The elevator lurched to a halt on the basement level, slowly, ominously. The doors opened with an almost imperceptible hiss. The entire lower level was bathed in a blackish-blue light. Whites took on a eerie florescent glow, and blacks remained hidden in plain sight. There were balloons on the floor, that knocked against his feet. Some that he trampled and burst, causing the sound to echo loudly across the empty floor. He ventured further into the light of darkness, knowing how his environs made sense, knowing full well what to expect, but not knowing when. That was when the first cackle sounded from somewhere nearby.
He whirled around in the direction of the sound, all senses alert for any indication. Again that cackle, only closer this time. The lighting of the place had begun t unnerve John, and he wanted this to end quick, either way. He caught a glimpse of florescence behind one of the many pillars that supported the floor above the basement. Quick as a flash, it had taken a look at him and gone. Another cackle, now dead in front of him, about 20 meters away. The distantly spaced blue lights caused strange dark blue shadows to fall in corners, and it was one such corner that John was facing. Then suddenly, a glint of a long blade. Withdrawn and then hidden. Right after that, those eyes. Finally those eyes.
Two pairs of brightly glowing, colorfully decorated eyes stared back at him. Vibrant hues of red, green and blue making a bizarre sight in that light. Then the dress came into view, equally colorful and designed to induce laughter. However John was far from amused. He was facing his greatest fear. John had caulrophobia.
John Hanks was terrified of clowns.
He felt his knees giving way for the umpteenth time, but he resolved to not give in. That was when he was infused with a strength he knew not existed and he was gripped by a determination that he would not give in to his fear this time. He was going to face it, he as going to kill it. And with a roar, he sprang towards those eyes, terrified and fearless simultaneously. The figure stood motionless, goading him, waiting for him. Just at the last moment however, it draw that long blade once again, and made to plunge it into John's heart.
John Albert Hanks, the simple salesman, blocked his thrust like a professional martial artist, and, quick as a cobra, turned the blade onto its wielder. He pressed upon it, and felt it pierce through the clown's heart. As he fell upon it, he saw its face. Painted white, looking ghastly in that light, it was right now a mask of pure terror and agony. It was mute, and no sound escaped from its open mouth. Its eyes stared fitfully at him, hating him, wanting to kill him. But John held on, and after a brief struggle it fell limp. But right before it did, it smiled up at him. That smile that was the staple of clowns all over the world, a funny genial smile. But one which also could terrify if you looked at it in another way. And for that moment, John's blood was water. But not his will. The last of his fear had evaporated, and it now lay dead in front of him.
Sweating profusely and out of breath, he trudged back to the elevator, hoping to god that this unexpected ordeal of his was over. He sat down on its floor for a minute, after he had closed its doors. The elevator was not taking him anywhere else, so that was a good thing. After a minute, he got up and pressed 'ground'. Innocent as though nothing had happened, it willingly made its way up. He got out of it and part of him wanted to run away, but it was now only a small part. Most of him did not fear any more. John was done with his share of fearing in this lifetime. He got out of the building, took a bus to his motel and slept deeply and fitfully for the rest of the night.
It is two years after the incident. John is walking down 113th and Bloomberg. He is back home with his family, in Springfield. He has a paper under one arm and an umbrella in another. It might rain today. He waves to Stevie, his neighbor. Five minutes later, he is at his destination. 'Precision Clockworks'. His small little watch repair shop. Business isn't exactly steady, but it provides his family with three square meals. He pulls up the shutter and starts setting shop. He does not know what his future holds, he does not know whether he took the right decision quitting his job, and doing what he always wanted to do. But one thing he does know. Whatever it might be, he can overcome it, because he is not afraid anymore.
He sits down in front of his shop, waiting for his trickle of customers. A passerby's mobile starts ringing, and the ringtone is Beethoven's 9th symphony. John smiles faintly.
Wasn't that the music playing in the elevator that day?...
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