part0039

“Aww.” Andrew turned from the bedroom window and climbed into bed, pushing aside the top sheet, which bore the emblems of all the Major League Baseball teams. “But it’s summer, Dad.”

Mark paused at the window as a streak of light flashed across the night sky, then went to his son’s bedside. “That may mean sleeping late for you, but I still have to go to work tomorrow. If I have to go to bed, so do you.” He tousled Andrew’s hair.

“That’s not fair.”

Mark pulled the covers up over his son. “I agree. Hmm. Well, I guess as soon as you finish school, you can go to work and I’ll stay home. Deal?”

Andrew crossed his arms. “Dad, I’m only starting second grade.”

“Really? You seem much older.”

Mark finished tucking him in and began picking up the stuffed animals and toys scattering across the bed. “Which one?”

Andrew pointed to a floppy sheepdog.

“Ahh, Rufus. Our faithful watchdog.” He handed the stuffed dog to Andrew.

Squeezing Rufus tight, Andrew asked, “Will we be able to see the shooting stars again tomorrow night?”

Mark picked up the rest of the toys and went to a chair by the window. “Not just tomorrow but for at least another week. Maybe this weekend, we can get up early to see them at their peak.” He dumped the toys onto the chair. A wayward clown doll fell to the floor.

“Dennis Dunham says that shooting stars are angels.”

“Well, I bet your friend heard that from his grandparents.” Mark bent to retrieve the colorful clown. “Long ago, people would explain things they didn’t understand as an act of God or angels.” He held up the clown doll, its blue glass eyes staring out from a white face, its nose a bright red bulb. “Those stories became folklore…superstitions.” He touched one of the green pom-poms that ran down the front of the ruffled green and white costume. “I remember my grandfather telling me that shooting stars were the souls of bad people sent back down to earth so they could redeem themselves. Sort of a second chance.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Is that true?”

Roland–The Magnificent–stood alone on the moonlit beach, his high-gloss Oxford shoes sinking into the shore just above the surf line. Sand dusted his tuxedo’s trousers. He idly rolled a half dollar coin across his knuckles. On every other pass his hand went palm up in a flourish, and the coin vanished, reappearing in his other hand. He had been doing this for hours: standing in the sand, looking up at the night sky, contemplating the shooting stars. Wondering what each one had done. Why, like him, they had been sent back down to earth, instead of going on into the light.

A gravelly voice came from behind him. “Hello, Dummy.”

The others had begun to arrive, as they always did. Returning to the deserted stretch of beach before sunrise. Roland wasn’t even sure if the place was real or somewhere in between worlds, a way station where they gathered again before returning to their punishment. He faced the new arrival. “Hello, Red.”

Mark dropped the clown onto the chair with the rest of the toys and went to sit on the edge of Andrew’s bed. “Of course it’s not true. Stories like that continue because people like fantastic stories more than the truth.” Mark pushed the boy’s fair hair from his eyes. “Shooting stars are just debris falling off the tail of a passing comet. Ice and rocks. Nothing but space dust.”

“That’s boring.”

Mark chuckled. “Exactly.”

Red wore ragged clothes with exaggerated tears at the cuffs of his dark pants and large patches on his mismatched coat. Beneath his worn derby, his face was unshaven, circles of white greasepaint were smeared around his eyes and mouth, and the end of his nose shined a bright red: the Hobo Clown.

Roland held up his coin. “If, by dummy, you mean a ventriloquist’s mannequin, I’m not.” He waved his hands and the coin disappeared. “I found a child who still appreciates magic.”

Red adjusted the frayed rope holding his pants up. “Probably turn out to be a dipshit, like you.”

Roland sighed, wiping at the grains of sand that clung to his sleeves. The coin reappeared and tumbled across his knuckles.

It was how the group always appeared: clowns, magicians, children’s playthings. Dolls. They were cast from the light as spirits; ghosts returning to the world where they didn’t really exist, where they were only dreams. Or more accurately, nightmares.

Andrew crinkled his nose. “Off.”

“All right.” Mark turned the light off and walked through the dark room. From the chair, the limp clown’s blue eyes watched Mark pause at the bedroom door.

