Read Online The Grin of the Dark by Ramsey Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ramsey Campbell
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unblinking gaze finds him Mark whispers 'Can I?'
Bebe and, I suspect, Warren would forbid it, but that's hardly the
point. 'What would your mother say?'
'She'd let me.'
His gaze is as steady as any clown's. 'Go on then,' I say only just
in advance of his sprint into the ring.
The clown beckons other children to join Mark. Several do, having
asked or pleaded with their parents, one of whom peers at Mark and
me as if she suspects us of being planted to entice her daughter to
participate. The dwarfs have completed their task, although the
mended limbs are anything but straight, and some of the children are
visibly disappointed that they weren't given a turn with a hammer.
Then the giants wobble to their feet and begin to stagger around the
ring. They've thrown their arms around each other's shoulders and
are attempting to grip them with their swollen hands, but rather than
providing mutual support they seem to be in even worse danger of
losing their balance. They lurch enormously from side to side,
clutching at each other, and somehow regain their equilibrium for the
next step. All this might be funnier if the dwarfs didn't scurry to catch
up with them and imitate their crooked efforts behind their backs.
Then the clown with the small head gestures the children to follow
the dwarfs while the rest of the troupe sits on the lowest bench to
watch.
When Mark glances at me for approval I show him the palms of
my hands. Perhaps my frown is too faint to reach him, because he
takes the warning for encouragement. He tiptoes after the staggering
giants, and the other children follow in single file until the lead clown
indicates that they should copy the dwarfs. The little girl closest to
Mark puts an arm around his shoulders, giggling and eyeing her
parents. The other children pair off more or less willingly, but this
doesn't satisfy the impromptu director. He's urging them to mimic
the crippled antics of the giants.
Perhaps Mark and his companion feel bound to obey because
they're leading the youthful parade. I'm not certain which of them
begins swaying, but in a few seconds they're both doing so with an
abandon that looks positively intoxicated. The pair of boys behind
them has started to compete when a woman shouts 'Lise, that's
enough.'
She's the mother of Mark's partner. The girl halts uncertainly,
bringing all the children to a standstill, while the giants wobble to
confront the interruption and the dwarfs dodge behind them. 'Come
along,' her mother says, tramping down to the ring. 'We're going
home.'
As the girl bites her lip and her mother takes her by the hand, the
clowns on the benches leap into the ring and surround them. Falling
to their knees, they clasp their hands in silent entreaty and bend
backwards so as to turn their stricken faces up. The posture emphasises
every rampant crotch. 'Move out of the way, please,' the mother
says more sharply yet.
That isn't why the clowns jump up and scatter. They're trying to
head off several families that are ushering reluctant children towards the
exit. Nobody is likely to be won over by their supplications when these
involve so much thrusting of their crotches. As the last of the parents
reclaim their children, Mark climbs to head me off. 'Can I watch?'
I assume he's hoping the show will continue. Just now the clowns
are pursuing the families, wiggling their fingers at any child who
looks back, until I'm close to fancying that it's some kind of secret
sign. 'Let's see what happens,' I murmur.
The giants have hobbled to flank the exit. They look capable of
falling on anyone who tries to leave. As each family does, a clown
prances close behind, jerking his outthrust crotch high and gripping
his midriff in silent laughter. These parting japes are too much for the
spectators who've remained seated – for the parents, at any rate. They
lead or in some cases drag their children to the exit and are sent
packing by the same rude dance. I haven't seen the people leave who
were
unblinking gaze finds him Mark whispers 'Can I?'
Bebe and, I suspect, Warren would forbid it, but that's hardly the
point. 'What would your mother say?'
'She'd let me.'
His gaze is as steady as any clown's. 'Go on then,' I say only just
in advance of his sprint into the ring.
The clown beckons other children to join Mark. Several do, having
asked or pleaded with their parents, one of whom peers at Mark and
me as if she suspects us of being planted to entice her daughter to
participate. The dwarfs have completed their task, although the
mended limbs are anything but straight, and some of the children are
visibly disappointed that they weren't given a turn with a hammer.
Then the giants wobble to their feet and begin to stagger around the
ring. They've thrown their arms around each other's shoulders and
are attempting to grip them with their swollen hands, but rather than
providing mutual support they seem to be in even worse danger of
losing their balance. They lurch enormously from side to side,
clutching at each other, and somehow regain their equilibrium for the
next step. All this might be funnier if the dwarfs didn't scurry to catch
up with them and imitate their crooked efforts behind their backs.
Then the clown with the small head gestures the children to follow
the dwarfs while the rest of the troupe sits on the lowest bench to
watch.
When Mark glances at me for approval I show him the palms of
my hands. Perhaps my frown is too faint to reach him, because he
takes the warning for encouragement. He tiptoes after the staggering
giants, and the other children follow in single file until the lead clown
indicates that they should copy the dwarfs. The little girl closest to
Mark puts an arm around his shoulders, giggling and eyeing her
parents. The other children pair off more or less willingly, but this
doesn't satisfy the impromptu director. He's urging them to mimic
the crippled antics of the giants.
Perhaps Mark and his companion feel bound to obey because
they're leading the youthful parade. I'm not certain which of them
begins swaying, but in a few seconds they're both doing so with an
abandon that looks positively intoxicated. The pair of boys behind
them has started to compete when a woman shouts 'Lise, that's
enough.'
She's the mother of Mark's partner. The girl halts uncertainly,
bringing all the children to a standstill, while the giants wobble to
confront the interruption and the dwarfs dodge behind them. 'Come
along,' her mother says, tramping down to the ring. 'We're going
home.'
As the girl bites her lip and her mother takes her by the hand, the
clowns on the benches leap into the ring and surround them. Falling
to their knees, they clasp their hands in silent entreaty and bend
backwards so as to turn their stricken faces up. The posture emphasises
every rampant crotch. 'Move out of the way, please,' the mother
says more sharply yet.
That isn't why the clowns jump up and scatter. They're trying to
head off several families that are ushering reluctant children towards the
exit. Nobody is likely to be won over by their supplications when these
involve so much thrusting of their crotches. As the last of the parents
reclaim their children, Mark climbs to head me off. 'Can I watch?'
I assume he's hoping the show will continue. Just now the clowns
are pursuing the families, wiggling their fingers at any child who
looks back, until I'm close to fancying that it's some kind of secret
sign. 'Let's see what happens,' I murmur.
The giants have hobbled to flank the exit. They look capable of
falling on anyone who tries to leave. As each family does, a clown
prances close behind, jerking his outthrust crotch high and gripping
his midriff in silent laughter. These parting japes are too much for the
spectators who've remained seated – for the parents, at any rate. They
lead or in some cases drag their children to the exit and are sent
packing by the same rude dance. I haven't seen the people leave who
were
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