Page 15 of Runt's Haunted Ride
I caught Bulldog's glance and knew he was as shocked and speechless as I was.
"Good God, what kind of weird-ass freak are you?" the first guy asked, his voice cracking with fear.
"Yeah, and what's with these damn clowns?" the other one chimed in.
Mortis looked genuinely amused by the question. "Freak?" His face broke into a large, unnerving smile, revealing gold teeth, each carved with some sort of symbol. "Freak?" The air temperature seemed to drop again. Mortis threw his head back and laughed—a spine-chilling laugh. The clowns joined in the cringe-worthy sound. Passersby would have thought a herd of cats were in a fight the way their laughter pierced the night. The shrieking ended as quickly as it started.
"Freak, you say?" Mortis paused. "I, sir—" His head cocked to the side as he stepped closer to all of us, casting us in a thick shadow that hadn't been there before. Instantly, I was chilled to my core, my focus locked on Mortis looming over us.
"I am THE freak. I am THE darkness. I AM what you fear." He laughed a deep, guttural laugh that made my throat fill with bile. Mortis bent forward from the waist, bringing his face near ours. He whispered, "And I am your nightmare."
He bent his head to the right, then to the left, as if listening to the vacant, hollow skulls hanging at his ears. "I agree." He snapped upward, bringing our eyes with him. "YOU HAVE LIED," he boomed from his full height.
He moved his hands in a slow, swaying motion, and I felt something oily and wrong slide through the recesses of my mind—the same sensation I'd experienced when the purple-haired clown had tried to influence me the night before. Only this time it was a thousand times more intense, like something was probing, searching my head.
"You wanted her, didn't you?" Mortis said to the young man, his hands still moving in that hypnotic pattern. "You too wantedher," he said to the older man. He stopped moving his hands. "She's not yours to have. Did she tell you that?"
Before either man could answer, Mortis snapped his fingers. The sound echoed like a gunshot, and both men went rigid. Not just still—completely rigid, their faces frozen mid-expression, their arms forced from our grips, snapped to the men's sides. Both bodies locked in place—they resembled museum statues.
"Speak," Mortis commanded.
"Yes, she told me, but I didn't care," they said in perfect unison, their voices flat and emotionless. "I wanted her, and if I couldn't have her, I would make sure he couldn't either."
"That is what I thought," Mortis commanded. "Take them."
The red and purple clowns stepped forward. Each slung a man onto their shoulders with no effort whatsoever. They strode off as if the men weighed no more than small toddlers. Bulldog and I exchanged glances, and I could tell he was just as shocked.
When I looked back at Mortis, he had returned to his normal size, as if the transformation had never happened. He leaned casually toward the skull on the right side of his hat.
"Quite right." His posture was the complete opposite of what we'd just experienced. His hands returned to their steepled position. He looked almost relaxed.
"Thank you, gentlemen," he said, fixing us with those unsettling black eyes. Mortis looked to the blue-haired clown and said something in that same inaudible whisper he'd used with the carnival worker. The clown nodded and stepped forward, reaching into his pocket, producing three rolls of cash. He handed one to each of us without a word.
Mortis returned his gaze to the three of us. "You saved one of mine, and I am grateful. Yours for a job well done," Mortis said with what might have been genuine warmth. "Please continue with your duties."
With that, he spun around and glided away, his coattails billowing behind him. The remaining clowns followed. The crowd dispersed as if nothing had happened, returning to their carnival activities with the same eager enthusiasm they'd shown before.
The three of us stood in place for a long moment, each holding a roll of cash and trying to process what we'd just witnessed.
"What. The. Fuck?" Bulldog finally asked.
"Magic," Swinger said in a lower tone. "Black magic."
"That guy's wrist was ripped out of my hand." I looked down at the money in my hand. It was a thick roll of cash. "I couldn't hold him."
"Me either," Swinger said. "I've never had anything like that happen."
"Did he get—" Bulldog paused. "Ah, bigger?"
"Yeah, and the darkness. I felt like ice," I added.
We stood silently, rooted in our spots.
"Do you guys think those skulls talk to him?" Swinger asked, breaking the silence.
"I think he thinks they do," Bulldog said. "What did he say to the girl? I couldn't hear it."
"None of us could," I told him. Again, all of us stood silent. For me, I was trying to process what I'd just seen. My brain repeated Swinger's black magic comment. I hated to admit it, but I think he's right—Mortis is black magic.
