The Jester

Gasping for air, he dashed throughout the halls. His legs felt like they were filled with lead and he desperately wanted to collapse but he knew that if he did, the only thing awaiting him would be the cold, void that is known only as death.


He wasn’t particularly scared of dying. No, he was scared of what lied beyond, he was scared of the unknown which encompassed everything. In time, he may have understood what it meant, but now, he was simply a terrified boy. Hearing a sinister laugh come from behind him, the boy almost screamed, but he knew the outcome of such an action.


The eyes that should be filled with youthful vigor were bloodshot and terrified. This was no dream, it was a nightmare. It had to be, after all, when does something like this happen in reality? As the boy continued stomping down the hall, helplessly fleeing the entity behind him, the house seemed to bear down on him.


Suddenly, the walls seemed to shake with fear and the floorboards creaked in agony as a maniacal laugh was heard. It wasn’t one of a killer, it wasn’t one of hate, nor was it one of malice. It was only filled with amusement and joy. Outside was the boy’s only hope, but he couldn’t find the door. It was a strange thought, he had lived here his whole life but when it came down to it, fear overrode memory.


The boy turned his neck around to see a red glimmer, one he knew all too well. He gasped in fear and bolted into a nearby door. If he had stayed out in the hall, then he would’ve seen the sight of a strange man with red eyes leer around the corner. He was humming blissfully and twirling his finger in the air, as if to weave the invisible strings of fate into a ball of yarn.


His other hand was occupied with a long pole. No, it was a scythe, dripping with red liquid. His face was lit up in a smile as he stared down the hall, his steps getting louder and louder as he sung out a simply abysmal poem in a sing-song voice. But strangely, the tune was an enchanting one, ensnaring the boy’s mind within it.


“There once was a jester before me,
one as funny and devious as possible to be.
He came and went,
stopped and spent,
then went home and yes he bent.
But one day things changed,
he started to feel a little strange,
and before he knew it,
he had gone and blew it,
leaving his post in utter shame.


Two days later,
He was found in a crater,
but the jester he was not,
twas the king in all his rot.
yet the king was still on the throne,
so who was this old crone?
No one ever found or knew,
that the king was now someone new.


yes the jester came and killed,
but only god’s will did he want fulfilled.
soon, just like the king,
god turned on him too,
but just like last time ,
the jester committed the same crime,
and now god is in a pot of stew.
here and there he came and went,
laughing and cackling as he sent,
but letters were not his style,
souls were much more worthwhile.”


The final line sent an icy chill creeping down the boy’s spine as he shivered in fear in a closet, in the far corner of the room. Silently whimpering as tears came to his eyes, the boy cowered in fear, hoping that the killer wouldn’t find him. His eyes turned as wide as snowglobes as he momentarily stopped breathing. He could see a hand grabbing onto the wall, just outside the room.


The fingers on the hand were abnormally long as they reached around the wall. Darkness seemed to reach off of them, covering and tainting the part of the wall that was touched in a raven black. A face peered inside the room and the boy felt as though he had lost control of his lungs in that moment.


In came the killer, dragging a corpse behind him. It was a young girl, the boy’s sister to be exact. He started to turn angry, but fear overtook the child. The clank of metal resounded through the room as the jester brought his scythe to the girl's head. At that moment, the boy’s heart turned cold, but he was rooted to his place.


The killer suddenly turned towards the closet, while his hand shaking. And off came the girl’s head, quietly, quickly. A whimper escaped the boy’s lips as he took in the scene and he quickly covered his own mouth.


but all the killer did was look away and stand, turning towards the door. Looking towards the outside, the killer left the room. Each step weighing upon the boy’s heart like a bag of iron. Inwardly terrified, relieved, and crazed all at the same time, the boy stiffened his body.


After a while, the sound of footsteps got further and further away. Hours later, the boy collapsed in the closet, crying over the loss of his family, crying over the close brush with death. A massive weight was lifted off his shoulders as he screamed and cried about the cruelty of the world, and soon, he fell into a deep sleep.


Minutes passed in complete silence before something happened. Behind the sleeping boy who was still in the closet, a widening arc of white was shown. But unlike the hope that white usually represented, the white this time were teeth, shown in the mouth of a maniac. The clank of metal was heard once more as the jester stared at the boy.


“And here is one more,
added to the jester’s score.”


And the slumber that kept the boy was replaced…. by the cold, void of death.
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AN: The story stems from my boredom and this pic --> https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ0oVkZBr46eejk6tEAGi23YAQf...