The Thrill of the Scare

I try to dodge the trees and jump over the giant roots that stick out of the ground as I run but I’m not doing a great job at it. This is insane, or maybe it's karma. I did set out this morning with a mission to scare people and now I'm the one who is terrified.

              "I fucking hate clowns!" The woman that's chasing me yells. She isn't very far behind me and every time she speaks, she sounds closer.

              I try to pick up my pace but my thighs ache. I finally understand what people mean when they describe something as gut wrenching. When I woke up at five in the morning, still in my work 'uniform' and face paint, I thought this prank would be harmless, well mostly harmless.

              I watch people of all ages grab each other and cry almost every night for two months a year. The high feeling that courses through my body from their startled reactions is great, but in the haunted dungeon, people pay to be there. I decided scaring an unprepared stranger would give me a real rush of adrenaline. Well, my adrenaline is currently the most rushed it has ever been but for all the wrong reasons.

              When I stood at the edge of the tree line that divides my neighborhood, I just wanted to make someone run a little faster than they planned during their early morning jog and maybe let out one of those high-pitched unnerved screams. When a lady wearing a teal weight vest and a pink fanny pack turned the corner and I thought hearing her shriek as she disappeared would give me a good jolt. What I didn't think is that she would run faster, but in my direction. "It's a joke, It's a joke." I held my hands up to show her I was unarmed. Unfortunately, she wasn’t.

              "I'm going to fucking kill you!" Her voice is getting hoarse.

              "If you are trying to teach me a lesson, I have definitely learned it." I holler back in between my heavy breaths. I can feel my dry face paint cracking as I move my jaw.

              "I'm not out to teach lessons! I'm out to take lives!"

              Did she plan to murder on her five A.M. run or just come up with the idea when I pooped out of the shadows at her. I hadn't even threatened her, just simply asked her in my high-pitched evil clown voice if she wanted to go for a hike.

              "You'll run out of energy before me. I promise you that!" She talks a big talk considering she is also gasping for air.

              I've got to do something. I cannot keep sprinting like this much longer. I stop running and spin around to face her. She is only a few feet away from me and she is still wearing the vest. This chick ran after me through the brush, and caught up to me, while wearing an extra, I don't know, fifteen pounds on her shoulders. That's kind of hot.

              She is holding the knife she pulled on me when I first appeared in front of her, gripping it so tight her knuckles are white.

              "Whoa," I hold my hands up for the second time, "Look! Please! Listen!" Some actual words that form sentences would be great right now, unfortunately my brain can’t pull any up that would make a good excuse for this.

              She holds the large, probably illegally sized pocket knife up by her shoulder, ready to strike.

              "I was just trying to scare you a little bit. I wasn't trying now, nor have I ever tried, to kidnap or murder anyone. I just wanted the thrill of the scare." Now that I say it out loud, it sounds pretty messed up. I basically just admitted to getting my jollies from other people's fear.

              "I don't believe you." She is singing the words like a creepy children’s lullaby. "You're a creep and I've had enough of creeps, especially ones dressed as disgusting clowns." She lunges towards me with her weapon.

              The blade glides across my shoulder, cutting my costume and my skin. "You bitch!" I grab her shoulders and throw her into the weeds.

              "Did you just call me a bitch?" She asks as she gets back to her feet.

              "Uh, sorry!" I apologize as I once again run from her.

              "You're a piece of shit."   

              I don't get far because her body weight hits my back. Her arms come up over my shoulders and within seconds I'm in a choke hold. I try to pull her arm away from my neck but this girl is buff as Hell. Her arm is thick and her hold is strong. I collapse to the ground but don't lose consciousness. She lets go of me and I start hacking and wheezing.

              I'm on my hands and knees coughing onto the grass and a sudden, sharp pain shoots through my ribcage. The chick legit just stabbed me. My arms shake and then give way and I face plant. She rolls my body over, like I'm a five-pound sack of potatoes.

              She leans over me and I see her clearly for the first time. She is about to kill me and all I can think about is how pretty her face is. How fine she is overall. Maybe I am a piece of shit.

              The blade passes through my flesh and the thin layer of fat underneath, piercing all the way through my cheek. I can taste metal in my mouth. Blood runs down my face covering the fake blood that I already had on. I spit some of it at her and she responds with a maniacal laugh; the same kind I use when I'm chasing families and couples with my fake chainsaw at my seasonal job.

              She raises the blade over me with both of her small hands around the handle, "Goodbye."

              It's not my heart she wields the weapon over. It's another very important piece of me she is about to jam the switch blade into and I pray I die from it.