The Guild of Fallen Clowns

  Within an hour, the rough form was complete. He propped it upright and stepped away from the table and looked back at his work. He did it. It didn’t look like much, but it was much better than he ever thought possible. He still had a few hours to kill before two-thirty so he kept at it and fixed a few of the rough spots. He added Peepers’ top hat and decided to spend more time working on the face. He jumped around, smoothing and shaping all areas of the sculpture.

  Forced by his bladder to take a break, he left the table. Relieved, he turned out of the bathroom and stopped to view his creation from a macro perspective. Up till now, his only view was close up. He knew it was okay, but it wasn’t until he looked at it from a slight distance that he realized Peepers was on to something. In only a few hours, he transformed bricks of hard clay and wire form into a near perfect replica of Peepers. How was it possible that he never knew about this talent before now? How did Peepers know he had this capability within him?

  As he stared in awe at his first sculpture, it took him a minute to realize what it meant. He had to return to the Labyrinth to learn what Peepers planned for him. While the talent was probably always inside him, Peepers was responsible for giving him the gift of discovery. He wanted to get over his original feelings and fears and believe Peepers would help him. He had an obligation to learn how he could help Peepers and the guild earn their way to heaven.

  *****

  With his clay figure of Peepers carefully wrapped in a towel on his passenger seat, Alan was on his way to Krauss House for his first sculpting lesson. Thoughts of the dark spirit that lived in the house were temporarily displaced by the possible implications of his newfound talent. First, it meant that he’d have to revisit Peepers and possibly the rest of the guild in the Labyrinth. He managed to get his fear of Peepers under control; however, with only visions of the other characters in the mirrors, he wasn’t sure if he could handle a full-fledged introduction to the guild yet. He hoped Peepers would show up alone.

  He was also confused by recent events. How could his sculpting ability possibly help ghosts get to heaven? Peepers said something about the guild members craving acceptance. Sure, they might get attention in the form of small sculptures, but maybe they weren’t aware of how creepy they looked. People might not accept them. Besides, how would sculpted replicas be connected to the ghosts in the Labyrinth? None of it made sense.

  Another thing Alan couldn’t understand was what Peepers said about him and how they could help others like him. What did he mean by that? As far as Alan was concerned, his only problem was that he had to cope with some ghostly spirits, which had only appeared within the past few days. Who wouldn’t be freaked out by that? What did Peepers think he could do for him?

  Engrossed in those and other thoughts, Alan drove the distance of the Krauss House driveway without hesitation. It wasn’t until he was a hundred feet from the house that he noticed Mary’s car wasn’t parked out front. For a split second, he envisioned himself alone at Krauss House, just him and the dark spirit. That thought was quickly extinguished when her car came into view, parked in the side yard.

  With his confidence restored, Alan parked his car and carefully lifted the towel, supporting his sculpture. He stepped out and closed the door as Mary stepped out to the porch.

  “Right on time, Alan.”

  He cradled his blanketed sculpture and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda went farther than you wanted me to,” he said.

  “Great! C’mon in,” she said, holding the door for Alan as he stepped inside.

  “I converted two bedrooms upstairs into my studio. It’s up on the left.”

  He stopped and waited for her to lead the way.

  “Go on,” she said, waving a hand up the stairs. “I’m going to get us some iced tea. I’ll be right up.”

  She retreated into the kitchen while he stood holding his sculpture, gazing up the narrow stairway. Looking down at the towel-wrapped form, he couldn’t help but wonder if Peepers understood the scope of his promise to help Alan with his fears. “More to do, huh, Peepers,” he whispered as he cautiously made his way up the creaky steps.

  The upper level of the house was nothing like he imagined the old haunted house would look like. There weren’t any old portraits with following eyes. It wasn’t dark and dreary with dim sconce lights lining a claustrophobically long hallway with a dozen closed doors, each hiding horrific secrets and ghostly inhabitants from another time.

