Page 8 of Runt's Haunted Ride
"Mommy!"
"What the hell," Bulldog breathed once we were out of earshot. "What, just what?"
"I, I," Swinger said, running a hand through his hair. "I, uh."
"Listen, anyone runs into them on their own, call right away and don't let them touch you." I looked over my shoulder. "I'll tell you later, but don't get close to any of them."
"Yeah, not a problem," Bulldog said, peering around. "This is some crazy shit."
"We better get back to work," Swinger suggested. "I'm going to head to the other end of the midway."
"Me too. “I’ll go," Bulldog said, already walking that direction.
"Great, leave me here," I called after them, but they were already gone into the crowd.
I walked a little ways, watching the people play games, winning oddly constructed and stitched stuffed creatures. The college women from earlier were in line to ride the Ferris wheel. The red and blue clowns in the middle of them, the women laughed at something the blue one said. I stood observing until the red clown caught me. His eyebrows furrowed and he glared at me, holding up his middle finger, flipping me off.
Let them!Mortis' command blared in my head.
I lifted my chin and gave him a nod, continuing on my way. I cut across two booths that had a space big enough to pass through, then stepped through the crowd heading farther into the midway.
I rounded the corner of a bigger tent and immediately wished I hadn't. The purple-haired clown was leaning against the tent wall, his eyes closed, his pants open. Kneeling in front of him in his expensive suit was the businessman from earlier.
"Mmm, grape," the man said between slurps. He licked the tip of the clown's purple dick. "You taste just like grape soda." He took him in one back-of-the-throat ramming motion, sliding his mouth back to the tip.
He has a purple dick. Purple. A purple dick.
I shook my head, made to turn around, and accidentally hit one of the tent ropes. The clown's eyes snapped open and met mine. His filed-tooth grin widened as he looked me up and down like I was a piece of meat.
Licking his lips, "You want to be next?" he called out, his voice carrying that same sing-song quality. "He won't care, not for a while at least." The clown tilted his head to the side, and I felt something cold and oily slide over my mind. "Maybe you want to be our third. Huh, that would be fun. How about it? Would you like that?"
The businessman kept working, muttering about how good the clown tasted, completely oblivious to the conversation happening above him.
"No, no thanks," I managed, backing away quickly. "I think you're good on your own."
"You sure?" The clown placed his hand on the man's head, and the man froze in place. "I can share him."
I put my hands up in front of me. "Nope, I'm—no thanks."
I half-ran around the corner of the tent and ran directly into Swinger.
"Whoa, you alright?" Swinger grabbed my arms to steady me.
Closing my eyes, I blew out my breath. "Don't go around the corner."
"Why?"
"The purple clown." I wasn't sure how to explain what I'd seen. But it didn't matter—Swinger had stepped around me and was approaching the tent corner.
He leaned to the side, watched for a minute, then stood up, turned, and walked back to where I was standing.
"Now that's burned into my brain," Swinger said, smacking the side of his head. "How do you unsee something like that?"
"Shit, you figure it out, let me know." We stood there in silence for a moment.
"Did he say grape?"
"Yes," I answered him.
