Billy flattened his hands against the walls on either side of the stairs and kicked with his free leg. The other leg remained numb in the grip of the dead, crawling monster below him. The wall on his left disappeared. Billy’s balance tipped and overcompensating to the right, he rolled hard down the last two steps to the landing. The feeling in his right leg returned, shooting pain as it twisted when he slammed against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Billy kicked with both legs now, not caring about the pain or anything but being free. He stopped when he realized his attacker was gone. For a brief, heart-stopping, wonderful moment of relief, there was no clown, he was alone, bathed in the kitchen light from upstairs and that strange, dull glow from around the corner in the basement where his legs now dangled. Dreaming, he thought. I was only dreaming, sleepwalking. When something moved toward him again, he kicked wildly at it, but like a monstrous spider it jumped on top of his legs. No weight to it, a thin pointy bag of sticks. But it would not let go. It was the clown from his dreams again and none of it could be real, but this was not a dream, this was really happening.
Billy lost all sensation in both legs this time, as if they were no longer there. He couldn’t see them past the dead thing crawling toward his belly. Maybe they were gone. Maybe he was paralyzed. He could have broken his neck falling down the stairs. Now it was going to eat him and he couldn’t stop it.
His mother called his name from somewhere upstairs.
He screamed, “Mom!”
“Ignore them, Billy,” the thing said, moving closer, still weighing nothing, breath like cabbage and pages from an old book. Billy wanted to curl his legs in disgust but nothing worked below his waist. It lay on his belly now, and pressed an arm against his left shoulder. The other hand dangled something in front of Billy’s face. A necklace, glowing, or maybe just reflecting the light from upstairs. A shining ball hung at the end of the chain, surrounded by rings. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t know why, only that he had to look away.
The clown continued, “They don’t matter. They never did.” Each word echoed like a passing train through the house. He heard it in front of him, but from upstairs too. His mother screamed.
When it slid closer, the clown let its dead balloon lips fall open, revealing a stinking wide gap in its face filled with a few black and broken teeth. An equally black tongue snaked out then slithered back. Above this hole something that might have been a nose caked in dirt and dried, peeling make-up. A few strands of hair poked from the skin above a bright white forehead. Billy wanted to throw up when he realized the forehead was so white because it was only bone where the skin had peeled away. He focused instead on the dried curl of tape above the left eye. Anywhere other than the necklace glimmering between them.
“Do you know who I am, Billy?”
“You’re just a bad dream.” His own voice was no more than a whisper. Billy wished he could be tougher, not like a little baby about to cry. He wanted to close his eyes and open them and be back in his room. But if he took his eyes off the thing perched on his lap it would put those rotted teeth to his face and bite and bite. He pressed his hands against the landing to push back against the stairwell wall. “You’re nothing but a bad dream.”
The thing shook. Was it laughing? The black tongue dripped from its mouth again, snaked back in. “I’m no dream, son. Aren’t you glad to see your old Grampa?” Each word sounded like a hundred voices in his head, a hundred echoes. Billy turned his head side to side, still trying not to puke but this time because of its breath, which smelled like a dead animal.
It jiggled the chain, drawing Billy’s unwilling eyes back to the necklace with its metal ball and Saturn rings. “I have a present for you, Billy, something that’s been in our family for a very long time.”
The ball and rings shined before him. He had a dull notion his mother was screaming his name again. This time he did close his eyes and lashed out with the only arm he could get to work, trying to knock the necklace away. The chain became entwined in his fingers even as the hand slammed against the wall. Billy opened his eyes and tried to shake it free but it wouldn’t untangle.
“Put it on, Billy. I’ll teach you how to use it. Your father was supposed to show you its power, but he was a disappointment. I had to come back and do this myself. But you will be happy I did. You will be able to do the most amazing things! We both will. We all will.”
His mother screamed from directly above them a second before she kicked the face away. A blur of motion, his mother in her robe, kicking again and again. As soon as the clown was no longer on top of him, the feeling returned to his legs. Billy curled them up, pressed himself against the wall.
From the growing gloom of the basement before him, Mom shouted, “Run, Billy! Get upstairs and run!”