A Secret Locked Away
By: Adam Maillet
Click click�. Click click� Hmm, no mail...
Trent sat at his computer, man he was tired, What time is it? Trent glanced at the clock in lower right hand corner of the screen: 9:45. Just a sleepy night I suppose.
�Trent, I was digging through some old boxes out in the shed�� Trent�s mom began as she glided into the room, �and look.� She held a simple homemade clown in her hand. �Strange, � she continued, �it was in a box, in a box, in a box, in a box� all duct taped up. Oh look!� Turning the clown upside down she read, ��Trent 1990,� you made it in kindergarten! I remember now!� Trent gazed blankly at his mother who seemed oddly fascinated with a raggedy clown twelve years old.
What an odd clown� Search as he may through his memories, he recalled nothing of the child project.
�Well I�ll just leave it hear, it�s kind of neat don't you think? Try not to stay up too late.� Placing the clown atop the television she shuffled over to her son, kissed his forehead, and left his room, sealing the door as she left. Still entwined with the effigy, Trent thought he remembered making it years ago. Yet the harder he tried, the more it seemed to slip from his grasp. Like trying to remember a dream.
The clown was of fairly simple craft, its body composed of a wooden block. Its yellow striped arms and legs jotted downwards and to the sides in a comical manner, while its head tilted to the left. A ruffled collar, and a pointed hat, framed its styrofoam head. Two little googly eyes peered at Trent over an orange cotton nose and red pipe cleaner grin, and three buttons on its chest were of the same make as the nose.
Minutes later Trent jostled himself out of a trance, coming to the realization that he had been staring at his clown for about five minutes. Shaking himself off he strolled to the bathroom where he performed his nightly routine of brushing his teeth - and emptying his bladder. Upon reentry Trent picked up the little doll for a closer inspection, what�s with this stupid thing?
�Uh, whatever,� he gave an exasperated sigh and planted the figure back where his mother though it belonged moments earlier. Time for bed, but there was a thump behind him. Turning around Trent realized he should have placed the clown more carefully, for it had plummeted to the ground, where it now lay face down. Picking it up once more, and with a sideways glance across his room he set the jester down, this time carefully. Hmmmm.
Discarding all his clothes aside from his underwear, Trent plopped down towards his bed, shut off the light on his nightstand, let his eyes adjust to only the luminescence from his computer console, and relaxed. Sleep came.
Thirsty. Trent rolled over in the covers, and opened his eyes. Clown. Once again fascinated by the little thing he suddenly felt uneasy. Same clown, same buttons, same smile, same titled head. Tilted head� What was he thinking? Its spikey hat pointed up to the right, its face still smiled right back at him, eyes still peered at him through one cent googley eyes. Whatever� water, Trent threw the covers off and proceeded to the kitchen where he filled a glass from the sink. What was he thinking? Why am I getting water? He drank from his glass, and poured the remainder in the sink. Where�s my bed, slightly disoriented Trent returned to his bedroom, and after shutting his door once more, practically threw himself on his blankets.
Opening his eyes, the clown was in his view. Is his head turned more towards me? Uh, that�s stupid, I�m tired. Trent dismissed his sleep-deprived paranoia�s and tried to return to sleep. Hadn�t I placed it back on the TV when it fell to the ground earlier? Trent�s eyes burst open again, and there it was, on the Television. Trent took a deep breath and let out a sigh. But wait, it was on the side of the TV after I got water� wasn�t it?
Trent drifted once more into dreams, until he was startled awake. But by what? Trent glanced at the clown, It's on the VCR! But before the thought was complete, the realization came to Trent that the clown was in fact, on the Television. It was on the VCR� Paralyzed by his own thoughts Trent glanced around his room: towards the computer, towards the bookcase, and back towards the clown. Nothing. Determined to sleep through the remaining hours of the night, Trent closed his eyes.
Ten seconds later he bounded out of bed and stared at the fetish. Its eyes returned his glare from atop the door� the open door! The shock knocked Trent back, yet upon re-inspection of the scene, everything was normal. Did I imagine that? He had to, toys don�t move. Trent decided it best to go to sleep for real. Yet the presence in the room was unsettling, so he resoluted to put the clown away. Waaay too much imagination mixed with sleep deprivation, he concluded.
