Death By Rodeo Part VIII
My name is Sunny Alexander. And I’m Henry James and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Where the clown ghost of Daniel Culpepper was leading us we had no clue, but something told us wherever it was we needed to be there.
Of course, we were a bit hamstrung because only one of us could see it.
It’s interesting how the one who could didn’t have a problem dragging the one who couldn’t through a minefield of obstacles.
Like pushing someone over the top railing encircling the arena which resulted in a fall which almost broke a hip. Or rushing beneath the general admission bleachers which caused someone to bounce their noggin off a low hanging beam.
Yeah, those kind of obstacles.
Did the one who could see the clown bother to stop and let the one who couldn’t at least check for bleeding?
Uh nope, we just kept moving.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“He just went through that door.”
“What’s the problem?”
“What if he’s on the other side waiting to attack us?”
“Seriously Alexander?”
“Go open it.”
“Fine. There you happy? It’s a hallway.”
There were only two lights. An exit sign at the threshold above us and another on the opposite end of the hallway.
“Oh my God that’s as creepy as hell.”
“A hallway?”
“No James. He’s standing in the middle pointing at something. The light from the exit signs and the darkness makes him look like a ghoul.”
“Don’t you think we should kind of like, go see what he’s pointing at?”
“You first.”
“Ah no princess. You’re the only one who can see our tour guide. Lead the way.”
“You know I’m going to find a way to make you pay for this right?”
“Yeah, you always do. Now get the lead out. We’re burning daylight here.”
As we eased along the hallway we both tried to acclimate to the shadows. it never occurred to us until we were halfway in there may have been a light switch just inside the doorway.
We weren’t going to go back and check. We’d made it this far without one of us breaking a kneecap on some unseen obstacle or the other passing out in sheer terror.
You know sometimes you just don’t want to push your luck too far. Especially when we weren’t entirely certain how many lives we had left.
“Okay what now?”
“He’s still pointing at a door. Like he wants us to see something inside.”
“Okay let’s take a look.”
“Hell no. I’m not getting up close and personal with that thing.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“And leave me here in the dark by myself?”
“What’s it going to be Alexander?”
“Okay you go, no wait. I’m going with you.”
“Oh God, Oh God. He’s winking at me again Henry. Oh dear sweet Jesus.”
“It’s probably just a crush. He’ll get over it when he discovers the real you.”
“Bite my ass James. Okay, he just walked through that closed door. So evidently he wants us to follow.”
“We’re not going be able to follow. The door’s locked.”
“Step aside and let a girl do her thing.”
“You know you never told me how you learned to pick a lock.”
“Books. You know what those are?”
“Funny smart ass. At least I don’t go freaky when I see a clown.”
“Viola. After you.”
The clown spotter in our midst valiantly guarded the rear as we entered. This time we had the good sense to search for a light switch and flipped it, showering the room with harsh, bluish white incandescence.
Evidently we’d just found clown central.
To the left of us, butted against a wall sat a three sided Hollywood style vanity mirror studded with lights. It was resting on top of an antique looking chest with drawers on both sides and space in the middle.
A folding chair was angled out looking as if someone had just finished their makeup and pushed away from the vanity.
There were multiple tubes and tubs of makeup in a myriad of rainbow colors all over the top of the vanity.
Hanging from hooks on either side of the vanity, five sets of bright red and green suspenders held cut off jeans severely frayed at the cuffs.
But the mother load, what we had hoped we’d find and did, were the barrels. Six of them sitting in a corner of the room.
The bad news? We were going to have to inspect each barrel until we found what we were looking for.
Neither of us were thinking we had that much time.
This Sunday night would be the last rodeo for the year. Eventually people were going to start showing up and getting prepped.
We needed to be gone way before that.
“Why so many damn barrels Henry?”
“They take a hell of a beating during the course of a rodeo season. It makes sense to always have spares in the event one of them needs attention.”
“You know we don’t have time to check them all right?”
“Yeah, I hope we can get lucky.”
“OH JESUS CHRIST!”
“Sunny what the hell?”
“He just popped out of one of those barrels like a jack in the box. Scared the ever loving shit out of me.”
“Which barrel Sunny?”
“Far right third from the front.”
“Is he still in the barrel?”
“Yes and dammit, now he’s blowing kisses at me. I think I’m going to puke.”
“Didn’t you get enough of that last night?”
“Stow it Henry and let’s get what we came for and get the hell out of here.”
“Okay, but we have to be careful. If we find what we’re looking for and that shit gets on our skin it could kill us.”
“And that’s why I brought plastic bags, tweezers and gloves.”
“Okay let me clear a path and get it beneath these lights so we can see what’s going on.”
Our inspection of the barrel the ghost of Daniel Culpepper popped up in like a wack-a-mole didn’t take as long as we thought it would.
Brent Davis had been right about one thing for sure. There was more padding in that barrel either of us thought possible. In the center of all the padding was a small enclosure barely large enough for someone to fit in.
On each side just beneath the lip of the barrel, webbed straps were bolted inside. Straps a clown could slip a hand through and hold on for dear life when a bull chose to go medieval.
The problem was immediately recognizable.
On this particular barrel someone had cut the straps off.
READ ON — DEATH BY RODEO PART IX
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Conclusion
Let’s keep in touch: [email protected]