Prologue/Preview
Prologue/Preview
The one in the clown masked made a mad dash after Heather as the other three ran after Susan and Nancy. Heather could hear the screams of her friends as she sprinted through the forest.
Please, just let them get help, she prayed.
As Heather made her way up the hill, she saw the boulder park in the distance. If she could make it to the rocks, she could hide out till morning then-
Oof.
In an instant, Heather went from running at full speed through the woods to lying face up on the ground.
As she cracked open her eyes, she felt the world spinning around her. At first, all she saw were black fuzzy circles and swirls of color. But as her vision steadied, she saw bright rainbow hair fringing a plastic mask. It had a big red nose, and a crooked painted on smile. With the sunset filtering through the trees, it looked even more ugly.
Once Heather’s eyes truly focused, she took in the full details, studying the rest of her attacker. He’s massive, she thought, as he loomed over her.
The clown wore a faded brown leather bomber jacket, its crinkled and creases were stretched across broad wideset shoulders, his jeans were darkly faded and rubbed uncomfortably against her bare legs. She couldn’t see it, but her foot grazed what felt like a boot. What she could see were his hands. The callouses on his palm scratched her collarbone as he held her down. In his other hand was a small buck knife, that glistened when the breeze shook the trees.
“You run fast,” he panted as he lifted his hand to wipe his face under his mask.
Heather took the opening and tried to move out from under him but his hand shot back down and roughly grabbed her shoulder again, holding her in place.
With his knifed hand, her attacker swiped the other side of his face quickly before raising the blade back to her.
The small movement pulled his jacket sleeve up, revealing the clown’s wrist watch.
Heather’s eyes narrowed, fixating on it. A dress watch was gold and black, with a square art deco face, it looked sleek and modern, and completely different from the rest of the clown’s clothing. But more importantly, the watch looked familiar.
Heather eyebrows furrowed, I know that watch, but where have I’ve seen it. She gasped when she remembered, the dive bar!
“Your-,” she sputtered, “You’re that Clydesdale from the Tin Pack.”
Clown mask froze. Heather could see his eyes under the plastic as they bore into hers. She counted, one inhale, exhale, two inhale, exhale, third inhale. On the exhale, the Clown let out a curse under his breath, and took off his mask. Without turning away from her, he chucked it into the darkness gathering behind him.
Heather glanced passed him.
The sun is setting. Damn it! How the hell am I going to get back in the dark! She thought flippantly.
The Clown Loser shook out his sandy brown hair and wiped his face as he peered down at her. His irises were pitch black and cold, but his cheeks were flaming red as sweat beaded down his temples.
Probably from running me down. Heather smirked to herself. I barely broke a sweat, probably could’ve run all night if he hadn’t caught me.
With each passing thought, Heather’s fear evaporated. Replaced with feelings of annoyance and anger.
Damn it! We were having such a nice time and now it’s ruined! Heather eyes narrowed, and what the hell is his deal?
Clown Loser hadn’t moved since he took his mask off. He sat perfectly still, staring at Heather, his chest rising up and down as his breath evened out.
Heather blew a piece of hair out of her face as she glared back at him.
His just sitting there, perched on his knees like a goddamn squirrel!
Heather pushed herself up on her elbows as she tried to get out from under him. In return, the Clown Loser raised his knife.
“Don’t fucking move,” he gruffed out.
Heather couldn’t stop the cackle that escaped her lips when she replied.
“Like hell!”
As she pulled herself up in a sitting position, she had to stop herself from giggling further.
Stupid towny. Probably got blitz at the Tin Can with all his crusty buddies and thought it would be fun to scare some actual people.
Heather pulling out the leaves from her hair as she berated him.
“What the hell are you crusties thinking? Bad enough you stalked us at the bar, now you come all the way out here too?”
Heather gazed at Clown Loser in disgust. His jacket somehow looked even more worn-out in the dwindling light, the collar of his shirt was wet with sweat and stained with spots of what looked like motor oil. His skin was greasy and a long streak of dirt cover one side his face.
Probably from when he swiped his face earlier.
Heather rolled her eyes, not that it matters, she thought dismissively.
Fucking dirty crusty.
Heather crinkled her nose. Gag me.
She gazed moved down to his knees which were still interlocking with hers.
And his touching me! So gross.
Heather sneered at him, “I should have you arrested for assault, or better yet,” she smiled cruelly, “maybe do us all a favor and jump off a cliff. Or is peaking in high school part of your ten-year plan?”
As Heather attempted to pull herself out from under him, she heard a low grunt. The sound seemed normal enough, but it made Heather pause. Something felt off. When Heather looked back at Clown Loser’s face, she stilled. After years of working for the rich and famous, Heather could hone in on expressions.
“A trick of the trade” she had bragged to her friends. But now that knowledge felt like a burden.
I’ve seen that look before. Mrs. Stewart had the very same look two days ago when she had pointed to a magazine and said “that one”. Never mind that it had been a Spring catalog from 1982. Heather tried to explain there was no possible way she could get that piece but Mrs. Stewart gave her the exact same look as Clown Loser. The look that said “I’ve made my decision.”
The Clown Loser’s eyes were no longer pitch black. They were full of fire, lit up with a mixture of resolve and fury.
As the sun finally slipped below the horizon, Heather could still feel his gaze on her, his hazel eyes glowing like embers in the shades of blues that colored the rest of his face.
Clown Loser’s lips were pulled in a firm line, his eyebrows crinkled together in a mean scowl, his jaw clenched tightly.
Heather caught her breath as her heartbeat pick-up again. Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Faintly she whisper, “Get off of me.”
The words set Clown Loser off as he grabbed Heather’s shoulders and roughly shoved her back down into the dirt.
Leaves crunched beneath her as her back hit the ground with another oof.
Before she could even think to scream, he had the knife to her throat.
Oh, fuck.
Clown Loser stared down at her as he jutted his chin out threateningly. His other hand hovered over her knee.
“What’s the matter Heeeaaather?” he drew out her name, long and painfully.
It sent chills down her spine.
“Scared of a crusty?” he asked mockingly.
“Or maybe,” he whispered as he leaned down close to her. Heather’s eyes widened in fear as his breath tickled her cheek.
Clown Loser had readjusted himself on top of her, shifting his knee higher between her legs.
She felt his other hand moved to the hem of her nightgown as he slowly pull the fabric up her thigh.
The callouses on his palm scraped her skin. His hands were big and rough, but more noticeably they were burning hot. It felt like a poker was being dragged along her leg. Branding her as it moved higher.
Just like his eyes, thought Heather, his whole body feels like it’s on fire.
“Are you excited to see what my ten-year plan looks like?” he breathed out.
