https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/...20161029211339

My uncle dude Chester Cheddarman is an absolute car fanatic. Ask him to go out for pizza, and he'll respond by putting you in a light coma with his talks about the latest models and engines and uhhh horsepower without horses. what. I'm like ok that's cool man, but I just want pizza. On some days, he sounds like a walking advertisement, and on some days, he sounds like a Chad, but most of all his passion is pretty rad. As we walked to the garage, I noticed one of my favorite cars in his collection was missing. I think I left my limited edition Explosively Flavorful Cheetos and equally rare Subzero Ranch Doritos in that car. I believe the car was named after its special dongle thing in the front that looked like a cat...or a dog.
"So when, exactly, did you plan on telling me about the Hyena?" I joked (and prayed).
"What? You mean my Jaguar? Billy I've been talking about how I lost it in a freak accident involving cheetos and dorito dust for the past hour."
And at that moment, I knew I effed up.

It had been some time since I’d been to a carnival. My memory of carnivals brings me back to when I was around six or seven years old, holding dad’s hand, the other hand holding a bag of clumpy cotton candy. Oh what a happy time that was. I let out a heavy sigh. I look around, the carnival was in full swing, children laughing, teens screaming on rides, parents yelling after their straying children. This is the only place chaos can be such a wonderful thing. A paranoid urge itches at the back of my head, I glance behind me. A man in a black and white shirt and carnival makeup is behind me, walking 5 paces behind. My heart drops and begins to beat a little faster. I look around, nobody is seeing this man, except me. My bones shutter, I break into a slight jog through a crowd. Making my way around strollers and anxious parents. The man mimics my motions and is still on my tail. Still, no one seems to pay him any attention or even notice my discomfort. Panic sets in, I bolt through a nearby fun-house door. “TICKETS!” I gasp as a man grabs my arm. “Oh! I’m sorry sir.” I dig in my pocket and hand the man 4 tickets to enter the fun house. “Sorry about that.” I say to the missing tooth doorman. He scoffs at me and nods his head towards the fun house attraction. I let out a breath of relief, finally free from that weird looking carnival man. Just to be sure, I look back towards the door. The black and white shirt man is standing near the entrance. He looked unsure, his face paint giving him an over-exaggerated expression of contemplation, with a hand up to his chin. I hope he doesn’t do what he’s thinking of doing. He steps through the entrance. My heart skips a beat. What?! Why Didn’t the doorman stop him?! I break into a run, going into the fun-house. This is how people die in horror movies! That thought didn’t help, it only caused me to start sweating profusely. I close my eyes to wipe the sweat from my brow with my sleeve. BAP! I fall on my butt. I look up, my head hurt, my shoulder hurt, I ran straight into a mirror. I rub my forehead and look at the damn mirror. I feel like an idiot. This is a mirror maze. The man steps into view, I see him in 3 different mirrors. I try and stand, but dizziness takes over. I must have hit it harder than I thought. I see the man raise his hand over his mouth in an exaggerated gasp. Feeling defeat, I waited to see what would happen. The man walked up to me. He sighed, the first sound I’d heard him make. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He did a skip-hop and did some weird thing with his hands. “I’m a mime. Here take these, “a few tickets fell out of his sleeve and into his fingers. I grabbed the tickets with my hand that wasn’t on my head “Again sorry, I’m not supposed to talk.“ He winked and walked on through the mirror maze.
This is the story of when I found out what a Mime was.