“Goodnight, pal.” Mark closed the door.

The green and white clown doll sat up straight and turned its head to the boy.

Red dragged a dirty sleeve across his nose, leaving a streak of mucus and red paint. “I scared a shitload of ‘em tonight. Twenty, maybe twenty-five. Scared the hell out of these twins, two flouncing little shits. They’ll be afraid to go to sleep for years.” He laughed, low, dark. “How many you do?”

Roland matched his stare. “I did enough.” The coin kept rolling.

The coin disappeared. “Enough.”

Red cocked his head. “Horse shit.” He took a step toward the magician. “You didn’t even do one, did you?”

Roland rolled his eyes.

“What the fuck! You didn’t even work one kid?” Red jabbed at Roland as he spoke. “We get one night to make them sorry. One night to torment the innocent.” He balled his fists and dropped them to his sides. “You came right here, didn’t you?” His mouth hung open as he paused. “So, what did you do all night, Magic Man? Make things disappear up your ass?”

From behind Red came a burst of high-pitched, lunatic laughter. A blubbery clown appeared, wearing a costume of white satin. The outfit shimmered as his body quaked, a cackle erupting from a circular face that choked from the folds of a ruffled collar. White paint covered his face, fine black lines riding high above his eyes in gleeful arcs. A pointed white hat sat atop his head. Blood splattered the front of his costume. “Up his ass! Heheheheee!”

Red continued to stare at Roland. “Pucinello’s back. I bet he did the right thing. He’s probably covered in blood.”

Roland gave a weak smile to acknowledge the gore-covered clown. “Of course he is.”

Pucinello’s smile forced folds of flesh up around his eyes. “I ate their pets!” Dark stains covered his teeth.

Roland nodded. “Of course you did.” He turned back to Red. “Why don’t you go compare notes with him?”

“I don’t have to. He’s with us. He knows his place. Pooch does the right thing.” Red turned and walked to Pucinello. “I know you did good tonight, didn’t you.”

The white nightmare clasped his bloodied gloves together at his chest, hopping from foot to foot. “Ohhh yes, yes, yes! Hehehe! I scared them all so much, Red! I jumped up in their beds! I put snakes on their heads! They cried out in fear! But…no one could hear! Hehehehe! Then I caught them in nets and….” He stopped dancing. “Do you know what I did then, Red?”

“What did you do, Poochy?”

“I ate their pets! Heheheeee!” He clapped his hands and ran in small circles, sand flying from his oversized shoes. “Heeeheeee!”

Red applauded and barked out his own harsh laughter. “You see, Magic Man! It’s easy. We may not get to stay here long but we sure can scar some kiddies for life!”

Roland turned his back on them and faced the ocean. He stared out beyond the rolling tide to the horizon, the place where the sea meets the sky.

The Ballerina appeared beside him, her feet planted in the sand in ballet third position. One hand slid around Roland’s back to rest upon his shoulder, the other arched up above her. The layered netting of her tutu played against his leg. She brought the scent of lavender. Her lips moved close to his ear, “You’ll never get to see the sunrise, you know.”

Roland continued looking across the ocean. “Always the beautiful ballerina.”

“Yes,” she whispered, sibilant steam.

“But not a kind lover.”

“No.” She performed a slow pirouette, ending in first position. “Why have you drawn away from us, Roland? What has happened to make you feel apart?”

Roland faced her but did not meet her eyes. “Do you still believe as they do?” He nodded toward the cackling clowns. “That each time we are sent away, the only answer is to make others suffer?”

“Yes, Roland. We are the darkness to the light.”

“And you? Tonight? Did you ruin the lives of the innocent?”

“Oh yes.” She raised one leg straight into the air. “I went to them in their dreams as they lay beside their women, their true loves.” Her hands reached up to her ankle. “I enchanted them and they came to me.” She ran her fingertips down her leg in a slow caress, stopping at the top of her thigh. “And then they loved me.” She closed her eyes and moved one hand beneath the folds of her tutu and sighed. After lowering her leg, her hands came up above her head. “The seed of infidelity grows inside them now. It will tear them from their vows.” She returned again to the first position, facing Roland, her smile sultry. “Oh, the tears that will be shed for their wandering lust.”

