline, pivoting around the first corner
of the grand building with all the grace of a ballerina.
The cold air stung the slow healing burns on his face. He clenched his teeth together and stepped into a small doorway. He recognized it as the servants’ entrance to the kitchens. Crow tried the door handle. It was locked, as expected. The household must’ve been informed of the roaming clown, or the killings in the bar, and barricaded themselves in. He wondered if anyone had noticed that he wasn’t inside.
As much as he hated him, Crow found it oddly reassuring that his father would flog anyone responsible for harming his heir. He wondered now, hiding in a doorway from a murderous clown, if some poor servant was being beaten for his absence.
Crow removed his mask from his bag and carefully slipped the straps behind his head with shaking hands. He hoped the beaked mask would be strong enough to hold up against the clown’s acidic eye goop, otherwise he didn’t think he could stand to face it again. He left his schoolbag in the doorway and silently slipped back out into the open, readjusting his hooded cloak as he went.
He spotted the clown’s spindly figure almost immediately. It dashed across the lawn looking for all the world like a large spider. The mere sight of its unnatural height and structure sent shivers down his spine, but he continued on.
Crow followed the clown to a small L-shaped building that sat in a far corner of the estate. It was shrouded by trees and simple cut topiaries. He’d never ventured back this far, only because it was the building that housed the servants, and his father would disapprove of him interacting with them in any way, shape, or form.
Crow reached the plain building in time to hear the screams. They were high pitched and shrill, likely belonging to a female. He wrenched open the door and rushed inside, his cloak flying out behind him like dark wings.
Blood slicked the wooded floors of the servants’ housing quarters, furniture was overturned, and the limp, broken body of a young woman lay across the floor. Crouched over her was, not surprisingly, the horrid clown monster. The mouth of the hellish creature was clamped down on the dead woman’s neck, tight as a bear trap.
“Be gone with you,” Crow said in a trembling voice, wishing that his nerves would settle down. “You have no business here, beast!”
The clown made a terrible screeching, growling noise—the one he heard just before he passed out at the tavern. It was an inhuman sound that would give Crow nightmares for weeks after this. Chunks of bloody flesh hung between the creature’s rows of teeth. The woman’s blood was smeared all up the neck and face of the clown, though it obviously paid no mind. It rose from its position over the dead woman, towering over Crow. It lurched forward like a drunken man on stilts.
Crow backed towards the door and ducked as the monster took a swing at him. The wall cracked under the force of its hit. Plaster fell to the ground and broke into pieces beneath Crow’s boots. Black goop from the clown’s eye sockets spattered against his long, beaked mask. Fortunately, the material held against the acidity of the strange substance.
His breath began to quicken as the clown reared up for another attack. Crow glanced left and right, searching for a possible weapon. His eyes found a metal curtain rod propped against the wall on his far right. It was no sword, but it would have to do. Now if he could only get to it…
The clown lunged suddenly, its long arms outstretched as if it wanted a hug. Moving with incredible speed, Crow brought his leg back and kicked off the wall. He sailed over the head of the clown, narrowly missing the flesh eating mouth, and landed in a roll in the center of the room. He snatched up the metal rod and spun on heel to face the clown.
The monster ran at him, mouth gaping, arms at ready to grab its prey, to sink its teeth into his throat like it had done to the poor servant woman. It was an unstoppable force. It fed on flesh and blood, wouldn’t accept anything else.
Crow nearly gave up and dropped his makeshift weapon. He couldn’t do this. He was absolutely terrified to the point where his legs were turning to jelly inside his boots. He’d never felt such emotion before, had never been allowed to show such an emotion…
With a cry of fear that portrayed the night’s terror and confusion, Crow drove the curtain rod through the clown’s chest, followed by the hollow shriek of the monster as it fell to the ground in a twitching spasm that brought upon more blood and goop.
Crow staggered away, unable to see through the sludge-covered eye openings of his mask. He wobbled towards the door, freedom in sight. He wished only to return home and wake up from this nightmare. He put his hand on the cold metal of the doorknob.
And the clown gripped his ankle tightly, growling.
Crow screamed and was pulled to the floor, terror illuminating his gold eyes.
Everything went white again.
And silence fell over the estate.
Spindleshanks Stories 