Nearly as rigid as his dead uncle, Randy stood just inside the doorway of the viewing room awaiting the return of his father from the other end, where sat the open casket containing Uncle Eddie. For well-nigh ten minutes now, the boy’s downturned eyes had been glued to his own shiny black loafers, not daring to venture his gaze anywhere else.
Especially to that other side of the room.
His father came back to his side. The intermingled stink of cheap whiskey and Marlboros preceded the brawny man like a forward-falling shadow.
“Well don’t just stand there, boy. It’s your turn. Go on up and pay your respects.” His father clapped Randy on the back causing the boy to lurch forward.
Even through the floundering motions of his stumble, Randy’s gaze did not leave the floor. He recovered himself and came to a second halt just a few paces in front of his father. Again, his body went stiff. He felt his father’s cold, drunken gaze boring into the back of his head.
“That’s your Uncle Eddie up there, boy. You’s was his favorite nephew. Now, git on up there and say your goodbyes!”
I was his only nephew, the boy thought.
The anger that had entered his father’s voice–and the fear it induced in him–finally got Randy’s feet moving, albeit in short, hesitant steps. As he tottered forward, his eyes remained fixed on the floor. Randy watched as the stippled texture of the fern green carpet flowed underneath his shuffling feet. In his peripheral vision, he saw just far enough ahead to steer himself into the aisle that divided the room’s two sections of white folding chairs without colliding into them.
Ed Burtcart was his father’s big brother and only sibling. At the time of his unexpected death, Uncle Eddie had been in the employ of Macaulay & Smith’s Amazing Travelling Circus for nearly four decades as a carpet clown. Whenever its Midwestern itinerary brought Mac & Smith’s back to Ohio, Randy and his father would drive down to the Carroll County fairgrounds to watch Uncle Eddie perform. His father couldn’t get enough of him, laughed like a rabid hyena at every performance, regarded the man as the pride of the family.
Coulrophobia. That’s a big fancy word for the fear of clowns (Randy had looked it up himself), and Randy was a born Coulrophobiac if there ever was one. But his father refused to acknowledge his son’s fear. What? Afraid of clowns, Rand? Don’t you go sissy on me, boy. Why, look at Uncle Eddie. He’s a goddamn riot, that sucker. Pride o’ the family he is, that motherfucker–ha!
Even with his gaze locked on the floor, Randy could see how terribly empty the white chairs on either side of the aisle looked as he slogged past them.
Except for him and his father, the entire room was empty.
Well, except for him, his father, and Uncle Eddie.
In life, Uncle Eddie had certainly expected and planned for a much larger turnout at his wake. In fact, in anticipation of such a turnout and in a desire to demonstrate to the world one final time that old Ed Burtcart was a man who truly loved life, Uncle Eddie had indicated in his will that he wished to be displayed and buried in his full clown attire, regardless of the condition of his body.
In celebration of life, in defiance of death, he had also requested that his mouth be pinned open in a beaming smile to demonstrate to onlookers the immortal nature of the “happiness of spirit” (and also to show off the perfect set of pearly whites he had so diligently cared for over the course of his lifetime). In another act of rebellion against the usual cheerless traditions of death, Uncle Eddie had requested that his eyes not be closed at his wake and funeral, a gesture symbolic of him looking forward to the afterlife.
But with the exception of the two next of kin, no one came to his wake.
And for good reason.
Nearly a week ago, at a gig in western Pennsylvania, Uncle Eddie lost his marbles and set fire to Mac & Smith’s big top, right in the middle of the trampoline act. Luckily, all of the sell-out crowd, carnies, and circus animals managed to escape the fire.
Everyone except Uncle Eddie.Near the end of the disaster, Uncle Eddie tried to pull two small children into the center of the imploding blaze with him, but members of the crowd stopped him, beating him down to the ground. As the last of them fled the burning, collapsing tent, Uncle Eddie crawled into the heart of the fire.
What was left of him–little more than a charred crisp–was sent back to Ohio to be buried.
But a man’s last will and testament is his last will and testament, goddamnit, his teary-eyed father had proclaimed. And Randy’s father was going to make damned sure the mortician honored all the burial requests recorded in his brother’s will.. . . regardless of the condition of his body.
With nowhere to go, Randy came to a halt at the padded kneeler and knelt, his eyes still trained toward the earth’s core. The coffin loomed directly before him. Its contents filled the top of his peripheral vision with a loud blur of primary colors. Though he focused his attention and vision on his own folded, trembling hands, he could not help but mentally label the hazy patches of color in the periphery: the large rainbow blotch that must be his uncle’s afro wig, the blot of bright crimson that was his gag nose, the pasty blur of white that was his final grease paint mask.
Randy then felt a large, strong hand clasp his shoulder from behind, accompanied by the reek of whiskey and cigarettes.
“Now give your poor uncle a kiss on the cheek, boy.”
______________
©2010 Douglas Hackle
Douglas Hackle writes out of Cleveland, Ohio, where he lives with his wife and son. His story, “The Stick Figure,” appeared in the July 2009 issue of the Absent Willow Review.
Tags: Douglas Hackle
June 10th, 2010 at 9:03 am
Great story. Paints a great picture for the reader.
June 10th, 2010 at 10:25 am
This was a great story! You really have a way with words, I felt as if I was right there getting ready to look at Uncle Eddie’s body! I was actually feeling anxious and nervous myself! Bravo!
June 10th, 2010 at 10:33 am
Nicely done…not looking forward to the wake I have to go to tonight!
June 10th, 2010 at 11:36 am
Wow what a story! I am terrified of clowns so I can just imagine the horror. This is the second story I read by this author and both have been impressive!
June 10th, 2010 at 11:52 am
Creepy…and I have to go to a wake tonight!
June 10th, 2010 at 8:39 pm
Very well written. The words painted a clear picture in my mind of poor eddie lying there as crispy as burnt bbq.
June 11th, 2010 at 3:05 pm
Thoroughly enjoyable. Dark and disturbing to boot. Great story.
June 12th, 2010 at 12:49 am
Cool shit man! It does a good job making your mind work to think what that might look like. Get some more stories up DH!
June 13th, 2010 at 8:56 am
Thanks for reading and commenting, everyone.
July 14th, 2010 at 9:52 am
Damn clowns…always settin fire to big tops…can’t trust em. Never know what’s under all the makeup..crazy people fur sure. Effin clowns. Eff em. Now I’m all riled up. Gots to do me some clown huntin…Thanks for the inspiration…M effin clowns…
December 19th, 2010 at 12:50 pm
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