Roland saw that she held no compassion for those she cursed.

“They don’t deserve that.” He pulled back from her. “I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t you?” She arched an eyebrow. “Each time we go up to the light, we are all cast back down here, judged unworthy. We get one night to enjoy being evil before we are returned to the darkness. You belong with us Roland. You’ve just lost your way.”

“Why do we go up at all then? And all this?” He pointed in the direction of the clowns. “We’ll never move on acting like this.” He paused. “I’ll forever be teased by the light, only to meet back here with them…and you.”

Her smile broke, and her eyes darkened. “You’re no better.”

He was not moved by her anger. “Maybe we all are.”

Red’s voice rang harsh, “Hello, Daniella!”

Her eyes burned into Roland a moment longer before she turned from him and went to the others. “Hello, Red.”

She put a hand on Pucinello’s shimmering white sleeve, resting it just above the splatter leading from his bloodied gloves. “Pucinello, you look so handsome.”

He brought his hand to his face and tittered.

Red grabbed Daniella’s arm and pulled her toward him. “Why do you talk to him ?”

“He’s one of us, Red.”

“He thinks he’s better than us. He’s gonna make us all look bad by not doing his part.”

She looked back at Roland. “Give him time. Don’t forget how wicked he once was.”

“Or, do you just want us all to turn on him so you can move closer to leading our little family?”

Red let go of her arm. “No one leads here.”

The ballerina glanced around. “True,” she said, turning back to Red. “Is Cesar not here yet?”

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Hate to be late, but I did bring a gift!”

Pucinello turned to the voice and his face ballooned into an excited smile, his hands flew to his chest, clapping.

His costume was green and white satin, large green pom-poms ran down the center like, giant green shoes slapping the sand. His white face gleamed like porcelain, the lower half painted red in an exaggerated smile, a halo of green hair shooting out wildly around his head.

Even from afar, Roland saw his blue eyes sparkling. He dragged a sack, leaving a smooth path in the sand. “I got tired of going back empty-handed.” He swung the bulky load in front of him, watching it sink into the beach. A small cry came from inside. He held the edges, the colorful bag decorated with the emblems of Major League Baseball teams. “I think it’s time we started playing in the big leagues!”

The others gathered around the squirming sack. Daniella crouched before the bundle and poked it. The contents whimpered and flinched at her touch. She pulled her hand away and turned to Cesar; her voice held a touch of awe. “You’ve taken one.”

Pucinello leaned toward the sack. His hands formed a steeple, fingers tapping each other, as if praying. “Is it a dog? A cat?” He looked to Cesar. “May I eat it?”

“No, Pucinello. This is so much better. ”

Pucinello’s fingers stopped tapping.

Cesar smiled. “I’ve taken a child .”

Pucinello bolted upright, his fingers clasped each other. He spun to Daniella, then to Red, and back to Cesar.

Roland moved closer to them and looked down at the bundle. “No.”

Red turned toward him, sneering.

Roland paid him no mind. Time after time he had been cast back down to earth. He and the others had one night which they used to stalk the earth as specters, to meddle in the minds of men and act as demons. A night to vent their anger on the best of them, torment them. But never had they dared to touch one, much less take one. He faced Cesar. “This isn’t right! We can’t do this!”

Red kicked sand at him. “Shut up, Roland!” He paused, then turned back to Cesar, scratching absently at the back of his hand. “We can do this…right?”

Cesar’s eyes glinted. “What’s going to happen? We get sent back to the darkness?”

The others joined him in laughing. Roland remained quiet, stepping away from them.

Cesar encouraged the excitement of the others as he hollered over their laughter. “I’m not gonna come down here anymore just to raise a little hell! I’m gonna start dragging some of these sheep back with me!”

The others roared. Pucinello clapped and ran in small circles.

Cesar crouched down over the bundled sheet, adjusting the loose ends. “Come and see.” He held out the edges and placed a finger over his lips.

Pucinello and Red each gripped the sheet, standing close around the quivering sack. Daniella leaned in, too.

