Free 2 Minutes to Midnight by Steve Lang Page B

of a phantom, and cut one of the ties. This figure
said nothing to him, and walked out the bedroom door into a dark
hallway beyond. Tim looked down and could make out the shape of a
knife, the knife used to cut one arm loose. But why was he cut
free? His eyes were adjusted to the black, and in the right corner
of this room he could see a dresser, a rocking chair, and a figure
sitting stone still as the chair rocked forward and back. A humming
and clicking sound rose from the rocking chair corner and scared as
he was; Tim quickly took the knife and cut his other hand
free.
Tim got off the bed and stumbled over to the door where he found a
light switch. He flipped on the light and turned to see that a
horror show sat in the chair. Tim's father introduced had him to
carnival clowns at the early age of five, when the circus came to
town each year. Not only did he not understand them, but he was
frightened of them. Human faces masked by pancake makeup, black
ringed eyes, ubiquitous beeping red noses, and sinister grins
searching his face for an expression. Or, the prostrate, sad,
downward looking clowns, the ones life had bitten a chunk out of
that, to Tim, begged for help, or some form of humanity from the
crowds they presented themselves to. They wore their pain on the
outside, and the experience had been quite affecting. In the corner
of this strange room Tim was face to face with the boogey man once
again. He stood eyes wide, heart palpitating, mind racing at an
elderly man dressed in a clown suit. He was covered in blood and
rocked back and forth staring at Tim with eyes of glass two times
too big for his sockets. They bulged with insanity. Some mad
scientist had stitched his cheeks back in a grotesque grin of
horror. His throat had been sliced from ear to ear and stitched
back together in a crude pattern reminiscent of Frankenstein's
monster. A large red wig sat cockeyed on his head. The pièce de résistance was
a red rubber nose covering what may have been a nose beneath.
“Oh my God. This can't be real!” Tim croaked.
In response the man turned his head, opened his mouth, and emitted
a squeak like that of a child's rubber bath toy. Had his vocal
chords been replaced? Tim thought in misery. The horror show clown
leapt up with suddenness, and began feeling around in the air with
his hands outstretched, croaking, gurgling, and squeaking. Tim
still had the knife in his hand, and as the clown horror shambled
toward the sound of his voice he instinctively drove the knife
blade deep into this man’s chest. As the clown dropped dead, the
door to his room slammed open and a tall man dressed in overalls,
and wearing someone's face as a mask stood staring at Tim. Tim
could see two smoldering eyes glaring back at him from behind the
mask.
"That was my favorite artwork! AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!" The man
screamed.
Tim felt his vision begin to waver as blood rushed from his head.
In shock of what he had just witnessed, he almost passed out. His
mental state had reached the point just past terror and now floated
somewhere in a protective vacuum, struggling to keep him sane. As
quick as the man had come he was gone. He took off, running down
the dark hall and screaming obscenities.
Elsa walked in a moment later. She had a twisted grin on her
face.
"Forgive daddy, he was a surgeon during the war and has not been
the same since. Did you like his clown? He worked very hard on that
one while you were in our living room." Elsa showed Tim a driver’s
license, and nodded toward the clown.
"This man was selling rubber boot covers." She frowned,
playfully.
"Can I go home now?" Tim begged.
"I thought you wanted to be a naughty boy, Timmy?" Elsa
purred.
"I just want to go home. I don’t want to play your game anymore."
Tim said.
The shock had sent Tim into a fight or flight state and when he
looked down his hand was still holding the blood covered knife. He
looked back up at Elsa, rage illuminating his eyes.
"Oh bad boy, Timmy! I know what you’re