The Clown-Clad-Corpse

In life, I was truly an idiot.

I see that now, floating over my clown-clad-corpse that littered the muddy driveway. The blood leaking out of the bullet wound in my dumb shell soaked into the thirty buck costume I had bought off of Amazon 2 days ago. I hadn’t known then that this was the outfit I would be wearing for the rest of eternity as a ghost.

How do I always end up in situations where I have no dignity?

And more importantly, who killed me?

I guess to answer this question, we’ll have to start at the beginning of this whole mess.

It all started when I was invited to a costume party 3 weeks ago. Being the procrastinator I am, I didn’t buy my costume until the last minute, when the only costume I could find that would be semi-decent was this ridiculous clown costume. The fabric felt cheap and the polka-dot pants were surely illegal in some country somewhere. But it worked.

Parties never were my thing, but I had decided to come anyways. While walking up to the venue, the sky accurately reflected my mood. Dreary, edging on the side of angsty. The clouds blanketed- no, suffocated- the sky, drizzling all over the clown makeup I had slathered on. I’m no makeup artist, but my clown face was the only thing keeping my awful ensemble together. My floppy clown shoes had trudged through the mud. You would think the owners of a gothic mansion like this could afford a paved driveway.

The double doors to the mansion were on the fancy side of the spectrum compared to their driveway. I remember trying the fancy gargoyle knocker only to have to ring the doorbell half a minute later.

I had stood there and waited. The music inside strobed, the bass shaking the porch I waited on. Nobody answered. I made the very crucial mistake of letting myself in.

Cat. There was a cat. If I couldn’t find my friends, at least there is a reliable floofster companion. The little tabby’s tail flicked at me as if my clown regalia wasn’t enough to warrant its respect.

Entering the party further, I had immediately spotted my friend group. There was Jason, my best bro, Alec, Kyle, and Gabe the traitor. The traitor you ask? Yep. The traitor. That dude stole my girl. Well, not my girl. She’s her girl. All that aside, he broke the sacred code of dibs.

I remember being jealous of their costumes. None of them looked ridiculous like me. Except for Gabe the traitor. He and Gracie had decided to do a cheesy couples costume. Like, actually cheesy. Gabe was a block of cheese and Gracie was grapes. So original. 

Anyway, Jason was a cowboy, Kyle was a football player (again. He is the same thing every year), and Alec was Mario the hero plumber.

This is where my memory gets blurry. I can’t be expected to remember everything. For heaven’s sake, I just died! Cut a guy some slack.

All I know is that there was a fight. Between me and the cheesy-good-for-nothing-traitor. His goo-goo eyes at Gracie are still cemented in my head, making me nauseous.

Oh, that’s right! We got into a fight because I puked on him and his girlfriend. 

He punched me, I punched him, Kyle got excited and tried to contribute to the brawl. Alec’s bushy mustache got pulled off, blah blah blah.

Eventually, Jason and Alec were able to separate us. I said something hurtful in retort to Gabe’s hurt-fuller attack.

Then I stormed out.

I’m pretty sure I hadn’t realized I was missing my keys until halfway through the muddy driveway.

If I wasn’t a ghost right now, I’m sure I would have bruises from how hard I had frantically patted my pockets. There was no way I was going back inside for those keys! My fragile human pride couldn’t take another blow! Not Today! Pulling a full 360, I had caught a flash of orange in my peripheral vision… was it? No…

The darn cat had stolen my keys! The flash of orange came from the cat standing in a third-story window, mocking me. With. My. Keys.

This is the part of the story where my idiocy is on full display.

Sure, I could have gone inside, past the traitor.

I could have dragged my sorry butt through the costume-clad gossipers.

Maybe find the cat and get my keys back in a normal, civilized way.

But no, I would rather risk my life climbing up the slick facade of the mansion than risk going face to face with Traitor-McTraitor.

So I climbed. My clown shoes didn’t have the best grip on the weather-worn bricks, but nothing could stop my determination.

Except for the jammed window.

I couldn’t hear the cat’s maniacally mewing from the other side of the window, but I felt it in my core. The keys fell from the cat’s mouth, giving me a newfound sense of hope. The window flew open, swallowing me whole.

I grabbed my keys, stood up, and turned to the window. The disbelief I felt bubbled out of me in a sea of chuckles. I just climbed a 3 story building to get my keys away from a cat! No one was going to believe me. I didn’t think I was going to be telling a lot of people at the time though.

I saw a figure reflected in the window. Who was up here so fast? I was loud falling through the window, yes, but not louder than the bass of “SexyBack”. Who would have heard me?

Before I turned around, lightning flashed in the distance.

The thunder sounded, and I died.

But who killed me?

A scream shook me out of my thoughts. Excuse me! If anyone should be screaming it should be me! I’m the one who’s dea-

Hold up.

Next to my clown-clad-corpse was a cheddar-cloaked-cretin.

“Gabe!?”

“AAAHHHHHH!”

“GABE!”

His ghost gaped at mine. Gabe was dead too!

“Cole,” that’s me, “We’re… dead.”. Gabe’s words seemed to shock him more than me. Of course, I know I’m dead. I’ve been explaining the story for the past 10 minutes. Albeit I didn’t know I had an audience.

“I know I’m dead!” I said exasperated. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve stolen the thunder from me again!”

Gabe’s mouth formed an O for understanding.

“You don’t know what killed you”

I nonverbally said duh. Gabe took that as a cue to tell his side of the story;

“After our fight, when you stormed out, I considered following you. I still felt pretty bad for overreacting. You were already out by your car though. I turned around to see that tabby cat grabbing your keys off the floor. It ran upstairs before I could catch it. I wasn’t sure what room it was in, so I looked in them all -second and third floor- until I came to the room you were in, the study.

“By then, you had the keys and stood dangerously close to the window. The cat was on the mantle, and when the lighting stuck, it jumped, bumping the antique shotgun that was irresponsibly loaded. I saw you get shot and fall out the window. I ran towards you, only to slide on the mud you tracked in and fall out the same window.”

We stared at one another. My traitor friend had tried to save me. After I had puked on him. After I had embarrassed and insulted him. After I stormed off.

I should never have left my house today. But now we stood in our muddy, bloody cheese and clown costumes.

“Dude,” I chuckled “you should have chosen a better costume to spend eternity in.”