"So, when were you going to tell me about the hyena?"
Biting back on a more vituperative reply, I carefully said, "That's not what they call themselves. It's like calling an Asian person an Oriental. It's just wrong."
Douglas just leaned back and grinned his irritatingly smug grin. "Okay, alien lover, what do 'they' like to be called?" Like he was daring me to show myself to be either just as ignorant as him, or traitorously well-informed. I could feel my teeth firing a warning shot against the clenching of my jaw.
"It's a bit more complicated than just knowing what planet they're from," I began explaining, hating to sound like a know-it-all, but hating the closed mindedness of one of my oldest friends just that tiny bit more.
"Any more than just calling us all Earthlings or Terrans, really. They have nationalities of their own, too."
"Okay, so what 'nationality' is your hyena, then," he pushed back.
I hoped he was just teasing, but anti-extraterrestrial sentiments were spreading like wildfire. I peeked at the window, where the silhouette of our visitor cast itself against the drawn curtain. Drawing a calming breath and releasing it as a sigh, I looked back to Doug. His shock of red hair falling across his forehead barely missed hiding the borderline contempt in his eyes. Oh dear.
"His name is Fluexis, and he's from the Summerlands of Altair. As for his nationality, I haven't actually asked him that, because," I added when Doug's copper eyes drew into sly, smug slits, "it would be like asking say, you, what you are. You know, German, Irish, what have you. It can be really upsetting!" I threw my hands up in defeat when he sputtered into derisive laughter.
"You know what? Fine. Fluexis and I will attend this convention without you,"I spat at him, turning to grab the door handle. A rough graps at my shoulder startled me into looking back at him.
"Not letting that happen," he nearly whispered. I knew what he was thinking: that because his species bore a resemblance to the hyenas of our world, that they must have the same predatory instincts.
"Let go of me," I warned, jerking my shoulder out of his grip. "This convention of nations is of vital importance, and as Ambassador to Altair, I will attend, without your xenophobia getting in our way." It was cruel of me to enjoy that look of confusion on Doug's face as he tried to work out what xenophobia meant. Pulling completely free of his grasp, I turned and made my exit.
Fluexis made a valiant attempt tp appear only casually interested in what had happened inside, though his crystalline green eyes showed his worry with the pinholing of his pupils. I gave him what I hoped would read as a reassuring smile. "Come, we have a driver awaiting our custom; let us away," I said with a grandiose sweep of my arm. Flue's left ear twitched in what I've already come to recognize as amusement.
"As you say, Mistress Melody," his soft growl of a voice replied with a fair approximation of a lordly bow. I couldn't help grinning at him.
He might have been mistaken for a savage by the scarcity of clothing, but to be honest, with that much fur, it would have been an invitation to heat stroke to cover him in full clothing. His sash and kilt were impressively decorated, as befitted a high ranking emissary from another world. The bold red and black served as contrast to the mottled patterning of his fur. Logic implied this custom evolved from a desire to show that an Altairian of the Summerlands was abandoning his camouflage as a gesture of good will towards other races of his world. A measure of trustworthiness.
I had attempted to dress in complement to his uniform, in a classic Little Black Dress with red accents. It crossed my mind that wearing his colors might read as declaring an allegiance to his nation over other Altairian nations, but whatever, I looked good in it.
Fluexis offered his arm in a gentlemanly gesture that might actually be universal. I graciously accepted his offer of support, noting that though a bit wiry, the fur of his arm was no stranger to the touch than a hirsute human's forearm.
"To the Embassy," he cried out with a suggestion of a roar in his voice that triggered a slight, instinctive skip of the heartbeat. Being descended from prey animals apparently still has its race memory responses. I was sure he picked up on the flush of fear, but he kindly avoided drawing attention to it.
"To the Embassy," I echoed with gusto, though with no impressive rumbling underneath. Together we climbed into the hired car -- not a limousine, to my relief -- and rode on towards the beginning of the Interstellar Compact.

Quick! Your friend gifted you some tickets to the carnival today, and you promised them a themed party! Item? You've got nothing in the house and certainly no circus-themed food! Luckily, you live in the 21st century, so you ordered some from Amazon for same day delivery because that's your first world privilege, baby (check it!), and all was well. "BUT WAIT!," screamed Billy Mays outside your window. "There's more! You need one hundred fifty words for this plot to come true, so you have to start talking real elaborate-like, using locution of which that you aren't sure how to use such as...locution. Also, instead of using contractions like aren't, you gotta *ahem* got to use their full forms like 'are not.' If you order my especially Super Special Ever Longer Lasting Words (TM) right now for free, you can get another for the low, low price of free as well!" You thank the legend, Billy Mays, and hear the doorbell ring. The Amazon delivery was just in time.