Cesar whispered, choking back his own laughter. “Let’s introduce ourselves.” Cesar looked up at them. “3…2…1….” They yanked the sheet open and screamed, their faces pressed together in a crazed mass of greasepaint and horror.

Inside curled a little boy. His eyes shot wide in terror, and he screamed.

They closed the sack and laughed riotously. The sheet rippled and snapped as the boy thrashed inside. Cesar twisted the edges, tightening the bundle again. The group took turns jabbing at the squirming boy, howling with glee.

Roland squeezed his coin, watching as they screamed in delight, encouraging each other, celebrating in depravity.

Cesar finished tying a knot and dropped the twisted ends atop the bundled child and approached Roland. “I can’t believe you manage to find magicians anymore.” Roland offered a weak smile. Cesar sighed. “Why aren’t you with us on this?”

“This?” Roland raised a hand toward the others. “This is no good, Cesar. We’re getting worse.”

“Good? Worse? We’re bad, Roland. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re made to suffer the dark place.” He ran a hand across the bald part of his head. “I’m done coming here every time they cut us loose just to be a nightmare for a few people.” He waved his hand toward the others. “Look at us. We’re not even allowed to be real. Dolls! We’re nothing but scary stories to them, Roland…ghosts.”

“Pucinello eats their pets, Cesar.”

“And what happens?” Cesar tapped his foot, waiting for an answer. “In the morning Mommy holds her whimpering simp.” He pitched his voice to a feminine tone. “‘It’s okay, baby. Fluffy must have gone out the open window. He’ll be back.’” He lifted his hands to his face, raising his voice higher. “‘But the clown, Mommy. The clown….’” He lowered his hands. “‘Just a bad dream, dear, that’s all...just bad dreams.’”

Roland looked to the ground. “Maybe we’re meant to be something else.”

Cesar stepped closer to Roland. “That’s right. That’s why I’m done with bad dreams. If I’m not good enough for the light then I’ll show them real bad.”

Roland shook his head. “No. I don’t believe it anymore. I’m not evil, not like this.”

Cesar laughed. “Ho, ho! My friend, the things you did in life? They sounded pretty bad to me.”

Roland spoke slowly, thinking. “I did bad things. But I’m not that person anymore. Not at heart. If I was, I wouldn’t question myself, wouldn’t have regrets.” He looked to the others and back to Cesar. “All of us here, we do these terrible things out of anger. Don’t you feel doubt though?”

Cesar’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start preaching about right and wrong now. It’s too late.” He reached into his costume and retrieved a stone the color and size of a lemon: brimstone. “The night is over, and we all still have these. You know where they’re going to take us? Back to the cold darkness where we’ll suffer for a lifetime, and when we get a chance at going up to the light, what will happen? We’ll get cast right back down again.” He dropped the hand with the stone to his side. “No one cares about us, Roland. No one is ever going to give us a chance.”

Roland glanced at the bundled sheet in the sand.

“This is what they get, Roland. They deserve it. That stone of yours? Is it getting warm?” Roland ignored him. “Yeah, it is. You’re with us because you’re no good. None of us are, so stop thinking you’re somehow better. Let that go and be what you’re supposed to. Be who you really are.” Cesar’s voice deepened. “The sun is coming. We need to be together now so we can bring our prize back with us.” He gripped Roland’s shoulder, “Do the right thing, Roland.”

Roland slipped a hand inside his jacket, feeling the warmth of his own yellow stone.

Cesar walked past the others. “Follow me; we need to find a good spot.”

The others exchanged glances and fell into step behind him. Roland followed, though he kept his distance.

“It needs to be just right.” Cesar walked slowly down the beach, stopping occasionally to shift the sand with an oversized shoe. “It needs to be perfect.” He stopped and glanced all around. “This is it.” He turned to the others. “We’ll place our stones in a circle and put the boy in the center. That should bring him with us when we’re taken back.”

The others spread out, each producing their own stone. They set them in the sand, forming four points.

Roland stepped between the two and hefted the bundled sheet into the center.

Cesar smiled. “Welcome back.” He looked down to the sheet-covered mound then back to Roland. “Take out your stone, my friend. Close the circle.”

