The smiling lunatic. (One)

My Batman story

John Dudd awoke in a daze, his arms bound by chains to the worn, rustic pipes behind him. He hated the feeling. The feeling of the pain in his awkwardly positioned shoulders, the feeling of his skin against his soiled pants, but most of all he hated the feeling of triumph whoever has done this to him must be feeling.

"Where am I," he asked quietly to himself himself. "What have I ever done to deserve this?"
It was a fair question. Though not a very happy person, John Dudd would never harm a fly, unless of course that fly threatened his wife, who was now three months pregnant. "For f**k's sake, I'm just a journalist!" He cried at the top of his lungs, which were very weak from his years of smoking.

"What have you done?" Came a horrible, faceless voice that suddenly flooded the dark room. There was a small tunnel of light coming from what looked like a hallway; no, not a hallway but a staircase. He could see its shadow now. A shadow that haunted him, teased him, he knew that the shadow represented his un reachable goal of freedom. Then there was a new form on that drywall canvas, a tall, slender man comind down the staircase. The new figure only tortured him more, watching him trample on John's unattainable route to freedom.
With every bang of the footsteps hitting the wood underneath them, John grew nervous to see the face of his captor.

"Knock knock," came his captor's voice. It was the voice of a demented angel, one that you knew not to trust, but one that you couldn't help but be attracted to. "Oh, it's so good to see that you're up! I was afraid you might've fallen into a permanent snooze . . ."

The way he said that last sentence was enough to make the skin of Jeffery Daulmer crawl with fear and disgust.

"Well," John's captor continued in his previous cheery voice. "I bet you're wondering what exactly should give YOU the honor of joining me tonight."

"Honor!" John questioned, almost shocked. "You're f****n' nuts if you think this is some sorta honor!"

"Watch that tongue, Johnny-boy, or you just might . . . lose it. HA-HA! Wouldn't that be just the way to kick off our little get-together?"

John's face remained joyless, showing no interest in this man's games.

"Hmmm," came that enchanting yet frightening voice again. "Just as I feared, not even a chuckle. Oh, John, this won't do at all. No, no, no. I just want to do for you what life has failed to: I wanna make you laugh, Johnny! I wanna make you just . . . like . . . me."

Then he came closer to John, the light that silhouetted the staircase now rushing to his face. It was frightening. It was terrible. It was every child's worst nightmare. His face, not the face of a demon, but of a clown. A joyless clown with a fake, permanent smile plastered to his face, failing to cover his grotesque yellow teeth. His green hair was unkempt and his red lips were thin and stretched across his face. His green eyes burned through your own eyes and dared you to either call him insane or question his fashion sense; both were obviously in need of questioning, what with his purple coat and slacks and his yellow vest that covered his green shirt.

"Well, Johnny, what'dya think?" Continued the psychotic clown. "I got all gussied up for our big day together! Oh, I know the cherry-red lipstick might be a bit much and my smile might be a bit disturbing, but I'm just so happy to see you! HA-HA-HA-HE!"

John wasn't sure if that laugh was genuine or merely a part of his demented act, but he did know it scared the s**t out of him - and judging from his still soggy pants, it wasn't the first thing that had done that to him today.

"Ooo, it certainly SMELLS like you're excited!"

"Shut the hell up, you freak . . ." John regretted saying it as soon as the first letter of his sentence touched his lips.

"HA-HA! Quick to anger but never to joy!" His voice changed to that frightening tone that encompassed all thought or emotion.
"Well . . . I guess one of us should have a little fun."

He pulled out a gun, a revolver. A .48 by the looks of it (John wasn't an overly smart man, never could quite grasp the reason for letters in math, but he knew his guns, d****t.)
The clown put his .48 to John's temple; still smiling, always smiling.

"I bet I know what you're thinking," he began. "You're wondering if anyone will hear the gun go off. You're wondering if this room is sound proof. Oh, I know the answer, but ya see, I'm not one to ruin the surprise. Ya see, John, the only real fun in life comes from not knowing what happens next. Are you having fun? I am! HA-HE-HE-HA! Okay, let's count to three, Johnny!"

John's heart began to race.

"One!"

John turned his head to the side. He closed his eyes, trying to make sure the clown didn't see him cry.

"Two!"

John thought of his pregnant wife and his single tear became a steady stream.

"Three!"

The clown pulled the trigger. John waited for the sound. Nothing happened, at least not that he could see with his eyes closed. He opened them and looked the barrel of the gun. A big flag with the word "bang!" on it was all the came out.

"AH-HA-HA-HA-HA! Pretty funny, isn't it, Johnny! Have you been crying? Calm down, it was just a joke! You didn't REALLY think I was gunna shoot you, did you, Johnny? Oh, you did! I'm hurt! And it doesn't even look like you got any amusement out of my little prank. Oh well, by the end of the night you'll be laughing your guts out! HA-HA! Well, nighty night, Johnny."

The clown became just a figure again as he walked back up the stairs and shut the door, leaving John in almost total darkness. A tease. A taste of freedom getting further and further from his mouth.

There was the sound of air coming through the vent. "What's he gunna do, freeze me to death?" Thought John. He found this rather funny and began to giggle. He thought of his captors face and began a more than healthy gut laugh. "Ha-ha! What a clown! What a joker!"
He realized that coming out of the vents was not air but a gas. A poisonous gas. He found it funny, though he didn't know why. He laughed anyway. He laughed a lot. He laughed til it hurt, til it was all he could do, all he could think about. "HA-HA! Oh god, it hurts! HA-HA-HA!" Blood began to cake his throat and run down his mouth as he began to laugh out his own lungs. That clown - that Joker - was right: John looked just like him by the end of the night.

Reviews

[nolan56]

the countdown before the gun was written well, it really built tension. Then when he said 'laughing your guts out' I was able to predict the ending, but that playful insanity made me doubt if it would happen or not. Great job instilling fear and drama!

[Kho-San]

Oh, damn, scary stuff, never been one for horror, and that was pretty gruesome. I'm guessing your goal was to disgust and horrify, and in my case, you have succeeded (though I wouldn't say that's an easy thing to do, I think the over-the-top violence and the clown did it for me, now pardon me, I have to go and vomit my guts out...:P)