The carnival themed party at my place was a success. Now my friends Bob, Cobb, Gob, and I were heading to the downtown park for the Midnight Carnival, a carnival that appears only around midnight on this auspicious day. Beyond the entrance gates was a sight to behold. The carnival really was magnificent and mystical as they say. The warm carnival lights reflected on the blades of grass, like there were fireflies on each one. However, this creepy guy has been following me for ten straight minutes, and nobody seems to notice him. Now, that I'm at the creepy fun-house attraction, he seems eager to join me on the ride. I stifled a scream and blacked out. "Is Billy ok?" said Bob, poking the fainted lump in the seat. "Maybe those brownies earlier weren't such a good idea," said Cobb "he's been freaking out about his shadow for the past 10 minutes." Gob sighed and threw Billy over his shoulder like a sack of flour, and they headed home.

day 5
two protein bars left
jim is still quiet. told me to stop writing in this diary, but it's the only thing keeping me safe. his backpack still seems full, but he refuses to throw more stuff away. I only have this diary, food and one sweater. still walking north
day 8
no food left. at least we found a river
i know i said yesterday i wouldn't go in a safari w jim again, but he found the river. just need to find food now.
and a way out. and cure for skin cancer. ouch
day 11
jim thinks he heard cars so we have to be headed the right way.
jim's bag is heavier, but he says we're both weak. we found some berries and tried to eat a squirrel, but the squirrel ran away in the night. can't wait to be home tbh
day 15
fucking home finally
can't wait to turn this diary into a million notes tumblr post
just need to write this down before I forget
do u guys remember jim's bag
when some hiker found us by the road, starved, thirsted. we told them how we got lost and all squirrels ran away from us
they said something about wow tenacity
and then 'So when, exactly, did you plan on telling me about the hyena?' and we were like
u stoned bra
but she opened jim's bag and there it was
a baby hyena
no wonder his bag was so heavy
the hyena was also eating all of our fucking squirrels and even some of our berries
sajkdhaskdhjdh apparently the hyena is back into the woods
wild man
can't wait to see how many notes this'll get

There's an old saying that an infinite number of monkeys sitting at an infinite number of typewriters will - given an infinite amount of time - eventually produce the entire works of Shakespeare by merely pushing keys at random. Well, here at Infinity Corp we had tried our best with the monkeys. However, even after several centuries all we had so far was a negligible number of saturday morning cartoon captions. So after some contemplation we decided to extend our training to other animals as well. Of course not every critter seemed properly equipped for the task. It took our intern George almost a decade to teach the elephant team how to press keys with their trunk, and that was after we had brought them extra large typewriters. The ants had started as a joke, but last Easter they presented our team with a card labelled "Happy Thanksgiving", which was almost spot on. Unfortunately, our rhinoceros division had proven a failure. Just like elephants they were too clumsy to type with their feet, and their horns constantly damaged the keys. Phil from section B wanted to try dinosaurs again, but we couldn't find any suitable ones which - frankly - I am quite happy about. The last time we had them, all we got were recipes for rotisserie chicken, and I still swear one of the stegosaurus workers stole my favorite coffee mug. I grabbed a copy of Hamlet from the table as I walked over to section F. Apparently one of the training manuals, because it almost had no typos. But my eyes turned wide when I saw the signature at the bottom. I turned around, ran into one of the office cubes and slammed it against our intern's chest. "So when, exactly, did you plan on telling me about the hyena?"

Clowns. Clowns everywhere.
Exactly 26 of them so far. I've been counting them all since my mom decided I had to accompany her new fling - I refuse to call that guy dad, even though he's living with us for five months now - and his bratty little daughter on a trip to the theme park. Why on earth does she think this is fun? I bare my teeth at one of the clowns. He grins, waves back at me and cheerfully offers me a balloon. I decline, but Kelly starts to throw a tantrum. Quickly mom grabs the balloon and ties it around her tiny wrist. She's rewarded with a big smile.
As we walk on, mom grabs my by the arm. "Joana, be nice to your sister", she whispers. "I know she's ten years younger and you feel as if you don't have much in common. But you can view it as an opportunity. Kelly looks up to you. You can show her how to be a strong, independent woman."
Yeah, nice. Except that I can't.
I snort and for the seventh time today tell her, "Please don't call me Joana. My name is John."
With an awkward laughter she tilts her head. "Sweetie, there's nothing wrong with being a girl and still loving boy things. You don't need to..." She gestures at her chest.
Well, at least she noticed my new binder. Guess that counts as progress.
Clown number 27 approaches us from the side with a happy grin and a giant plastic flower. I bet my pocket money for the week the flower will squirt water when you come closer.
Maybe I should. 105 degrees and here I am, sweating like crazy. Binder, muscle shirt, regular shirt... I try to catch my reflection in one of the fairy floss stalls. As long as it works, I'm prepared to suffer. Soon, I tell myself. Just a few more years, and then...
Mom shrieks and chuckles as the water splashes on her cheeks. Kelly jumps up and down. "Me too, me too!"
I decide against the shower. For all I know, a wet shirt would make those stupid bumps on my chest stand out even more. Instead I trot forward - and into clown number 28. He looks grumpy. Which is somewhat understandable given that I just almost knocked him down. "I'm sorry!", I say quickly.
He shrugs. "It's okay, lad. I didn't pay attention. Hey, do you want a balloon sword? Fit for a modern knight?" Pointing to my family he adds, "I guess you fight quite a few battles. They don't understand a boy your age has better plans for his weekend than fool around with a bunch of clowns. Right?" Even though he sounds friendly, he still got this grumpy air.
And suddenly I smile. "Yes please! I'd love a balloon sword."

