Clown - Caravan

As we emerged into a new, yet somehow familiar, place, I saw it clearly for the first time: a carney's caravan, pulled by something that appeared to be a horse but was, to my eyes, older and more terrible.

I watched from the trees as a crack appeared at the doorway and a warm, golden light spilled forth into this desolate place. The effect was, I suspect, deliberately inviting, but the figure that emerged was anything but: its costume a hodgepodge of ringmaster, clown and other fairground attire. Its face was a nightmare in greasepaint, a caricature of a smile slashed across its flabby lips. At its waist were a collection of what looked for all the world like fingers. But what creature would be so monstrous as to collect such trophies?

The Clown surveyed its new surrounding and its gaze lit on me. A rictus split its face in two and it nodded at me before returning to the caravan. I suspect that it prefers its victims to be less aware than I, and I thanked the stars for that.