Spooky Shorts 2023

 

It was a tight run race for 2023 with the poll leader changing throughout the vote, but our winner for 2023 was Ali Gunn with Never Trust a Clown (reproduced with permission below).

Honourable mentions go to Guy Gardner for The Door & Donna Morfett for Cassie which took home 2nd and 3rd place respectively.

Many thanks to all our author contributors for their fantastic short stories.

And here is the winning entry chosen by you: Never Trust a Clown, copyright Ali Gunn 2023…

 

 

‘Really? “We have to go”? Carnivals are so lame.’

No sooner had Melissa spoken, her idiot fiancé, Parker, pouted like a child and threw himself down on the sofa.

‘Lighten up, Mel, you’re not still afraid of clowns are you?’

She picked up a cushion, ready to smother him.

‘Woah, violence is never the answer, babe. Besides, I’m paying. And you chose the theatre last week. C’mon, it’ll be fun.’

For who? She thought. ‘Fine. But next week’s date night we’re going to the ballet.’

He scowled.

Saturday rolled around quickly and they found themselves at the Forest Recreation Ground. Only a few weeks earlier, the place had been lit up in neon for the annual Goose Fair, but now it looked like a badly-aged circus: grubby signs, broken bulbs, and the smell of overcooked grease. There were children everywhere screaming at the sight of witches and wizards, pumpkins and potion-makers, and even the occasional loo-roll zombie.

Parker leapt up and down like one of the kids, dragging her around from the hook-a-duck to the Ghost Train.

It was, Mel thought, more like the Ghastly Train. Chewing gum on the seats, a half-hearted vampire played by an elderly actor who looked like he’d pass out from having to stand up long before his false teeth would ever break human skin.

‘C’mon, let’s go home. There’s still time to catch tonight’s episode of Strictly.’

‘One more,’ Parked begged.

Against her better judgement, she nodded. Once again, they traipsed around the muddy field looking for the last “fun” of the night.

‘There,’ he said, pointing to the far corner. ‘The Scare Shack. Let’s do that.’

It was a building she would swear hadn’t been there before, a log shack covered in moss, and yet it looked like it had been there for an eternity. Outside on the wooden veranda stood a short, droopy-faced clown suffering from an overlarge nose and criss-crossed scars over their cheekbones. They had cobalt-blue hair with eye makeup to match. The clown’s panda-clad gaze snapped in her direction and then, with one gnarly finger, beckoned the couple closer.

She shuddered. She was still afraid of clowns.

But she couldn’t let Parker know that. She’d never live it down.

‘Come on, Mel!’ he said, running off again. She shouldn’t have bought him that bag of Haribo.

When they got to the Scream Shack, she realised there wasn’t one door but two. The signs on the doors looked like toilets in a pub: one for the gents and one for the ladies.

‘Step right up, young victims,’ the clown said in an eerily-high-pitched voice. ‘Do you dare to scare?’

There was a sign propped on the chair nearby: £5 per person.

‘Hell yes!’ Parker said. He thrust his hand into his pocket, withdrew his wallet, and paid the clown for the both of them. ‘Don’t say I don’t buy you anything.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Through each door, one must go, how long you’ll last… nobody knows.’

The clown gestured at one door and then the other. Parker made a beeline for the gents. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Mel entered the other door.

It swung closed behind her, plunging her into darkness. She stood there, her arms crossed. She wasn’t going to be scared by the dark. She wasn’t five years old. For a full minute, nothing happened. This was dead boring. Mel yawned and turned to go. Her hand felt for the doorknob as she tried to open the door she’d just come through.

It was locked. Her pulse quickened. This was what that stupid clown wanted: to put the fear of God into her with an empty shed.

She felt her way along the walls. Eventually, she came to another door. This place was like the TARDIS: bigger on the inside. The second door was locked too.

‘Hello? Parker?’

‘Parker can’t help you right now,’ a voice came back from above. It was the clown from outside, their girly pitch tempered by a mechanical speaker almost as if they were speaking over the radio.

‘Who are you? What’s going on?’

‘You can call me Snoots. As for what’s going on… do you really want to know?’

‘Of course I bloody do!’

The voice crackled over the radio again. ‘As you wish…’

Sudden white light blinded Mel. As her eyes came into focus, she realised there was a tiny, old-school LED television mounted on the wall above the door.

On the screen there was a room that looked just like hers. In the middle was a cherry-red metal chair. A grinning Parker sat in it, his wrists and ankles bound to it. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

‘Hello Parker.’

His eyes darted around, his smile faltering. ‘You think I’m scared, Snoots? A chair and some rope? I could get up any time I wanted.’

‘You could,’ Snoots agreed. ‘But you won’t. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, don’t you want to play The Game?’

His grin returned. ‘As long as I can win.’

‘Win, lose, you all think the Carnival’s a competition. It’s not.’