I placed the last candle on the hardwood floor and then lit every single one of them. It wasn't long until a puff of smoke appeared, along with that miserable stench I wouldn't even get used to if I lived to be three hundred years.
The smoke tightened to form a figure and then a deep voice grumbled:
"What can I help you with... oh no! Not you again!"
But I was prepared and when the demon tried to vanish, I quickly threw sulphur into the magic circle. "Stay here, Dramy! I command you!"
"Stop calling me that, or I'll make you burn in a-"
"Deep pit of flaming hell. I know, I know. Sorry, Adramelech. But I could really need your help."
The demon sighed. "Is this about your high school wardrobe again? Just because I advise your father with his garments doesn't mean I-"
"It's about a carnival." I proudly held up the tickets my best friend had given me today. Old Dramy didn't look impressed.
"Look, I have a busy schedule. Just tell me for what ridiculous reason you summoned me this time, alright?"
With a sigh I started to explain how Samantha had surprised me with the tickets. How I had squealed from excitement. Which led to Abigail asking if I had never been to a carnival before. Dramy perked up his ears.
"So now they know you-"
"Shh. They know nothing! Tell my father I am doing just fine." I bit my lower lip. "Although... you see... I promised them a carnival party. And if they arrive and notice I know absolutely nothing about human customs..."
"Then maybe it is time for you to abandon your little experiment. Accept your defeat."
A sudden flash of rage almost made me throw the carnival tickets at him. I caught them at the last second, clenching them in my fist.
"I am NOT defeated!" One of the perks of being Satan's daughter is the inability to cry. I would have hated if Old Dramy saw tears rolling down my face. With a few deep breaths I tried my best to calm down again, but the stench he brought along from home just made me cough. One would suppose fifteen years in hell get you used to it. But instead every passing day I hated it more. No, I wasn't ready to go back. Not now. Not even tomorrow. Or next year.
"Do I need to remind you of the contract, Adramelech? My father alllows me to stay as long as I can pass as a normal high school girl."
"Summoning a demon for your party catering is exactly the way to go about that", Dramy sneered. "Have you ever heard of Google? Or Amazon Prime? Pizza Hut??"
I pretended not to listen. After all I wanted to serve something better suited to the carnival theme than pizza. So I pointed behind Old Dramy. He rolled his eyes, but turned around. And fell onto the floor laughing.
"What in the nine circles is that? Did someone mention corn dogs and you just tried to build dog like creatures with loose corn and some tooth picks?"
"No! Well, actually... yes." I sighed. "This is not what a corn dog is?"
"This is not what a corn dog is", Dramy confirmed while still chuckling. "Girl, you seriously need to do better research. And what's the citrus juicer with the candle on top supposed to be?"
"A, uh... funnel cake. I didn't have a funnel, but doesn't a juicer look almost the same?"
Another fit of laughter. "You think all you got to do is put a candle on a funnel and call it a cake! Just wait until I tell Onoskelis..."
"Please don't tell anyone. Please! All I want is go to that carnival!" The last part I barely whispered. "But the party is tonight, and if people find out..." Now I would actually have loved an ability to squeeze out a single tear, just like Mindy often did to convince teachers to give her a better grade. "Please help me. I tried to fry some ice cream, but it just melted in the pan."
"Of course it does." The demon shook his head. "You need to deep freeze it first, then cover it with batter. What else did you prepare?"
When I showed him the tiny apples meticulously carved from candy, he nodded in approval. "Those are actually nice. Not what a candy apple is, of course. But maybe you can use them for decoration." He paused for a while, then gave me his distinctive cunning smile. "You know what? If you allow me to crash the party, I'll prepare your food. It's been a while since I spent time on the surface."
"Crash. The. Party." Slowly I emphasized each word. "But you'll blow my cover!"
He shrugged. "Tell them it's a costume. I'm an actor you hired for some extra tunnel of horror atmosphere. Teenagers love that ride. An all time carnival favorite." Then with a smirk he added, "Or you can serve plastic juicers and stick figures to your guests. Your choice."
Somehow I felt as if he wasn't truly giving me a choice. Nevertheless I stretched out my hand into the magic circle. "Deal."

