Jesters

The floorboards creak beneath my feet, I wince at every step. I can see a sliver of light coming from under the door at the end of the hall, it guides me through the darkness flooding the hallway. I start dragging my socked feet to quiet my steps as I near it. The metallic handle is freezing, I turn it slowly, the hinges squeal slightly as I push the door open. 

I spot my brother sitting at his desk with his headphones on and back to me. I pull the plastic mask down onto my face, creeping forward. At the last few steps I reach out and grab his shoulder as hard as I can. He jumps from his chair and screams like a little girl. I can hear laughing coming from his headphones, he was playing some horror game with his friends and they heard him scream.

“What the hell’s wrong with you!” He shouts over my hysterical laughter, my knees go weak and I have to grab onto the back of his chair. I pull of the mask off so I can breath and thank it’s creepy, melted looking face. 

He pushes me out of his room and slams the door. I keep giggling down the hallway and to the stairs. Hitting a light switch at the top so I don’t fall, my feet meet each step with every creak and groan of the wood. I walk into the living room and fall into the sofa, sinking into it's soft red cushions and launching the mask across the room. I take out my phone and text my friends to tell them his reaction. 

A sudden chill makes me shiver, I wrap the blanket from the back of the sofa around my shoulders and get up. The blanket acts as a cape as I walk to the kitchen, inside is my mums seasonal decor. For some reason she decided to clutter the kitchen the most, with her fake jack o’lanterns and spider webs and spiders. I'm glad it's halloween themed at least, last year she went on an autumn decor spree and the house smelled like pumpkin. 

I gather the treats I got myself for tonight, mainly sweets. Gummy skulls, sour skeletons, marshmallows, chocolate eyeballs, and monster munch. I also start making a hot chocolate, the sound of the kettle fills the room while I put the hot chocolate powder in my halloween mug. It's actually a batman mug but I can pretend for tonight. 

“Was someone knocking on the door?” I spin around and find my brother standing in the doorway. My heart thuds in my chest but I cant let him see that he scared me ‘cause he’ll think he got me back. 

“No clue, the kettle’s too loud.” It was nearly boiling now. “Why don’t you go see if someone’s there?” It’s probably isn’t a trick or treater this late at night, we live in a small village in middle of no where Yorkshire. All the young kids have already done their rounds and the ones our age have gone into town centre. 

“But dad said not to answer the door past 9.”

“It’s Halloween maybe someone ordered food and the drivers lost.” I doubt parents are going to want to cook after being out most of the evening. 

“Why don’t you go?” The kettle clicks. 

“I’m in the middle of trying to enjoy my night.” I say, gesturing to the kettle and my mug, as well as my snacks. He rolls his eyes and goes to the door, whoever it is is probably gone by now with all his whining. I pour the boiling water into the mug, mixing it with the powder as I go. Putting the kettle back I go to the fridge and get the squirt-y cream, then the halloween themed sprinkles from the baking cupboard. I put a generous amount of cream in the mug then shake the sprinkles on top. 

I haven’t heard the door close, or open for that matter. Abandoning my drink I do to see what he’s up to. The keys are hanging from the lock, and he’s peering through the window next to the door. The porch light is on, illuminating the carved pumpkins and skeleton out front. 

“What are you doing?” I ask, incredulous. He’s peaking through the blinds like a nosy neighbour. He doesn’t look back when he responds, keeping his eyes trained on whatever he’s staring at. 

“There's a bloke just standing in the middle of the road; he’s wearing a clown mask and holding an axe.” 

“Do you reckon he’s the one that knocked?” He nods, beckoning me over to look. I shimmy between him and the entry table to get to the other side of the window. The street lights clearly show a man standing in the road, the mask is pretty typical with neon yellow hair and a smile thats too wide. I just hope the axe is plastic.

“Well he isn’t doing anything wrong-“ another guy in a clown mask suddenly pops up from under the window, pounding on the glass right where our faces are. We both scream, I fall back into the table shattering a glass vase. A sharp pain in my shoulder pulses, a piece of glass embedded in it. 

“Are you okay? Oh my god. I’m gonna get a towel!” He runs off sliding on the floor in his socks. The clown is still at the window, pressed against it and hitting the glass. I worry it’ll break with how it's rattling. I pick myself up and head to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the shards on the floor. Before I make it to the kitchen door the ponding stops, I look back to find the clown is gone.

“I got a clean one-whoa!” He skids to a stop just in time to not topple me over. He hands me the tea towel and glances at the now silent entry. I press the fabric to some of the cuts around the shard making sure not to push it in deeper. He stalks toward the window, shaking as he slowly moves the blinds. “They’re gone.” I sigh in relief, it was probably just some bored uni students pulling a prank. Then the lights go out. Leaving us in near complete darkness, the only light coming from the street. 