Outstretching his hand towards his trouble he found himself caught. Not by physical means, for as he peered towards it he found himself unable to stop. The clown was a colossal tear, endless. It warped the very fabric of reality, swirling. It grew bigger yet smaller, speeding on towards eternity in less than a moment�s time. Focusing his mind, and with all his strength he turned away, and just as when two pieces stuck together are finally separated: Trent�s excess force sent him careening onto the floor.
Shutting his door from the outside he backed into the living room. Whatever, I feal like sleeping on the couch, ta hell with whatever they say in the morning, and he grabbed a blanket. Sleep came.
Cracking his eyes Trent saw the red numbers of his clock radio: 11:56. My clock radio? Trent thought something seemed a miss, I�m not in my room� Came the epiphany. Yet he could see the glow of his computer, hear the tick of his wall clock. Why am I in my room? His eyes began to water with tears� Trent was freezing from the chills traveling through his body. With a sudden jerk he turned towards the evil clown. There it sat atop his bookcase, atop his VCR, his TV, Playstation, computer monitor, clock radio. The thing was everywhere, yet try to get a look at it and it moved. Trent�s stomach began to cringe, he could barely see through the tears in his eyes. Finally the contents of his stomach poured themselves through his mouth and nose, and the smell continued the reaction. His faced burned like fire and in a panic he launched the covers across his room and opened his eyes.
Consuming his entire vision, the clown held Trent. It�s shape was as warped as the reality of the room: twisted metal eyes pierced Trent�s soul, the clown�s body seemed a swirling mass of blackness, blacker than possible, a black that devoured everything in its path. The pipe cleaner smile now perverted into thorns, and endless forest of poison and despair. Every particle, every molecule was clear to Trent, and each one a smaller, yet larger replication of the horrid specter. The malevolence of its presence came escorted with caves of burning fire, fire so hot it was cold. Flames of burning ice filled the air, the vomit on Trent�s chest froze and burned, only to freeze and burn again.
He felt himself drawing nearer, everything else getting smaller. Unable to concentrate, what�s happening? Can�t think� can�t think of what? Something seems strange, what�s this in front of me, where am I going, wait�what was I thinking, I�m sacred, why, wait� where am I, the clown! He�s here, why am I thinking, pain, what pain, how long�? Nothing made sense, the clown forced himself closer, Trent tried� he thought� he could only get so many thoughts in before they were destroyed. Kindergarten, the clown� I stopped him� I made him� he�s mine! He will stop� if I say so! The swirling fragments began to escape from their whirlpool and solidify inside Trent�s head, thoughts became clear, but the clown still loomed ahead. Not enough, I need the sword! He remembered the sword, remembered every detail, every single minute pattern in the wood. Remembered the feel of the wooden handle, the shape of the wooden blade, the color of the spray paint. The sword is in my hand� I made the sword� the sword can stop him!
With a shrill cry of pure emotion: hate, love, anger, passion, with everything Trent had ever felt he plunged the sword into very heart of the gruesome shadow.
The world hit Trent like a Mac truck. Sleep came.
Trent�s eyes peeked open. Stretching in his bed he suddenly remembered fractions of last night. Bt by bit the encounter poured itself into his mind. He scanned the entire room: no vomit, no sword, no nothing. Turning towards his TV, the clown sat right where his mother placed it the night before. Trent rushed towards it and ran into the shed. His almost naked skin chilled at the November weather, but it didn�t matter. Trent found what he was looking for, several boxes, each progressively larger. He crammed the clown inside the smallest and proceeded to enclose each box inside another. I was a child; I thought the boxes would hold. The boxes did hold, I believed the boxes would hold. Twelve years later I still believe, and the boxes will hold because I do.
Trent returned to his back door and stuffed his feet into a pair of shoes. The box in one hand, a shovel in the other, he ventured into his backyard. Trent dug up the earth and placed the boxes inside. Covering it up again, Trent slammed the remaining dirt into the hole with the flat of the shovel.
The boxes should never have been found, I was little and careless. It cannot be destroyed, so it must be hidden. No one will find it here� not even myself.
�Where did I get this shovel?� asked Trent allowed. He quickly saw he asked the question to no one. �Oh damn it�s cold out here! What the HELL am I doing in my underwear?� He looked around the shed, what was I doing? But the more he pursued that thought, the more it wanted to flee. Trent thought it best to get inside before anyone saw him, In my underwear, outside, in November, jeez! What was I thinking?
-2002