  The first thing that defied his expectations was the absence of a hallway. Old farmhouses are known for low ceilings and loads of bedrooms lining a center hall to accommodate traditionally large families. Instead, the top of the stairs opened to a large central hub. Ceiling joists were removed and large skylights filled the vaulted space with daylight. Choices were minimal, with two open doors to bedrooms, a bathroom and a wide opening to her studio. He managed to get three steps into the studio before stopping to take in Mary’s artistry. Looking past the clutter, he stood in awe, viewing what to him were museum quality masterpieces. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to appreciate art.

  Clinking ice cubes suspended in tall glasses announced Mary’s approach. “What do you think?” she asked as she slipped past him and placed the drinks on a table in the center of the room.

  Still speechless, he was only able to muster a single word reply. “Wow!” His gaped as his eyes drifted from masterpiece to masterpiece.

  Mary followed his eyes to a half-finished sculpture of a trout propped up with a support pole in its belly. “Not that!” she shrieked with embarrassment as she hastily covered the piece with a nearby cloth. “That’s not art. What I meant to say is what do you think of the house?”

  “The house?” he asked.

  “Yes, the house. I completely gutted the upstairs and modernized it.”

  Alan looked around the room again, but this time his focus was on the structure of the house. “It looks great. Did you do it all yourself?”

  “Lord, no!” she replied. “I did a lot around here, but I had to hire some muscle for the bulk of it.”

  Looking up to the cathedral ceiling, he asked, “Got rid of the attic?”

  “Sure did. Nothing up there but spiders and ghosts,” she laughed. Quickly changing the subject she said, “Now let’s see what you have there, Alan. Bring it over to the table and do the unveiling for me.”

  He brought his creation to the table and asked her to turn away so he could unwrap the covering and stand the sculpture upright. Eager to impress Mary with his raw talent, he pulled away the cloth for a quick inspection before the unveiling. The house began to shake as if there was a minor earthquake.

  Mary was still turned away. The tremor didn’t faze her.

  “What was that?” Alan asked.

  “I’m not sure—but I use to live about a mile from a quarry and we always felt that when they were blasting. Maybe there’s some blasting going on somewhere nearby. Can I turn around now?”

  Alan turned his attention back to his Peepers figure. Suddenly, the sculpture he was so proud of paled against the backdrop of Mary’s works positioned throughout the studio.

  “Ready yet?” she asked again. “What’s taking so long? I can’t wait to see it.”

  Alan rushed to lay the sculpture down so he could cover it with the towel. “I’m sorry, Mary. It’s not ready. I can’t do this.”

  Mary turned around to see him rewrapping the sculpture. “No Alan. No, no, no,” she said. She grabbed his hands, looked at his face, and shouted, “Alan!” Her command got his attention. He looked into her forceful eyes.

  “Alan. Let go,” she insisted.

  He relaxed his arms and she let go of his hands. He watched as she delicately unfolded the towel to reveal his sculpture. Alan turned away to avoid facing her during the uncomfortable moment of truth.

  They ignored the low rumbling of a second tremor.

  Mary gasped. “Oh, Alan.”

  There it
is. She’s looking at my amateurish attempt at sculpting.

  Uncomfortable with the situation, Alan thought she was struggling to find something nice to say.

  Again, she said, “Oh, Alan.” Alan couldn’t take any more, so he decided it was time to end her discomfort. He turned to grab the figure when two more words stopped him.

  “I’m impressed,” she said with her eyes fixed on his sculpture.

  Alan lowered his hand. She said she’s impressed. That didn’t sound like faint words of encouragement casually tossed out to make me feel good about myself, he thought.

  “I’m very impressed,” she said. This time, she added the word very to her statement before turning to look at him with a gleaming smile.

  “C’mon, Mary. You can’t be serious. Look at your sculptures. Mine looks like a child made it.”

  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied. “But you’re wrong, Alan.” She turned back to look at his sculpture. “I can’t believe this was your first—” Mary paused and examined the figure closer. “Wait—is this—no way,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with it? Did I do something wrong?” Alan asked nervously.

