The Killer Clown

I just wanted appreciation – a little recognition – for everything I’ve done in my life. As a child, I was a delinquent. I don’t blame my father for disciplining me for misbehaving. He was doing what he could to help me grow from a boy to a man. My father was a good man, and all I wanted was to be a good man just like him, but all I showed him was how naughty a boy I was.

I watched as my father loved my mother and sisters but hated me. He hated me for being a disgrace to the family. You see, I like boys and girls, but I’m only supposed to like girls. When my uncle touched my penis for the first time, that’s when I knew that I also like boys. I hated myself for wanting boys. It’s wrong, disgusting, and against the beliefs of our family. I disrespected my father, and while he was on his death bed, he still called me a failure.

Not any longer.

If my father couldn’t live with who I was, then neither can I – and I won’t.

It was a new year, 1972, and it’s time for me to make a change. After my father died, I spent a couple of years making friends with some of my employees. They all wanted me, and even though I knew it was wrong, I gave in to temptation. They all lied – said I raped them. I couldn’t do that to someone who wanted to sleep with me. But, alas, that’s what they said.

After a family holiday party, I decided to stop by the Civic Center here in Chicago. There were ice sculptures on display that I haven’t seen yet, and I wanted to enjoy some art before calling it a night.

That’s when I saw him. He was a beautiful young man: tall, shoulder-length hair, and he looked so happy. I decided to approach him – it’s a new year, after all – and introduced myself.

“Hello there,” I said, “my name is John. I noticed you standing there looking lonely.”

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you, John. My name is Tim. I am a bit lonely, but only because I’m traveling back home. My bus made a stop here, and I have another one in the morning.”

“Well, that sounds lovely,” I replied. “Do you have anywhere to stay this evening?”

Tim shook his head at me, indicating that he didn’t. The thought of this handsome young man staying in the Civic Center overnight broke my heart.

“Well, that’s a shame. Why don’t I give you a tour of the city, and you can stay with me tonight, and I’ll make sure you make it back here tomorrow so you can catch your bus. I wouldn’t want you to miss getting back to your family.”

Tim considered my offer for a moment before agreeing to join me and following me back to my car. Tonight was going to be an exceptional night with an extraordinary young man.

We drove through the city, watching the beautiful lights of Chicago flash by us. Tim was so happy and lively. I felt honored to be in his presence. He rested his hand on my knee as we got closer to my house, and my heart started racing at the thoughts of how our night would end. My father’s voice echoed in my head, telling me it was wrong, reminding me that I was making a mistake, but I did not care. It was a new year, and I wanted to celebrate by being as happy as I could be.

“So,” Tim started when we entered my home, “what’s for dinner?”

I looked at him, grinned, and grabbed his hands. I guided him to the bedroom, where I took excellent care of him. We explored every inch of each other with our hands and mouths, and I never felt more alive or free. The night was perfect.

I hardly remember falling asleep, but when I awoke, I felt refreshed. I also felt ashamed. What have I done?

Tim wasn’t in bed, but I assumed he was using the bathroom. When I rolled over, I saw my father standing in the doorway, holding a knife. My heart was racing, so I quickly jumped to my feet and ran towards him. He raised his hands above his head, and the hand with the knife sliced my arm. I was terrified! I didn’t want to disappoint him again!

So, I wrestled him to the ground as quickly as I could. I disarmed him from the knife, slammed his head against the wall, and kicked him towards the wardrobe. He was flailing wildly and looked shocked that I would do such a thing.

You used to beat me, father, I thought, it’s only right that I dispose of you as well.

He was on the ground, so I straddled him and grabbed the knife. I had to do it quickly to get rid of him once and for all. Thrusting the knife downward, I felt the blade break the skin of the man that lay in front of me. His eyes widened as I lifted the knife again and brought it back down. I did this over and over and over again until he stopped moving.

I was panting, sweating, and crying all at once. I stood up, dropped the knife, and looked down at the body in my bedroom. My heart stopped. It wasn’t my father – it was Tim.

Shaking my head, I started pacing my room. I went to the kitchen to call for help when I saw bacon and eggs sitting on the stove. That’s when I broke down even more. Tim was making me breakfast. He was so nice that lovely, sweet boy. But he took on the face of my father, and I killed him…I killed my new friend.

But maybe that’s what my father wanted. Perhaps he wanted me to kill this handsome man, or perhaps he wanted me to kill myself.

That’s what he wanted. My father wanted me to kill the very thing that disgusted him – me. But I couldn’t. I tried so many times to kill myself. I hated myself. I hated the very thing I had become.

After I realized what I had done, I took Tim’s body to the crawl space and buried him. I hated admitting it but killing him sent shivers through me. I made myself orgasm but didn’t even realize it until I finished killing Tim. The feeling of killing someone…I have never felt that before.

I may not be able to kill myself, but maybe I could kill the very thing that tempts me and disappoints my father.

I knew what I had to do, but I knew I would be able to do it. Because it became clear to me at that moment, death was the ultimate thrill.

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Published by Elle

Everyone has a backstory...what's yours?

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