‘What is it then?’

‘A decision,’ Snoots said simply. ‘One that’s very, very important.’

‘Oh yeah? Life or death, is it?’ Parker sniggered.

‘That’s exactly what it is. Your life, her death. Her death, your life. I’ll give you five minutes to decide.’

He paled. Then the screen cut out.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Mel demanded. She hammered on the outside door. ‘Let me the fuck out of here!’

‘It’s out of my hands, Mel. Parker thinks your life is in his hands. Of course, that’s not true.’

She felt her shoulders sag. Thank God. For a moment, she thought the Scream Shack was a real-life horror movie.

‘Wh-what?’

‘He thinks he’s in charge,’ Snoots said, ‘but I’m not sure that’s too wise. Your fiancé isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Right now, he’s soiling himself and trying to untie his wrists. Can you believe he willingly let me tie him up? You wouldn’t have been that naïve, now, would you, Mel?’

Fucking ace, Mel thought. A feminist clown lecturing her on the stupidity of her man.

‘What do you want then? Money?’ her voice was stronger, more confident.

‘Just a decision.’

She inhaled sharply.

‘The one I asked him to make. It’s your call now. Who’re you going to save, Mel? Parker’s life or your own? You have… three minutes.’

The crackle stopped; the speaker dead.

This had to be some sort of joke. Parker was in on it. He had to be. Nobody in their right mind would let a murderous clown tie them up… would they?

While her mind whirred, the screen flashed to life. A countdown clock. Big red numbers glowed in the darkness, ticking down like a game of The Chase.

Two minutes thirty. Two minutes twenty-five. Two minutes twenty.

Her heart pounded. A cold, clammy film formed on her skin.

‘This isn’t funny. Let me out!’

Snoots’ voice came over the speaker once more. ‘This isn’t a game, Mel. Life is the decisions we make… and it’s almost time to make yours.’

‘What if I refuse?’ Mel asked. She had already guessed the answer.

‘Indecision is a decision too, Mel. Like staying in a dead relationship because it’s easy, that shit will kill you. If you don’t make a decision, both of you will die.’

‘Who are you? Why are you doing this? Do I know you?’

A cackle came over the radio.

‘You don’t know me,’ Snoots said. ‘And now isn’t the time to chat. Two minutes left, Mel. Perhaps you need a little help…’

The screen went dark. Then Parker came into view. He was still tied to the chair. His eyes were wild, his wrists red from fighting against his bindings.

‘Parker, Parker, Parker… you always were one to struggle, weren’t you? How’s that decision coming along? Whose neck will be on the chopping block tonight?’

‘Let me out!’ he yelled. ‘I’m not playing your stupid game.’

‘Riddle me this, genius. If it’s a game, there’s no harm in choosing, is there? If it’s not… well, at least you’ll have made a decision. There doesn’t seem much point in you both dying tonight. But what do I know? I’m just a clown.’

Snoots’ laughter echoed through the Scare Shack, a mix of real-life laughter and tinny radio mockery.

‘Me,’ Parker said. Mel’s jaw dropped. He was choosing to die to save her? Maybe he wasn’t such an immature prick after all…

‘I choose to save me,’ Parker said.

The bastard.

Mel screamed, her fists hammering on the door.

‘Anyone! Help!’ she yelled.

‘Nobody can hear you, Mel. Thirty seconds, Mel. He’s throwing you under the bus. Typical Parker. But he’s right about one thing: think about it like saving one life, not taking one. Whose life are you going to save, Mel?’ Snoots asked, her voice softening. Then, in her best TV Presenter voice, Snoots added: ‘And don’t forget Mel, I can only take your first answer.’

Twenty-five seconds.

Twenty.

‘You don’t know me, but you know him, don’t you?’ Mel demanded.

Fifteen seconds.

‘Very clever, Mel. But are you smart enough to save yourself?’

Ten seconds.

Eight.

Six.

Five.

‘Fine!’ Mel yelled.

Four…

Three…

Two…

‘Me! I save me!’

There was a moment’s silence, the timer flashing on 0:01 seconds remaining.

Then a key turned in the locked door behind her.

She hesitated. Then she heard the first scream.

‘Parker!’ she yelled.

Snoots’ voice crackled over the radio for the final time. ‘Parker’s not available right now, but if you’d like to leave him a message, he’ll see you in hell.’

‘You bitch!’ Mel screamed, falling to her knees as she stumbled out the door.

She looked up as a shadow came over her. She was hoping to see Parker’s grinning face. To learn this was all a big, bad joke.

But all she saw was Snoots’ big, red nose, and her tuft of blue hair.

Then an axe came swinging down towards her head.

 

 

Ali Gunn is the author of the DCI Mabey series & co-author of stand-alone financial crime thriller The Grifter. Find out more at GunnCrime.com