“They must have gone to the fuse box, it’s in the back garden.” I go completely still. “I left the back door open for the dog.” I start toward the conservatory through the kitchen, I’m about to open the door when I realise I can barricade this one. But she’s still outside. She would have started barking by now if she was in the house. 

The door opens with a groan. I cant see anything. I curse the fact that we keep the flash lights in the shed. Putting my hands out in front of me as I begin to move toward the back door.

My hand brushes past something. It’s smooth; like polyester. I go to feel it again to figure out where in the room I am and find an empty space. Barking echoes from outside. It sounds distant. I’m about to call out to her when a hand grabs mine. The grip is hard, it squeezes my fingers together painfully. A sharp screech erupts from me. I stumble back, grabbing the handle and slamming the conservatory door with enough force to rattle the wall. 

“Get over here!” I shout toward the hallway. “We need to barricade this door!” I hear him running my way, his feet hitting the floor in his distinct way. He must have been keeping a lookout at the window. 

“With what?”

“The fridge, obviously.”

“How are we suppose to move that? It weighs a ton.” 

“We push it.” I move to the other side of the fridge, the clowns haven’t tried the door yet. I start pushing, it's grates on the floor. The glass sticking out of my shoulder shifts with my muscles, I push down the yell the threatened to fall from me. “Are you gonna help or just stand there?” He comes up next to m , placing his hands on the metal. “Alright, three, two, one push!”

It slides on the floor slightly smoother that before, when it’s mostly in front of the door the squeak of the handle turning makes my heart pond in my ears. Just as it opens we cover the doorway. Banging sounds across the room, the fridge shakes, rattling the contents. 

“Let’s just hide upstairs, get the house phone.” The police will take about half an hour to get here, but it's better than nothing. I hear him bump into every piece of furniture in the living room while trying to find it. The ponding on the fridge stops abruptly. 

“I found It!” He shouts when I’m half way up the stairs. They seem to be creaking louder than before, the sound echos in the silence. A second set of creaking quickly joins me. On the last few steps my socks slip, causing me to nearly face plant on the edge of the landing. I catch myself, but it sends a spike of pain into my wrists and up my arms. I push myself up carefully. The pain in my wrists and shoulder pulses in time with my heart. 

I make it to my room, if I die tonight it's not going to be in his smelly cave. He doesn’t even complain and he follows me in. I close the door gently, making sure not to let the clowns know where we are. Pulling the chair from my desk, I prop it up under the handle. 

“Get behind the bed, we wont be visible from the door or window.” I whisper, we end up huddled next to the wall with our backs to the bed. It’s pitch black. I can hear his breathing, it’s quick and heavy. Mine is probably the same. 

He takes the phone from his pocket, dialling 999. He reals of the address, gives a laboured summary of the situation and hangs up. I know they would have told him to stay on the line, but answering them when the clowns could be in the house isn’t a good idea. 

We sit in complete silence.

A soft thud sounds from downstairs. Then another. Then another. They get louder with each one. 

Another thud. Different this time, it sounds hollow. Then a rolling sound. It stops after a moment before starting again. It rolls back and forth. 

We check the time on the little orange screen of the phone, it's only been ten minutes. The soft thudding keeps going. 

A creak of a floorboard in the downstairs hallway makes me jolt. There’s silence for a few seconds. Then three heavy thuds on the stairs. They sound like the crack of lightning in the silence. A gasp comes from next to me, I wrap an arm around him. 

There’s nothing for a whole 15 minutes. I get brave and shift my weight, a small squeak in the floorboards beneath me pieces the thick atmosphere. The sound of running comes from the landing. It goes from the top of the stairs to the end of the hall. They come back around though. Stopping right in front of the door. 

I can hear heavy breathing that isn’t ours. There’s scraping against the wood. 

Suddenly flashing blue lights fill the room. I sigh in relief as the scraping stops. Neither of us move. I haven’t heard the creak of the floorboards going back to the stairs. The front door opens, they must have found the key under the plant pot. 

“Police!” A woman calls out. Still no movement from the landing. There's a crunching sound from the entry, like boots crushing glass. I slowly rise from my hunched position, my joints crack and pop. I go to the door and remove the chair. Taking a deep shaky breath I open the door just slightly. It's still dark but blue light fills the space every few seconds.

It’s empty.

Footsteps thud over the entire bottom floor. Two sets. Then one goes back out the front door and the other comes up the stairs. I'm still stood staring at the bare space in front of me. How could he have left already, I would have heard him. 

The lights decide to spring to life just as the officer makes it up the steps. My brother is at my back, she guides us down to the entrance. The creaking of the floorboards doesn’t seem so loud now. We sit in the living room and he recounts what happened. Her partner comes in, he has the dog next to him. Her collar in his hand. She breaks free and runs up to us whining, I run my hand through her grey fur. He says there's no evidence anyone was here. There are no marks on the window. No footprints. The gate is closed. The fuse box hasn’t been opened. 

Were they ever there?