Excellent A clown and a carnival Return to Candyland Candyland contest entry Author information not displayed for this contest.

Return to Candyland      “Let’s play Candyland,” screams Haley, my six-year-old daughter to her brother.      I shudder, clutching at the edge of the table for support. Memories as dark as ink blur my vision, and I stagger to a chair and collapse.       In a flash, I’m transported back twenty years.      Candyland, a combination carnival and circus arrived in our rural community. Every high school student wanted to go, but my parents had forbidden it due to rumors and whispers of strange, unexplained happenings. Even though I begged, they wouldn’t budge.      “It’s seedy, and they serve alcohol,” Mom had said.      Desperate to attend, Molly and I snuck out late Saturday night. As we strolled down Main Street, the balmy summer breeze ruffled my long blonde hair. I’d dressed carefully in my sunflower skirt and white T-shirt. I flashed a smile at Molly. I felt grown up and ready for an adventure. I smiled and punched her shoulder. “This will be so much fun.”      Since we had little money, we planned to flirt with the local boys or the carnies for free rides, games, and food.      I gasped as we rounded the corner. It was dazzling, with carnival rides aglow and music blaring. A colossal arch illuminated the entrance with the neon letters Candyland, ablaze in pink and white neon lights. A pathway lined with gigantic lollipops led to the ticket booth.      The ticket master handed us a map. I scanned it carefully. Everything was there, like in the game: the Candy Cane Forest, Gumdrop Mountain, Cherry Pitfall, and Molasses Swamp.      “Let's look for some boys.” Molly pointed to the Ferris wheel. I want to ride on that.” We hurried toward the Gumdrop Mountain, down the red licorice path.       I screamed as a clown leaped out from behind a candy cane and squirted water from a pink daisy, drenching my face. Molly squealed, laughing as mascara streamed down my cheeks. The clown capered in a playful dance. His mocking eyes roved over my face and body as he performed flips and somersaults.      “I think you’ve made a conquest,” whispered Molly.      I shuddered. His movements appeared sinister and grotesque. The carnival lights and music dimmed eerily as the clown continued to prance and twirl before us with his gruesome red smile. Then, as if by magic, he disappeared.      I turned to Molly. “That was weird and creepy. I need to use the restroom and wash my face.” I walked toward the bathroom, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the clown wasn’t lurking, waiting to spring out at me again.     The restroom reeked of caramel corn, beer, and body odor. A cold chill crept up my spine as I splashed water on my face. The lights dimmed, casting an eerie green glow over the room.      I stared in the mirror, my makeup a disaster. An ice-cold hand touches my shoulder. I whirl around. The clown is behind me, with a broad, bloody grin dripping down his face. His gloved white hands stifle my scream. He giggles low and husky.      “Such a pretty girl. Don’t you want to play with me?” His gloved hands roved under my blouse. I struggled, but his grip remained firm. His hands move down my leg and up my skirt. I punched him with my fists. His hands tighten on my throat. “Hold still, my sweet. This is going to be fun, at least for me.” His sing-song voice is high-pitched and filled with desire as he grinds against me.      I stamp hard on his sizeable yellow shoes. He grimaces and momentarily loosens his hold. I twist out of his grasp and race outside, screaming.       Within seconds, a security guard appears. I point to the bathroom. My words tumble out in a hysterical torrent. He draws his gun. I cling to Molly, sobbing. The bathroom is empty. The clown has disappeared like vapor.      The guard sighs, staring into my tear-stained face. “Miss, there is only one way out of the bathroom. Your friend and I were standing at the door. No clown or anyone else came out. Have you been drinking? Did you let your overactive imagination get away from you?”      I shake my head. He doesn’t believe me. I turn to Molly. She frowns at me and averts her eyes. Our evening is ruined, and Molly sighs heavily. Her shoulders slump as we walk home in silence.      A shriek from Haley’s bedroom brings me back to reality. I chastise myself. This is ridiculous. I’m not a scared teenager but a mother and an adult. I stand up and calmly enter Haley’s room. I smile and reach for Chutes and Ladders. “Why don’t you play this instead?”      I scoop up the Candyland game and stuff it in the trash, slamming the lid.  Out of nowhere, an insidious giggle echoes through the house. An icy chill permeates the air. I vomit, shaking uncontrollably. I can’t breathe. I stare into the hall mirror.   The clown appears, an evil grin plastered on his chalk-white face.  His gloved hands extend from the mirror encircling my throat. Darkness envelops me, but a neon pink arch with lollipops, a winding path of red licorice, and Gumdrop Mountain are beckoning in the distance. The clown’s giggle surrounds me as I sink to the floor. “You can never escape Candyland, my sweet.”

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