I had not even planned to enter Frankenstein's Fun House. The attraction looked worn down from the outside, with paint already crackling. Some lights had been put up over the entrance, but with half of them already burned out and the other half only flickering in their dying breath, it didn't seemed welcoming at all. The house was creepy, and not in a good way. It was the worn down, abandoned type of creepy. Not the artistic one where you imagine linen bedsheet ghosts and plastic spiders. If that house had spiders, they were probably real.
Still I needed a place to hide and it was better than nothing. A brief glance from within the corner of my eye confirmed the creep who had been following me through the park stood at a nearby cart, seeming unusually interested in the contents of the fairy floss machine. I hoped the vendor would ask him for his wishes and thus keep him busy. But once again the weirdo was ignored. As if he wasn't even there. Maybe they knew him. Knew he had no money.
Nevertheless he appeared quite well dressed for a common beggar. And there was something off about him, but I couldn't tell what it was.
Of course I also made sure to not stare at him for too long. The first time I did, our eyes had met, and from there he had followed me across the carnival. Always a few steps behind me. Never saying a word.
So, there. I had not planned to enter the Fun House, but if it was a chance to escape the creep, so be it. This was one of the very few attractions where you could actually choose how much time you spent in there. If I was lucky, the creepy guy would grow bored waiting for me to return.
As I shoved the coins for my ticket over the counter and walked across the first part of moving floors, I realized my mistake. The weird man didn't even stop at the ticket booth. He entered behind me, and no one said a word.
The least thing I wished for was to be alone with him in the darkness. "Hey!" I shouted to the pimpled teenager at the ticket booth. "Aren't you going to charge?" I nodded towards the man who stood between me and the ticket booth. The teenager just scratched his head, dandruff falling on his shoulders. He didn't even look at us.
"He can't see me."
With a shriek I jumped back as the creep finally spoke. My heel butted against one of the moving planks. Before I even noticed I lost balance, I already plonked down. Staring up at him, frightened. My hand touched my neck, but there was nothing. For the first time I wished I had not laughed at grandma's superstition. If only I had worn the protective amulet she gave me. Now all I felt was bare skin and utter panic.
"You need to calm down", he said. "And then you need to come with me." He extended a hand to help me up like a southern gentleman. I crawled away from him on all fours.
The man pondered for a few seconds, before he sat down on the fun house floor next to me. "I apologize if I scared you. We are not supposed to talk to our clients."
"I am not your client", I weakly protested without even knowing what he wanted from me. He didn't look like a sales representative, but then again...
"You became my client the moment you noticed me", he said. I gulped and desperately tried to stare at something else. Oh look, a floor! What an impressive, interesting floor...! The tiny crack over there almost looks like a swallow...
"Please get up and come with me."
I shook my head. Trying to speak extra loudly, I stated: "I'm not going to buy anything. I don't want a free bible study hour. I am not interested in saving the rain forest. Please leave me alone." A glance at the teenager. Why was that damn boy not doing anything to help me? Come to my rescue, call the police, whatever? He merely rocked back and forth in his chair and picked his nose. I probably could get mugged right in front of him and he would still have this bored expression on his face.
"Oh, that's not why I'm here. You're the ghost I'm supposed to guide to her afterlife."
"A ghost?" I didn't even know whether to cry or to chuckle. "What sick joke is that? I'm alive!"
"Sorry, but your reluctance to accept the truth won't change anything." The creep's voice was a baritone which under different circumstances could've only been described as soothing.
"I hit my butt really hard when I fell down on that floor", I protested. "If I was a ghost, I wouldn't feel any pain."
"Partly correct. You won't feel any pain once you leave this plane of existence." He pointed at the bored teenager. "Tell me one thing. Did he talk to you? Notice you, at least?"
"Well... no." I felt my defense weaken. "But he's a teenager! They always act as if they're too cool for this world!"
When my fear slowly faded, my curiosity got the better of me. "No one talked to you either."
"Oh, yes", he calmly said as if he was talking about the weather. "I've been dead for seven years."
My eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to make fun of me?"
"Not at all", he claimed, raising his hand. "Cross my heart and hope to... oh."
We looked at each other and the absurdity of the situation made me laugh. "Prove it!", I dared him as I caught my breath from chuckling. "Walk through the wall."
He laughed. "Don't tell me you believe this old rumor?"
"Well", I said. "What good is it being a ghost if one can't even walk through walls?"
There he got up, brushed dust off his pants and reached out to me once again. "If you come with me, I'll show you."
Ignoring his hand, I climbed to my feet. Then I made one last attempt to connect to the teenager. I knocked on the ticket booth, waved my hand in front of him and finally scribbled a fake moustache onto his face with my lipstick. No reaction at all. For this boy I didn't even exist. So I turned around again. "Alright. Show me!"