Roland took out his yellow stone. He held it before him, and as the distant horizon line burned from the approaching sun, the stone began to smoke. He dropped it to the sand and stepped back. All five stones smoldered, their rough edges becoming smooth as they began to melt.

The sun boiled over the horizon, and the stones popped as blue flames burst from them. White-hot centers illuminated the five faces gathered around the bundle. The first light of day raced across the water and touched the group. Blue flames arced out from four of the stones, licking and then engulfing the costumed spirits. Roland remained outside of the fire, touched only by the light of dawn. His own stone sputtered blue arcs of flame that fell short of him.

Searing flames consumed the others, and they screamed as their skin puckered and burned.

Red raised a blazing arm and pointed at Roland. “What’s this? What’s going on?”

Cesar’s face blackened and his lips burned away, his teeth and jaw glistening. “No! You’re one of us!” His eyes fell to the bundled sheet, the blue flames arcing around it. “What have you done?” He reached for the mounded sheet, but his feet remained in the sand. The flames roared in a white blaze.

Roland looked down at his stone, the flames still sputtering weakly as it melted into the sand. He took a tentative step over it and entered the circle.

Red screamed, “You’re coming with us!” He reached for Roland. His features became a blur of white fire.

Roland stepped through the blue flames that surrounded the bundle and grabbed it with both hands. He pulled the sheet away in a stageworthy reveal. All that lay in the sand was a bundle of driftwood and brush.

Pucinello clapped vigorously as he melted into the sand.

Daniella wrapped her arms around herself as if hugging the fire. “Roland, do you think we can be better?”

Roland watched the fire devour her. “Yes.”

The Ballerina folded in half, consumed by flames, and dissolved into the beach.

Red and Cesar collapsed into heaps of fire. Roland watched them burn until all that was left was blackened sand.

Roland–The Magnificent–stood alone on the brightening beach, the sun turning the sky orange. The warmth of the sun engulfed him and he smiled. The sheet with the baseball emblems hung from his hand. He spoke over his shoulder, “You can come out now.” He turned toward the dunes and scrub brush.

A small face peeked out from behind a tangle of driftwood.

Roland nodded and waved at the boy. “It’s okay. They’re gone.” He turned back to the blackened sand and the one remaining yellow stone. His stone. Low blue flames still danced across its bubbling surface. He watched as a final burst of weak blue fire reached out to him before seeping into the sand, leaving a final black mark.

The boy appeared by his side, his expression blank. Roland tried to wrap the sheet around him, but he flinched away, bringing his hands up and slamming his eyes closed.

Roland knelt in the sand. “I’m sorry.” He touched the boy’s shoulder. “Forgive me.”

The boy opened his eyes. His voice came out high and frightened, “Where’d they go?”

“To another place. A dark place, far away.”

“Is it where they come from?”

“No.” Roland looked at the horizon. “It’s not.” His voice fell to a whisper as he squinted in the light, “They’ve forgotten where they come from. What’s your name?”

“I want to go home.”

“Yes, I can take you home.” Roland held his hand and the coin appeared. “Please tell me your name. I want to remember you. You are the one who has shown me my way home.”

The boy sniffled. “Andrew.”

“Andrew…. Thank you.” Roland held out his hand and rolled the coin back and forth across his knuckles. It glinted in the sunlight as it flipped in a smooth rhythm. “Watch the coin, Andrew.”

The boy’s eyes followed. His features softened and his shoulders slumped as the coin rolled back and forth, back and forth.

“It’s time to remember what’s real. Remember your home, remember your bed. Remember what was real before you fell asleep. All of the things that happened after that…the bad clowns, the beach, they were all just nightmares. Bad things that happened but none of it was true. That place where you live with your family. That place is made from love. That’s what is real. Remember what that feels like. Remember how happy you are each day. That’s what is real.”

The boy’s eyes fluttered.

“Now sleep, Andrew.” Roland snapped his fingers and the boy fell into his arms. Roland wrapped him in the bedsheet and sat in the sand to face the rising sun, smiling as the warm light embraced him. •