Sarah and her family were walking back to the car after a full day at the state fair, enjoying the cool, crisp air. Even though there was no sound to be heard, Sarah instinctively understood the conversation; they were re-capping the best parts of the fair: the food, the games, the rides, the entertainment, even that strange green-haired Conroy the Clown under the “Little Big Top”.
With the moon spinning gracefully, like a music-box ballerina, Sarah skipped ahead to the car, but as she reached for the door her mother stayed her hand. Facing each other, her mother mouthed soundless words with a reassuring smile, and lay her daughter down on the pavement and pulled covers up to her chin. Their daughter tucked in for the night, Sarah's parents got in the car and drove off.
Sarah lifted her head up and watched the car recede into the distance. Other patrons walked by her without a glance. She tried to get up but found something holding her down. Something...holding her...holding her...down...
Something...
Sarah woke up in her bed at home, remnants of her dream fading already. She tried to wipe the sleep out of her eyes but found her arms restrained.
She was tied down in her own bed.
Panic rising, she lifted her head and in the dim light saw a specter sitting in the chair at the foot of her bed. All Sarah could make of this intruder was his face; it was pale white, from the top of his forehead down to his chin. The eyes, however, where ink black, empty. There was something about his hair, too; it seemed to be up-swept, like flame, but she couldn't see very well in the shadows.
“Well hello, Sunshine.” The specters' voice was unusually smooth and melodious.
Sarah pulled against her bonds, but they held fast. She tried to scream for help but several pieces of duct tape covered her mouth. Terrified, her world was now encapsulated by the four walls, the ticking of a wall clock its only sound.
She stared at her captor. A lone car drove by out on the street, and as it passed its headlights painted the room briefly. In that moment Sarah recognized the strange clown from the fair earlier in the day, Conroy. His clothes were threadbare and excessively patched, one shoe was bandaged, cartoonishly, presumably to keep the flopping sole in check. His unbuttoned sweater would have looked right at home on Mr. Rogers.
The hair was...disturbing, disconcerting. It was, indeed, up-swept, but it was a sickly green color, reminiscent of powdery, dusty fungus. The eyes were ringed with black makeup, but something else was different about the face...
Sarah struggled and moaned, terror firmly in control. Conroy stood up and in a patronizing tone of voice admonished her.
“Now, now; don't struggle. You'll tire yourself out and then where will we be?” He put a hand up to his lips, a parody of innocent surprise, the nails painted alternately green and yellow. “Oops, almost forgot to finish my make-up. That's not very professional of me.”
Conroy started to slowly walk around the bed toward Sarah. As he did so, he produced a cylindrical object which he used to paint red around his mouth. The red was a deep ruby, and ran a bit. It almost looked like syrup. He dabbed the object once or twice in a dish to replenish the 'paint' as he worked.
Hovering over Sarah, he leaned down close to her face. His breath smelled of stale decay.
“I hope you had a good time today. Every so often I choose one lucky family to reward with...an encore performance, shall we say?” As he said this he placed the makeup tube on her chest.
“A souvenir for you.”
Sarah looked down at it and her eyes widened in horror. She was looking at a finger. Her mother's wedding ring was still on it.
Conroy reached out and stroked her cheek with his hand, his bloody grin a rictus of malevolence; Sarah felt as though grubs were tickling her skin.
“So pretty, so young...”
He sat down on the side of her bed, in a perversion of a loving father about to read a favorite bedtime story.
Conroy playfully clasped his hands together. “Let's play a game, what do you say?”
He unrolled a pouch of scalpels, tweezers and other surgical instruments on the covers.
“I've always liked “Operation...”