New kid on the block. Waddup. New school. Holla. The teacher who told me to quit slouching, pretending to pick my nose while the class erupted in laughter, and introduce myself properly. Ok. "Good. Now have a seat, Pete," she said. "Every morning we'll start our day with a smile in the mirror. Remember to always smile, and remember to make others smile too."

During lunch, I noticed a table with a kid with a huge red nose. "Oh him? He's R-R-Ru-Rudolph" said my classmate, Jam. "You should go say hi."
"Hey R-R-Ru-Rudolph." I yelled and waved across the table. He smiled and gave a small wave. The whole table snickered and laughed. "Why is he called that?" "Becuz he can't speak right and I mean, just look at him lololol."

To laugh and make others laugh, isn't that what clowns do? Rudolph smiled every time we called him, and we gave smiles back. This semester he was suddenly gone, transferred. The teacher who didn't notice Ryan's nose being slightly redder and damp with snot especially after lunch, my classmates who went with the flow of things, and the new kid who didn't know any better. There are exactly twenty-eight clowns that I've counted over the whole time I've been here, but this is the first I've seen one that isn't smiling. The mirror at the beginning of the classroom reflected me, and the sickening feeling that I was a clown no different from them.

Clarisse had been working on this project for the past five years nonstop. She sacrificed time with her family, seeing her kids grow, seeing her dog grow, nights of sleep, weekends away with friends, everything to finish her art installation at the most prestigious museum in the state.
It had been tough. She felt like she aged fifteen years instead of five. But she had an idea to show the world ever since she left art school, and that was her time. It all started very simple. She wanted to handcraft a happy clown face with pictures of sad clowns, a message on the manufactured happiness in our society. But after feedback from colleagues and professors, why not go bigger? Why not use real clowns to make a living happy face? And then, why not change expressions when you move them? Of course, what is that without lights, and some chamber music to help put the public in the proper mood. And soon her simple idea took over life and almost doubled the money she got from the sponsorship, making her travel all over to look for more interested parties.
The opening day came faster than she could ever be ready for.Everything was already in its place, but still she felt the need to go all over a few minutes before the press could get in. Lights: on. Musicians: in place. Pyrotechnicians: already explained to her five times how'd it work. Clowns: All twenty eight in place, already in the first formation, all smiling! All, but one.
- Excuse me, but you need to be smiling. We're opening soon.
- Why should I smile? Doesn't it make more sense that all of our sad faces make a big sad face?
- Listen, sir...
- Nine. Clown Nine.- he seemed pretty pleased with his punny name.
- Ok, now it's not the time to question this. You were hired to come here, make faces in the order listed in this chart and then you can get your pay with human resources and leave. If you want to discuss more about art I can leave my business card with you and-
- Well, why did you not hire actors then?
- I was looking for authenticity!
- Authenticity when clowns must make the faces you want in a completely random order? You won't even tell us a joke before moving on to the happy face!
She was starting to lose her patience, so she closed her eyes and counted to five. When she opened her eyes, Clown Nine was no longer there. Clarisse did a recount, and she had twenty eight clown, all smiling, ready for the opening.