Clown

Los Gatos, California, Wednesday, December 15, 1999

There's a full moon tonight and a shadow pauses, but briefly, then it moves toward a large house made entirely of bricks, its sided with a fireplace on both ends, smoke billowing from one.

The roofs a steeple with half formed concrete tubes replacing shingles, almost impossible to walk on, let alone fix. The outside is dressed with bushes, rose bushes, and other foliage planted in staggering rows to prevent entering, maybe. Barred windows for security measure, and a fence that drifts along the perimeter of the estate. Not electrical though, for fear of hurting the dogs.

Impossible to find an entrance, unless you're invited. Dogs, where are the dogs he thinks, he knows there are dogs. He also knows nothings impossible. The inside of the house is warm, he likes that, but he does not like the cold heart of the person who calls this his home, no he does not like him at all, and there's something he can do about that.

The hallway entrance to the living area is filled with mirrors. The egotistical bastard thinks he can do what he did to me and get away with it. He probably thinks he can get away with anything he wants to, even murder. He's wrong though; I am the only one who can get away with murder. He likes that word.

Hell, he ruined a life, and he doesn't even remember it, and it wasn't long ago. Fifteen years, a drop in the bucket for him, a lifetime for me. Murder, hell he murdered me the day he fired the person I love. Said he was incompetent, unintelligent, a moron, called him stupid, no one calls him stupid, we will see who is stupid, stupid.

He reveals a small smile, showing his sharp yellow teeth. Now I have to murder him. He laughs a slow, silent laugh, until it is raised to a high-pitch devilish cry, which could be heard by neighbors, if there were any.

Bill Gates sits on his couch against the warmth of the fire and feels a chill run through his body. He jumps from his position and spins around, only to be confronted by a smiling demonic face.

'Who the hell are you? What the hell are you? What the hell do you want? What the hell are you doing in my home?'

'Clown.' is all the demonic presence replies.

'Clown what, speak up you twisted puke. There's no reason for you to be standing here in my house. I'm calling the police.'

'Outside.' speaks Clown.

'Outside my ass, you flipped out freak.' responds Bill Gates.

'Tonight, Clown becomes death.' again speaks Clown.