WEBVTT
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Hello there, my Spooky, it's your narrator and host, Enrique
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Kuto here. Step right up and mind the gaps between
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the boards. They're deeper than they look. Tonight, Weekly Spooky
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presents a dive into the deep vault of horrors we
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have with a little fair ground frights, seven tales of cotton,
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candy that tastes like dust, prizes that come with an
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additional cost later, and rides that don't always end where
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they began. Behind the sideshow curtain, a cabinet of curiosities
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keeps souvenirs that remember every one of their owners and
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how they die. A painted grin follows you past the
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funhouse mirrors, and a smaller grin on a little clown
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that wasn't there a second ago follows you too. In
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the arcade, a humming cabinet knows your name and is
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very sure you owe another quarter to start, So get
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your hand stamped, keep your eyes on your operator at
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all times, and whatever you do, don't take the free
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upgrade to a longer ride. Make sure you're subscribed on
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your favorite podcasting app, because Weekly Spooky brings you something
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new and terrifying every Wednesday. Now enjoy the ride. And
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don't just keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle,
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just try to keep them at all fun In Funerals
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by David O'Hanlon, the death of a clown is no
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laughing matter. It leaves a bleak, unhappy void in the
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universe equal to the amount of joy the departed had caused.
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FeNiS farcemeister white Face of the Amityville Shutter, had brought
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happiness to millions. His body rested in the lavender casket,
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with his bright red shoes sticking straight up and his
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orange hair jutting over the side. Before him, a pedestal
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too large for its contents stood erect, as a grim
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reminder of the task to come. The remainder of his
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shutter mourned in their own ways while they awaited the
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arrival of Pastor Crumb. How are we supposed to close
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the lid, Popsy Pringle asked, gruffly, wiggling the toe of
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Fenis's shoe. Might as well just slap some crocks on him.
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You don't have to be in such a hurry, Popsy,
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sweet pea cheapskate sobbed. Sweet brother Blippy put an arm
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around her shoulders and nodded in agreement. The twins were
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the shutter's resident tramps. The tears rolled down Blippy's rotund
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cheeks and disappeared in the smear of his grease paint beard.
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The siblings both focused on the pedestal, or, more accurately,
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the egg resting atop it. Blippy chewed his lip nervously
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and tipped his torn top hat respectfully. We all know
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you'll be the next whiteface, he said softly. You don't
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have to be so eager to take it. Callousness is
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for humans. Clowns are better than that. Popsy groaned and
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gave his nose a squeak. Spare me. Blippy gasped at
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the insulting gesture and sobbed on his sister's shoulder. Waldo,
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Tatter's tied eye shit kickers, clopped across the wood floors
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with his spurs jangling, until he stood before the egg.
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Its scaly vermilion shell was painted with Fenis's likeness, and
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locks of his hair snipped and glued to the sides.
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Every clown had an egg in their shutter's reliquary. Waldo
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traced his fingers across the curve of the egg. He
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took off his cowboy hat and pressed it to his
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denim shirt. Rodeo clowns were rogues and rarely allowed membership.
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In a shudder, Fennis saw beyond Waldo's wily, psychotic demeanor. However,
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don't you worry none, partner, the cowboy said lowly, We
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won't take too long. We'd better not. Popsy checked his
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oversized watch. Where the hell is crumb? No one likes
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a sad clown. Sweet squirmed uncomfortably in her pew. She'd
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seen a pureaut once. It was the worst thing that
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could happen to a clown. The code called for funerary games,
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so that the laughter of the shutter could carry the
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soul to the Palace of joy. If the games didn't
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appease the soul of the departed clown, however, it would
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become trapped in the void, and they would return as
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a pierrot, a hideous, undead monstrosity that devoured flesh and
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spread col phobia. You can't bring joy if the audience
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thinks you might eat their faces. The code don't cop
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to convenience, Waldo reminded him. He looked at the flower
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on Phenis's lapel. Its petals danced in the artificial wind
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of the oscillating fan, but FeNiS remained still. Rather get
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on with the chase myself, all the same, it'll be
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a hell of a blow off. Blippy tugged the handkerchief
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from his breast pocket, dragging out an extra three feet
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of multicolored linen. He blew his nose on it and
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folded it back into his pocket, a sad smile stretched
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across his chubby cheeks. Fenis'll be able to rest easy
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in the palace seeing the party we threw for him.
