Night Terrors

Tim Waggoner

NIGHT TERRORS

A SHADOW WATCH NOVEL

This one's for all the coulrophobics out there. Mr. Jinx hopes to visit each and every one of you real soon.

ONE

Jinx lifted his nose and scented the air. He reminded me of a wild animal whenever he did this, and even after all our years together, it still creeped me out. Of course, it didn’t help that his skin was chalk-white, his lips dark red, and his eyes covered by large blue crescents resembling sinister eyebrows.

He turned to me and smiled, red lips stretching wider than humanly possible.

“He’s close.”

His voice was a mellow tenor, pleasant on its own, but disconcerting when emerging from that face. The combination created a real lunatic/serial-killer vibe, which I knew amused him. His voice was one of the things about Jinx that I hadn’t gotten used to yet. I wondered if I ever would.

Without waiting for me to comment, he stepped out of the alley and started heading north. I didn’t like it when he got bossy, but we were on the trail of a rogue Incubus named Quietus, and that meant he was in charge – for the time being. So I slipped out of the alley behind Jinx and hurried to catch up. He’s over six feet, and with those long legs of his, he can cover a lot of ground when he wants to. At five and a half feet, I sometimes have to work to keep up with him. Good thing I always make sure to wear comfortable shoes.

Speaking of shoes, Jinx’s oversized red-and-whites slapped the sidewalk like bloated swim fins. They looked awkward, but he could move easily – and silently – in them when he wanted. He probably made so much noise only because he knew it annoyed me. I ignored it, because I knew
that
annoyed
him
.

“Is it Quietus?” I asked.

“Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.” He let out one of his hyena giggles – loud, high-pitched, and not altogether human.

It was after ten, but it was a warm night in April and the sidewalks were far from deserted. Jinx’s appearance always attracts attention – who wouldn’t look at a six-foot bald clown wearing a gray business suit, a blue tie with orange polka dots, a large yellow flower pinned to his lapel, a WWJD bracelet (which stands for What Would Joker Do?) and, of course, those gigantic shoes? But that eerie giggle of his sets off all kinds of
What the hell was that?
alarms in anyone who hears it, and everyone within earshot turned to look at us.

I sighed. “Do you have to sound so psychotic when you laugh?”

“It’s not my fault.
You
dreamed me this way.” He paused, then added, “Mommy.”

As usual, he was baiting me, but this time I was irritated enough to respond. “I’m not your parent. I’m your
Ideator
.”

Jinx twisted his features into a grotesque parody of a sad face. “What’s wrong, Audra? Don’t you wuv me anymore?”

I was trying to decide whether to punch him in the shoulder or stomp on one of his banana boats, when someone said, “Dude! The circus is in town!”

“Ignore it, Jinx. We’ve got work to do.” I doubted there was a chance in hell that he would let this go, but I felt I had to at least make the effort.

Jinx stopped walking. A trio of young men in their early twenties blocked our way. They were only a few years younger than me – physically, at least. Mentally was another story.

I stepped between Jinx and the boys. I pegged them for kids who’d driven in from the suburbs to hit some of the downtown bars. They wore light jackets, T-shirts, jeans, and running shoes. One had a Cubs cap and sported a scraggly soul patch, another had an anarchy symbol emblazoned on his shirt –
How retro
, I thought – and the third’s shirt said
Down Here, Ladies!
with an arrow pointing to his crotch.
Charming.

All three of them were smirking, and I
really
wanted to slap the smug little bastards – hard and repeatedly. But Jinx and I couldn’t afford to waste the time. With every passing second, Quietus’ trail grew fainter, and the longer we lingered here, the greater the chances that Jinx wouldn’t be able to pick it up again. And if that happened, there was an excellent chance someone would die tonight. Quietus was already responsible for three murders in the city – three that we knew of, anyway – and I was determined there wouldn’t be a fourth.

“Look, guys, my friend and I are kind of busy right now. I know he’s dressed like a clown” – I glanced at Jinx – “and a freaky one, at that. And out in the ’burbs, I’m sure he would be quite the spectacle. But this is downtown. Here,
he’s
the normal one, and the more you make fun of him, the more you just look like hicks from the sticks.”

I knew I was overstating my case by referring to Jinx as
normal
, but I was hoping to knock these guys off balance verbally – the best defense, etc. – so they’d let us go without pissing off Jinx any further. But I could smell the beer fumes wafting off them, and if they weren’t falling-down drunk, they were well on their way, which meant their judgment was – as the don’t-drink-and-drive ads say – impaired.

And it didn’t help that I don’t present the most imposing presence. As I said, I’m only medium height, and I was wearing a white pullover shirt under a gray suit jacket, gray slacks, and the aforementioned comfortable shoes (my job requires a fair amount of running). My auburn hair – I like describing it that way; much nicer than saying
brown
– falls past my shoulders, and while I like to think that I’m pretty enough, there’s nothing remarkable about my features. I’ve been told that I’d look better if I wore makeup, but I’ve never liked the stuff. Besides, Jinx is made-up enough for both of us.

They, of course, ignored me and focused on Jinx.

“So who are you supposed to be?” Cubs-Cap said. “The Joker?”

“Naw,” Anarchy-Symbol said. “He’s Bozo!”

“Bozo has red hair, dumbass,” Down-Arrow said. “He looks like a cross between a Cirque du Soleil clown and a lawyer.”

Jinx and I exchanged a look.

“Five points for originality,” Jinx said.

I thought about it for a second. “Four. The lawyer part was a bit too easy.”