  “Is this Peepers?” she blurted. The mere mention of his name triggered another tremor. “Must be aftershocks,” she said, waiting for Alan’s reply.

  Stunned that she would recognize Peepers, he rushed to cover the figure. Mary backed out of his way and said, “It is, isn’t it? It’s Peepers from Clown World.”

  Alan stepped away from the covered figure and gave Mary a puzzled stare. At first he thought maybe she recognized Peepers as a spirit in her house. But when she mentioned Clown World, he couldn’t connect the dots fast enough.

  “Do you play Clown World too?” she asked.

  Now he knew where she saw Peepers. Apparently, Peepers didn’t only appear to him. He was well known in Clown World.

  “Yeah, well, I used to play it,” he replied.

  “Oh my God! I can’t believe I’ve found a real person like me who’s into Clown World. What’s your character’s name?” she asked.

  “Well, my character was killed off. Actually, Peepers killed me.”

  “You’re not alone, Alan, he’s been killing off all the powerful players. I guess that’s why I’m still alive. I’m not very good at it yet.” Then she realized that Alan must have been one of the game’s leaders.

  “Who were you, Alan? You must have been one of the top players for this Peepers character to take out. Like I said, he’s been killing off the stronger players. He’s ruining the game for everyone.”

  “I was a character named Boogy—” he said.

  Before he could say another word, she cut him off. “No way! You were Boogy?” She punched his arm. “No way—you were a God in Clown World. You were the first one Peepers killed. Oh my god! You’re Boogy!”

  “Wow! I’ve never had that reaction before. Usually people smirk and tell me to get a life,” he said.

  “Well, I’m not most people. I guess you already figured that out when I told you that I also play Clown World. Wow! You’re Boogy!” she said with a huge smile. Then she looked back at the covered Peepers and removed the towel. A door slammed in the hallway.

  “What was that? Is someone else here?” Alan asked.

  Mary stepped out of the room and looked around while he remained in her studio. When she returned, she smiled and said, “Nobody’s there. It must have been Lailah.”

  Alan was spooked. Why would her guardian spirit slam a door? That didn’t sound like a soft, comforting spirit. It sounded angry, he contemplated.

  Mary didn’t give it another thought and looked back at his sculpture. “Seriously Alan—or Boogy—this is unbelievable. It looks just like Peepers. I do have one question though.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Why Peepers? I mean, this guy killed your Boogy character. Why would you choose to sculpt him as your very first sculpture?”

  He wasn’t prepared to share his encounters with Peepers in the Labyrinth. He knew she believed in ghosts, but if he were to share the details of his connection with Peepers, she would know about his fears. It felt really good to have Mary admire him, or at least his Clown World character. He needed to come up with an answer that wouldn’t point out his flaws, while at the same time, not be a complete lie.

  “Why Peepers?” he repeated.

  “Yes, why would you honor that jerk in this way? He killed Boogy.”

  “Well, I guess I did it because he helped me.”

  “Helped you how? He destroyed Boogy.”

  “True, but in a way he did me a favor. As you know, I was the top player in Clown World. In order to get to that level, I had to play the game all the time. And I mean, all the time. I spent most of my waking hours in the game. When he killed my character, he freed me from my addiction to the virtual world. In a way, Peepers helped me live in the real world.”

  As soon as he said it, he realized there was truth in his words. He thought he was making up a story that Mary would buy and drop the subject. But, after hearing what was to be a fake explanation, he discovered truth in what Peepers was telling him. Peepers really did help him. And, apparently, Peepers was helping others like Alan within the game by killing off other addicted players. This enforced his belief in Peepers, but now he was more confused with Peepers’ need for his sculpting talent. Peepers can help people without me. What does he want from me?

  Mary was still absorbing Alan’s words as she continued admiring his work.

  “You are a better person than me, Alan. If Peepers killed off my character, I don’t think I’d be grateful. But I only play for maybe twenty minutes a day. Sculpting is my addiction.”