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Gonna be a different kind of party if an we
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don't get a move on. Waldo patted the egg and sighed.
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He turned to Popsy, who's the pecker head anyway? His
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name is al A new voice said, al Muse. The
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shutter turned their attention to the tiny trapezoidal door leading
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to the church's rectory. Pastor Crumb's four foot height made
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it through the door easily, but the prisoner he escorted
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on a leash took to crawling on his knees to
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fit through. Pastor Crumb jerked backward as the leather strap
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went taut. He huffed and waited for the prisoner to
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catch up, using the moment to attend an urgent itch
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south of his bulging belly. Al doesn't like clowns, the
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pastor said. He adjusted the white collar beneath his second chin.
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I imagine he's really going to hate us after tonight,
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the shutter laughed. Al tried to stand when eighteen inches
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of checkered vinyl kicked him square between the shoulders. Popsy
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knelt on the human's back and held his hand out
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to Pastor Crumb. Enough propriety, give me the biscuit. Crumb
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took the revolver from the inside of his jacket and
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twirled it clumsily on his finger. He shook his head.
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We have one more point of business. He waved for
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Popsy to move. The august clown growled, but rose none
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the less. Popsy rolled his gloved hand theatrically and gave
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a phony bow. He slapped the toe of his shoe
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down on Al's face. There's no reason for you to
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get up, he said, the nub of the smoldering stogy
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between his yellow teeth. Get on with it. Pastor FeNiS
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Farsmeister was a clown of the highest order. We gather
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here not to just honor the code. He glared over
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his shoulder at Popsy, nor to anoint a new white face.
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We are here to say a final goodbye to a
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clown that was more than a mere leader or friend.
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FeNiS was a mentor when we were ignorant, a father
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when we were alone, and a force of will when
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we were rebellious. He brought joy to the humans like
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no other clown before him, and in doing so, he
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restored this shudder to a place of reverence among all
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clown kin. Amen Pastor Crumb sweet agreed, FeNiS did such
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wondrous works in his two and a half centuries. Crumb continued,
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why if it weren't for him, we might not even
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have the squirting flower gag. He took juggling to new
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heights literally by doing it on the tight rope. He
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restored the pooting bag to glory when he showed the
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humans how to make their whoopee cushions. There has never
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been a more beloved and potent clown than FeNiS, and
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never shall there be. We have had a grand day
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of remembrance. However, the time has now come to say
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our final goodbye. Goodbye. They all shouted in unison. Pastor
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Crumb flipped the lid of the casket shut on Fenis's corpse.
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It remained propped open by the bulboust toes of his shoes.
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The shutter chuckled at Penis's final gag. Crumb's belly jiggled
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with raucous laughter. His laughter cut off as abruptly as
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hitting pause. His smile fell, and the grease paint did
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nothing to hide the dour expression etched on his face.
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Al Musing, you have been chosen as the guest of honor,
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Crumb grumbled. He waved his fingers to signal, popsy away.
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A clown is dead, A human must die. That is
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the code to which both our kind are bound. Al
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stood up slowly and tore the burlap sack off his head.
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He glared around the room at each of the clowns.
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You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Do we look like
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the joking kind? Blippy asked. Sweet stood and sauntered to
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the casket. She dragged a wicker basket from underneath its
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stand and knelt with a smile toward Al, before dumping
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the contents out. Her aquamarine hair tapered to fusia end
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that acted like arrows, directing all gazes to the struggling
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buttons of her unkempt hobo sheik blouse. It took great effort,
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but finally Al's eyes jumped from the cleavage to the
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cleavers skittering across the floor. They were oversized and ancient,
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specked with rust and old blood, and accompanied by matching mallets.
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So m Al cleared his throat. Which one of you
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makes the balloon animals? We all do, dummy, Blippy informed him, good,
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start with a cock and go fuck yourselves. Waldo, chuckled.
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Partner's got some guts, I'll be wearing them like a
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big pink Boa. Sweet hissed sordidly. The blade of her
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cleaver scraped a divot in the floor. I'll keep you
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alive while I pull them out, so you can tell
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me how ravishing I look before I split your skull open.
