Chapter Text
The bright red pools of fresh blood scattered through the twisting halls of Midwich Elementary had left an inviting trail for the Clown to follow, finally putting an end to an otherwise fruitless and frustrating hunt. He lumbered onward through the building, twirling his knife in his hand with excitement, jovially chasing after his wounded prey. A short, wiry girl with wavy brown hair. She hadn’t been much of a challenge compared to the others, thankfully. Her determined stride had quickly faltered when the Clown stuck her in the side with his knife, Madame Butterfly. She now bounded through the hall frantically, clutching at the torn fabric of her blood-soaked sweater. She ducked hurriedly into a dilapidated library, glancing over her shoulder to gauge the distance between herself and her predator, blue eyes bulging with fear. In her haste she caught her arm on one of the bookshelves and stumbled. The Clown took full advantage of her misstep, quickly closing the distance and slashing his knife across her back with sadistic glee. A wheeze of laughter erupted from his throat as the girl cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor. He stepped over her, flicking her fresh blood off his knife and carefully examining her crumpled form. She had such delicate hands, with such beautiful, tiny fingers. He licked his lips in anticipation, kneeling in front of her. His excitement boiled over and he grabbed at her wrist forcefully, yanking her arm toward him viciously, grinning like a toddler who’d been told not to touch something breakable. The girl choked on a sob as the Clown twisted her arm brutally. He didn't care if she broke- he was only interested in choosing exactly the right finger to keep as a trophy. He began to flick his tongue over each one, slowly and meticulously, savoring the taste. When he came to the delicate pinky of her left hand, he inserted it into his mouth and sucked on it gently, twisted glee rising in his stomach. He pulled the slimy digit out of his rancid mouth and brandished his knife, when suddenly somebody threw a large book at the back of his head. He grunted, dropping the girl’s arm and turning to see who would be so foolish as to interrupt his ritual.
“Oi, suck on this, you mangy nutter!” His assailant shouted, grabbing hold of a tall wooden bookcase and heaving it forward. The Clown sucked in a ragged breath, throwing his arms over his head as the bookshelf tumbled down on top of him. The girl took advantage of his being incapacitated and scrambled to her feet, dashing out the door, followed closely by the brawny English fellow. The entity’s unnatural strength suddenly coursed through the Clown’s veins and he laughed evilly, lifting the heavy bookshelf with frightening ease and tossing it aside like it was made of styrofoam. He grabbed up his knife, all but crushing it in his ferocious grip as he burst out the door and charged down the hall after his victim and her savior. He barely caught sight of the big fellow’s bare back as he dashed down the stairs. The Clown raced toward the staircase and heaved himself over the railing entirely, crashing down onto the lower level of the school with a wheeze, and whipped around the corner just in time to see his targets escape through the exit gate. As the injured girl and her meat-headed rescuer ran away to freedom, he stared placidly after them. The rage he felt for having been cheated out of his prize was slowly replaced by something else entirely.
In that moment, an obsessive desire crept its way into the Clown’s fevered mind, gripping him with such intensity that he forgot all other purposes. He had set his sights on a new prize. The fighter, the one they called David. His reckless drive to protect his friends at any cost. His infuriating nerve when doing so. The Clown would derive such hideous pleasure from killing him. No, not just killing him. Much more than that. Much worse.
The Clown chuckled softly to himself as the realm around him crumbled away. He was going to murder David’s very soul.