  “So I take it you think I have some talent for this?” Alan asked, eager to change the course of their conversation.

  “Are you kidding? This is the best effort I've ever seen from a complete novice. I don’t know how I can teach you anything. I could probably learn from you.”

  Alan looked around the room again and rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy. Just look at your work. I’m probably not smart enough to comment on art, but I love your pieces.”

  She blushed. “Well, I’m not saying I’m bad, but it took me many years to get to the point where you are on your first day. Besides, each of my pieces took many weeks to complete. You've only had a few hours to work on yours. You can't expect it to look like mine, but if you spend more time on the details, I'm sure it would look perfect. You are a natural, Alan. And I’m your first fan.”

  Alan was still looking at her works. He spotted the piece she covered when she walked in the room.

  “What’s the deal with the fish you didn’t want me to see?”

  “Oh, that. Well, the fish is a consumable product idea I’ve been working on. Unfortunately, the one-up gallery pieces don’t sell like hotcakes. To supplement the art side, I sell inexpensive consumer pieces like the fish here,” she said, retrieving the fish from hiding. “I’m going to make three or four of these guys. I’ll create molds and cast dozens, or hopefully hundreds, and sell them at art shows to people with dry creek beds. The idea behind them is that they will give the dried rock bed the illusion of being full with water as the fish stick out of the ground appearing to swim above the ground.”

  “That’s a cool idea. I bet my brother would buy some,” he said.

  “Really? Like I said, things like this pay the bills. It’s not my best work. I wouldn’t even call it art.”

  "Where did you come up with the concept?"

  Mary smiled. "An old picture. It was taken the last time I was here, before my grandparents moved. It was of me fishing with my grandfather in the creek behind the house."

  "What creek?" Alan said.

  "There use to be a creek out there. It's dried up now, but I thought I could pay tribute to my grandpa by clearing out the weeds, filling it with stones and stocking it with my sculpted fish." Her eyes welled up. "Gramps would love it." Ma
ry wiped her eyes in her sleeve and attempted to regain her composure. "So your brother has a dried up creek bed?"

  "Uh, well, it's more of a ditch across the back of his yard, but I don't think it was ever a creek." Alan said as he continued studying the fish sculpture. It appeared to be complete. He wondered how she would go about turning it into a cast piece.

  “Is that piece ready for mold-making and casting?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ll probably start on it tomorrow.”

  “Can you teach me how to do that with my sculpture? I know it still needs work, but I' don't want to miss out on this opportunity.” he said.

  "Sure. Actually, that’s a great idea. Come back tomorrow and I can show you what I do to make the mold. If you want, you can copy me with your Peepers sculpture. The only thing is, I don’t have much silicone left, only enough for the fish. If you want to make yours, you’ll have to buy silicone. It’s expensive, but if you plan to make more pieces, be sure to buy it in bulk. You’ll save money in the long run.”

  “Great. I’ll get it on my way home. I’m looking forward to learning more tomorrow.”

  “Learning more? So far I haven’t been able to teach you anything.”

  He gently wrapped his sculpture and carried it toward the stairs. The whole way, he looked around for signs of the shadow spirit. He started down the stairs when Mary called out, “You didn’t drink your iced tea.”

  As he turned to tell her he wasn’t thirsty, something pulled the sculpture from his hands. The Peepers figure tumbled down the steps. The soft clay bent, and the figure landed at the foot of the stairs, all banged up.

  “What was that?” Mary yelled. “Are you okay?” She rushed to the top of the stairs and saw Alan at the bottom reaching down to pick up his sculpture.

  “Oh no, Alan! What happened? Did you drop it?”

  All he wanted to do was run for his car, but he had to answer her question first. He knew it didn’t just slip out of his hands. Something pulled it and flung it down the stairs. However, the guilty spirit was one that Mary felt safe with. If he told her it had a violent streak, it might frighten her. He couldn’t tell her the truth so he agreed with her assessment. “Yeah, I turned and it slipped out of my hands.”