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As appealing as that sounds, how about we just split
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and fuck each other. Silly Al winked and blew her
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a kiss. Blippy jumped up fast enough to knock the
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church pew over. That's my sister, dick weed. Your sister
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Al gave the clown a critical once over. Your mom
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had an affair, You son of a bitch enough tom Foolery,
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Crumb shouted. He jammed the revolver into Al's waistband. We're
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not animals. We'll give you a shot, but just one.
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Fuck it? Why not? Al pulled the leash off his
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neck and threw it down. What's the game? Time for
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games is past, Popsy said. The chase begins now. All
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you gotta do is survive until midnight. Al grabbed Popsy's hand.
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The clown jerked away, but Al held firm and turned
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his arm over to look at the face of the
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oversized watch. Forty seven minutes remaining. Probably be easier just
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to kill you all, Al suggested, that's funny. Popsy shoved
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Al away from him. You're a real comic, Al choke
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on my McNuggets. Ronald Al jogged for the door. The
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clowns set off giant party poppers, showering him with confetti
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and whooped with excitement behind him. Once he was outside,
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he took in his surroundings quickly. A polka dot Volkswagen
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Beetle was parked along the front of the clown church,
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which looked more like a converted funhouse with its colorful
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facade and odd angles. It was also smack dab in
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the middle of fucking nowhere. Rows of tombstones extended as
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far as he could see by the moonlight. All right,
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all right, think al you need a plan. He had
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a head start, a gun with one bullet and five
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clowns hell bent on murdering him in less than an hour.
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The outline of a mausoleum then caught his eye. You
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can't spell slaughter without a laugh. A train whistle screamed
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inside the church. Waldo rubbed his ears. Crusty h Christ
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Blippy Pastor Crumb mirrored Waldo. You don't sorry. Blippy hung
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his head and tucked the whistle into his overalls. I
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just wanted to let everyone know the chase is starting.
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We're all in the same room, dipshit. Popsy slapped him
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in the back of the head. Besides, Crumb starts the chase.
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Crumb padded Phenis's corpse and proceeded to the pulpit. Popsy
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tapped the back of his cleaver against the metal head
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of the mallet until he got the precise rhythm. The
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toes of clown shoes tapped in harmony with it. Popsy
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scowled and licked his lips with excitement. Strike up the band,
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We got us a human to kill. Popsy roared, Crumb
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pressed the button, and Stars and Stripes Forever blared to
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life through the church's PA system. The four others roared
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and stormed for the building in pursuit of their quarry.
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Blippy took aim and smashed the handle free from the
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mausoleum door. It wasn't his first chase, and the prey
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usually went straight to the nearest shelter. He twirled the
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mallet in his hands and kicked open the door with
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a floppy torn shoe. Sweet rushed into the building with
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her weapons at the ready. The place was empty. The
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bronze nameplates of the dead spread across the two longside walls,
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and the back wall was occupied almost entirely by a
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stained glass window depicting the first clown at the center
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and his six disciples and pains around him. Sweet crossed
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herself and approached the ornate tomb that sat in the
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center of the room. She took a deep breath and
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pressed against the top with her shoulder. Its heavy stone
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lids scraped open slowly. She expected al Musing to reach
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out for her, but nothing happened. She peeked inside and
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muttered an apology to the skeletal remains within the tomb.
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Dowey the mine rested as silently in death as he
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had been in life. Sweet turned to her brother and shrugged,
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he's not here, Blippy. She looked around the otherwise empty room.
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Guess we got it wrong this time, rats. Blip threw
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his hammer down with a clatter. I just knew he'd
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come straight here. Where else could he be? Probably headed
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to the hedge Maze. Let's meet Waldo there, Sweet suggested.
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The two tramps skulk out the front door and froze
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as the headlights blazed before them. Circus music sounded from
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the VW Bug's horn as it sped toward them, throwing
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a shower of dirt and grass from its spinning tires.
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Sweet cartwheeled out of the way, but Blippy was too slow.
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Sorry to bug you, Al howled with a laugh. The
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car struck Blippy low, flipping him onto the hood. His
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face smacked against the windshield, streaking the glass with his
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grease paint. Al smiled at him from the other side.
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The car smashed through the front wall, ramped off the
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tomb of Dowie and launched into the air. They crashed
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through the massive window, showering the yard beyond in its
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psychedelic haale. The car landed hard, the tires exploded, the