Konrath, J.A. - DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror)

Heroes in the movies that Randall so dearly loved said cool things before they blew away the bad guy. But that would mean a few extra seconds of the clown holding his chainsaw, and that was unacceptable. Randall pointed Clay’s gun at the clown, who stood in front of a closet or something, and pulled the trigger.

Missed completely.

Shit!

Benny the Clown turned to look at him. He tossed the chainsaw from his right hand to his left, and then back again.

What the hell was he trying to do? Juggle?

Somebody inside the closet screamed. Even over the roar of the chainsaw motor, Randall recognized it.

Jenny.

Alive.

Randall was not going to miss a second time. That shiny red nose was just begging to have a bullet rip through it. He stepped forward, focusing on the spot with every bit of concentration he could summon, narrowing the distance between them. He’d fire into that clown’s head from just out of chainsaw range. His brains could make shadow puppets as they scattered against the wall.

He continued walking forward.

Focus…focus…focus…

His foot came down on something slippery and wet.

His legs flew out underneath him and he landed on his ass.

The gun went off, blowing apart a chunk of the ceiling. He winced as a large piece of plaster struck his eye. Dignity, gone.

With his other eye, he saw what he’d slipped on: a tied-together string of guts. What the hell…?

The clown tossed the chainsaw from one hand to the other again, then pointed the blade at Randall and took a big squeaky step forward.

Randall realized that he might very well be about to die, and he was going to die pissed.

He threw Clay’s gun at Benny the Clown.

Missed.

He needed something else to throw.

There wasn’t much in the way of dracula-killing equipment left in his utility belt, but he yanked out a tape measure as he scooted away from the chainsaw-wielding clown. His left eye kept blinking by itself—the falling plaster had really gotten in there.

The large, bloody hole that comprised most of Benny the Clown’s face curled up slightly on one side, as if he were trying to smile.

Randall threw the tape measure. In a battle of chainsaw versus tape measure, Randall would put his money on the chainsaw, but the tape measure was enclosed in metal and he certainly wouldn’t want to get hit in the face with it.

It struck the clown in the forehead.

His head snapped back.

The large, bloody hole curled downward.

Randall kept scooting away. The clown was less hyperactive than the other draculas, but Randall still didn’t want to get in the way of a waving chainsaw. There had to be other stuff to throw at him. Something heavy.

Jenny emerged from the closet, holding a plastic bucket. Randall hoped it was full of acid.

She swung the bucket with both hands, bashing the clown on the back of the head. His shiny red nose popped off and fell to the floor. The clown stumbled forward but maintained his footing. He turned around, chainsaw still roaring.

Sawing up my wife with my chainsaw? I don’t think so.

Randall got up and rushed at him, tackling him like the football player Randall might have been if he hadn’t decided to become a lumberjack. The clown maintained his grip on the chainsaw, damn it, and the two of them spun around in a complete circle.

“Stay with the kids!” Randall shouted at Jenny, praying the kids weren’t all dead.

Jenny hesitated, as if she didn’t want to leave him (was such a thing possible?) but when the chainsaw swung at her head she retreated back into the closet.

Randall grabbed the clown’s arm. He was sure he could tackle him to the floor without much trouble, but that carried the very serious risk of falling on the chainsaw blade. Benny the Clown struggled, trying to twist the chainsaw blade around into Randall’s stomach, and though he was a lot stronger than the clown, Randall felt off-balance and vulnerable.

Fuck it. Who said these draculas were the only things that could bite?

He leaned his head down and sank his teeth into the back of the clown’s neck. He then yanked his head back, tearing off a chunk. A small chunk, but a chunk of dracula clown neck nevertheless.

The clown convulsed.

Randall spat out the flesh.

Then he howled in pain as the goddamn chainsaw blade bounced against the back of his good leg.

Randall let go of the clown and took a step back. It’s okay. Just a superficial cut , he told himself, even though he knew no such thing.

The clown spun around, facing him.

There was no time to turn chickenshit. Randall threw a brutal punch at the clown’s face. His fist landed right in the clown’s open mouth, smacking against the back of his throat. The clown twitched, gagging, then his mouth closed around Randall’s fist.

Sucking on it.

Randall pulled his blood-and-saliva covered fist out and punched him right in his “Benny the Clown Says ‘Let’s Have Fun!’“ button, crumpling the metal.

He still didn’t drop the chainsaw.

In fact, Benny the Clown swung the chainsaw with more enthusiasm than ever, coming unnervingly close to spilling Randall’s insides out onto the floor. The clown swung the roaring weapon back and forth in a wide arc as he walked forward. Randall moved back at an equal pace.

Not enough of a gap between the swings to charge him.

Randall decided to retreat. Get the clown away from Jenny and the kids.

“C’mon, clowny clown!” he shouted, moving back toward the exit to pediatrics. “C’mon, Bozo the Prick! Let’s do this!”

If he ever got to relate this story to others, he’d come up with something better than “Bozo the Prick,” but for now it worked.

The clown followed him as Randall moved into the hallway, wishing that his newly cut leg would hurry up and go numb like his other one.

He picked a door, any door, with the clown in hot pursuit.

Stumbled into some sort of storage room, not much bigger than Jenny’s closet when they’d lived together, with a large metal shelf on each side. No way out except the way he came. Very little room to maneuver.

Randall tried to focus like the Terminator, imagining red lights flashing around the things that might be useful. An android from the future wouldn’t need to stumble around the room, looking for something to kill a clown with.

Benny the Clown’s chainsaw swing very nearly took off Randall’s arm, missing by inches. Randall continued his robot-scan as he tried to keep from being dismembered. In a few more steps he was going to smack against the back wall and be very deeply screwed.

Something caught his attention. Metal tanks in the middle row. He grabbed one of them, not knowing what was inside. How awesome would it be if it was laughing gas?

He threw the tank at the clown. It struck the chainsaw blade, creating a shower of sparks, but that still wasn’t enough to knock it out of his hands. Benny the Clown had one hell of a grip. The tank hit the floor, landing on the valve, and then the tank shot like a rocket, whizzing past Randall’s feet, bashing into the back wall, then spinning in a wild circle. He had to jump out of the way to keep it from tripping him.

Yeah. He could work with this.

The clown stared at the spinning tank. Maybe it reminded him of some sort of circus trick.

Randall grabbed another tank and slammed the nozzle against the shelf. He tried to hold it steady long enough to aim it, but the tank shot out of his hands, and flew straight into Benny the Clown’s stomach. The clown doubled over…and dropped the chainsaw.

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.

The clown stood back up. No guts exposed, which was disappointing. Randall couldn’t even tell if the clown was in pain, though the tank had to have shattered some ribs.