Jinx nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Four.”

Cubs-Cap scowled. “You makin’ fun of us?”

Jinx turned to him and gave him one of his famous too-wide smiles.

“
Us?
Make fun of
you?
” Jinx touched ivory fingers to his chest in a display of mock alarm. “Heaven forefend!”

Down-Arrow frowned. “Heaven what?”

Anarchy-Symbol didn’t speak. Instead, he stared at Jinx’s overlarge smile. He was starting to get it. There was something
wrong
about Jinx.
Twilight Zone
wrong.

I took Jinx by the elbow. “Time to jet. Places to go, nightmares to catch, remember?”

I tried to get him moving again, but he wouldn’t budge. Incubi are stronger than humans, and when they don’t want to be moved, nothing short of a dynamite blast will do the trick.

“But our new friends are just getting warmed up. I’m sure they’re going to get to their A material soon.” He turned to face the three boys. “How about it? You fine gentlemen have anything else to say about my…” He paused as he searched for the right words. “Lifestyle choice?”

He smiled again, and this time he showed teeth so white and straight, they almost didn’t seem real.

Anarchy-Symbol was starting to look nervous. Some humans are more sensitive to the presence of Incubi than others, and it looked like he was one of them.

“Uh, guys, maybe we should get going,” he said. “I– I got to get up early for work tomorrow.”

“Shut up, Dale,” Cubs-Cap said, not bothering to look at him. Instead, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Jinx. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

I couldn’t let that one go, even though I knew better. “Seriously? You
do
know you’re talking to a clown, right?”

“Are you a happy clown or a sad clown?” Down-Arrow said.

“Is there a third choice?” Jinx said. His teeth were slightly pointed now.

Down-Arrow went on. “Should we sing ‘Laugh, Clown, Laugh’ or ‘The Tears of a Clown’?”

I groaned. “Don’t tell me: you were in the drama club in high school, weren’t you?”

“I’ve always been partial to Smokey Robinson,” Jinx said.

Down-Arrow leaned in closer. “How about musical theater?” he asked. His smile was a human smile, but it was no less cold than Jinx’s. Despite his moronic shirt, it looked like Down-Arrow was no dummy, and he was determined to make sure we knew it.

But his mention of musical theater sent a chill rippling down my spine.

Jinx leaned in toward the boy. “Love it.”

For a moment, Down-Arrow just stared at Jinx. He was close enough now to realize there was something not quite right about Jinx’s makeup. Namely, that it didn’t look like make-up at all, but rather an elaborate tattoo job. Or maybe it wasn’t Jinx’s bizarre pigmentation that had caught his attention. Maybe it was the clown’s ice-blue eyes. They glittered like diamonds, and his gaze was just as hard and cold.

“Randy, forget about it,” Anarchy-Symbol said, tugging at his friend’s sleeve. “Let’s go!”

The fear in the kid’s voice was palpable, and I prayed Randy/Down-Arrow would hear it and heed it. But he didn’t.

“I especially love Sondheim,” he said.

“Me, too.”

“Then you won’t mind if I sing a little?” Randy asked.

“Go right ahead.”

Randy grinned. Then he began singing. “Isn’t it rich? Aren’t we–”

Jinx’s ivory fist pistoned forward and smashed into Randy’s face. Blood spurted from his nose, and I heard the sickening sound of cartilage crunching. The fact that the kid didn’t go flying backward a dozen feet – not to mention that his head remained attached to his body – told me that Jinx had pulled his punch.

Randy clapped his hands to his face and took a stagger-step backward. Blood ran through his fingers and splattered onto the sidewalk. “Fuck!” he shouted, although it sounded like
Fwuk!
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Jinx
really
hates that song,” I explained, although I doubted Randy heard me.

Anarchy-Symbol’s face went about as white as Jinx’s, and Anarchy-Symbol took a step backward. I expected him to turn and run, but he remained where he was. Maybe Anarchy-Symbol couldn’t bring himself to abandon his friends, but more likely he was too terrified to do more than stand and stare open-mouthed at Jinx.

Despite the fact that these three morons had interrupted our investigation, I could sympathize with Anarchy-Symbol. I’d seen this reaction many times before. Lots of people are freaked out by clowns, but Jinx isn’t just a scary clown: he’s something out of a nightmare. My nightmares, to be exact.

Jinx’s attack on Randy had taken Cubs-Cap by surprise, but he recovered quickly. Anger clouded his face and his hands curled into fists.

“What the
hell
is wrong with you, man?” Cubs-Cap demanded. “Are you crazy or something?”

“Or something. Definitely.”

“You clown-faced bastard!”

Cubs-Cap started forward, obviously intending to make Jinx pay for hitting his friend. Jinx didn’t make a move to defend himself. He didn’t brace his gigantic feet, didn’t raise his fists. He simply stood there, smiling. But before Cubs-Cap could take more than two steps, a stream of liquid jetted forth from the flower on Jinx’s lapel. It arced through the air and splashed Cubs-Cap in the eyes.

The kid screamed and broke off his attack. He rubbed at his eyes with both hands, shouting, “It burns! God, it
burns!
”

“You promised me you wouldn’t use acid anymore!” I accused.

“I didn’t,” Jinx said. “It’s juice from the Moruga Scorpion, one of the hottest peppers in the world.” He paused, then added, “With added ingredients of my own.”

Then Jinx started in with his unearthly hyena impression, his laughter growing in volume and intensity until it sounded as if it issued from the air around us. His laughter continued growing louder until it echoed up and down the street.