Horror and Thriller Fiction posted November 5, 2017


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Three Bobo clowns jacked our Halloween candy.

Bobo Clowns Jacked Halloween Candy

by Liberty Justice


Amazingly, this day started off great. My two children, Cindy and Mark were hyped all day suffering from a candy addiction. Kids had sugar withdrawals coming down from lack of not enough sugar.

"Hurry up, kids," I yelled, as they threw on their wild costumes. Cindy, my girl of 11 years, had on a lovely pink silk Cinderella costume and pink and black slippers, and Mark, my boy of 12 years, wore a black batman suit.

"Oh my goodness," I exclaimed, as we ran hastily out the front door. "Now, ya'll kids stay close to me, and do what I tell you." "Ok, mommy," they both shouted with glee. Suddenly, of all days, it began to pour down rain, but luckily we had large umbrellas. As we were scampering door-to-door, all the neighbors were so nice and commented on our colorful suits.

"What the heck?" "Caa caa," sung a loud bird-like noise coming from some tall, dark bushes, bidding us to come closer. "My name is Bobo," a tall heavy-set clown with huge turned-up toe shoes, a big red nose, and receding hairline, lunged at us. "Trick 'r treat," he yelled. "Give me all your goodies. This is a stick up."

Terrified, but defiant, Mark screamed, "No way," and bolted down the sidewalk. Mark, of course, fell, spilling his sack of sweets all over the grass. Crying profusely, he squatted to pick these up, as I grabbed has arm, but he snatched away from me, and swooped up his goodies. Panicking, I dragged him away, as one of his Batman shoes fell off.

Beaming around, we didn't see Bobo, the red-nose clown anymore; but, my heart was still palpitating loudly. Immediately, in front of us, we saw a second clown, a thinner, shorter clown, who pointed a pistol at us; but, I couldn't tell if it was the real McCoy or a water pistol.

We dashed into the streets, waving our hands wildly, halting traffic, and banging on car windows. Screaming at the top of our lungs for riders to let us in. I even tried door handles to jump in these moving vehicles, but the motorists pushed the door knobs down. Sticking their tongues out at us, honking, giving us the middle finger, and laughing, trick 'r treaters sped off blowing smoke in our faces.

"Oh, shit, heck," I cried. "They thought we were playing tricks on them, and trying to scare them." It was pitch black, now, and some pranksters had thrown rocks and knocked all of the street lights out, and we had gotten lost. I didn't know this part of town, and I couldn't see how to get back home.

Shaking, wet, trembling and terrified, we suddenly stopped in our tracks, because three Bozo clowns dressed in red baggy clown suits, swinging baseball bats, jumped out of these thick clustered trees. "Give me your freaking candy, now, you dirt bags, or you've had it." Mark kicked one of the bandits in the leg, and hollered, "Go 'F' yourself; you bitchy witchy clowns, cuz you not getting none of
my f'ing candy." I didn't know he knew such foul words. He got his stubborn, brave, and determined ways from his Pappy.

Turning around, Mark bolted into these dense dark woods. I tried to grab his arm, again, but I fell and tumbled in a watery muddy ditch. Cindy rolled in behind me, ruining her pretty Cinderella costume. Splashing around, trying to crawl out, we dragged our Frankenstein-looking bodies after Mark who had a freaking head start, sprinting like an Olympian champion runner or a race horse in the Derby.

Deep in these scary woods, we saw some homeless hobos who leaped up in front of us, and we thought for sure they would rip our candy bags out of our hands. Hysterical and breathing hard, we attempted to explain what we were doing running in these nightmarish woods at this midnight hour.

But, before we stuttered out the words, the three Bozo clowns crashed the hobo homeless camp. Well, all of a sudden hobos came from behind tall trees, sprung from canal ditches, under tree stumps and inside metal trash cans, card board boxes, and stood dirty, musty, and shoulder to shoulder in front of us, protecting us from these Bozos.

"I'm sure you three Bozo clowns don't want a piece of this action," these hobos chanted, brandishing two by fours, tree branches, bats, and broken whiskey glass bottles in their hands. "Ya'll trespassing on our homes." Leaping into action, our new-found hobo friends chased these Bozo clowns, hurling glass bottles, huge rocks, and tree branches upside their heads.

We were relieved and so grateful as these homeless hobos escorted us out of their wooded homes littered with old mattresses and reclining chairs, directing us back to our safe home. Well, I gave them a few dollar bills, and some of my candy neighbors had dumped in our trick 'r treat bags and promised to bring them home-cooked meals later that day.

Mark held his bag so tightly that he dug his fingernails into his skin, and refused to share after the "H" he had been through.

"Ok, kids, that taught us a lesson. No more trick 'r treating for us, never ever. Next year, we are going to trick 'r treat at our church, and I pray we will be safe there. I didn't realize how dark and dangerous our streets are at night. I thought we lived in a quiet crime-free neighborhood, but the 'FREAKS' come out at night!"


Halloween Horror Writing contest entry


Well, that's the end of our trick 'r treat holiday romping around in the streets. Next, year, good old church, here we come. Uh huh, how safe are the churches these days? Well, at least we get spiritual uplifting, and we can still RUN, if we have to out the back doors of the church or side doors.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.


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