Draculas

Randall threw the tape measure. In a battle of chainsaw versus tape measure, Randall would put his money on the chainsaw, but the tape measure was enclosed in metal and he certainly wouldn't want to get hit in the face with it.

It struck the clown in the forehead.

His head snapped back.

The large, bloody hole curled downward.

Randall kept scooting away. The clown was less hyperactive than the other draculas, but Randall still didn't want to get in the way of a waving chainsaw. There had to be other stuff to throw at him. Something heavy.

Je

She swung the bucket with both hands, bashing the clown on the back of the head. His shiny red nose popped off and fell to the floor. The clown stumbled forward but maintained his footing. He turned around, chainsaw still roaring.

Sawing up my wife with my chainsaw? I don't think so.

Randall got up and rushed at him, tackling him like the football player Randall might have been if he hadn't decided to become a lumberjack. The clown maintained his grip on the chainsaw, damn it, and the two of them spun around in a complete circle.

"Stay with the kids!" Randall shouted at Je

Je

Randall grabbed the clown's arm. He was sure he could tackle him to the floor without much trouble, but that carried the very serious risk of falling on the chainsaw blade. Be

Fuck it. Who said these draculas were the only things that could bite?

He leaned his head down and sank his teeth into the back of the clown's neck. He then yanked his head back, tearing off a chunk. A small chunk, but a chunk of dracula clown neck nevertheless.

The clown convulsed.

Randall spat out the flesh.

Then he howled in pain as the goddamn chainsaw blade bounced against the back of his good leg.

Randall let go of the clown and took a step back. It's okay. Just a superficial cut, he told himself, even though he knew no such thing.

The clown spun around, facing him.

There was no time to turn chickenshit. Randall threw a brutal punch at the clown's face. His fist landed right in the clown's open mouth, smacking against the back of his throat. The clown twitched, gagging, then his mouth closed around Randall's fist.

Sucking on it.

Randall pulled his blood-and-saliva covered fist out and punched him right in his "Be

He still didn't drop the chainsaw.

In fact, Be

Not enough of a gap between the swings to charge him.

Randall decided to retreat. Get the clown away from Je

"C'mon, clowny clown!" he shouted, moving back toward the exit to pediatrics. "C'mon, Bozo the Prick! Let's do this!"

If he ever got to relate this story to others, he'd come up with something better than "Bozo the Prick," but for now it worked.

The clown followed him as Randall moved into the hallway, wishing that his newly cut leg would hurry up and go numb like his other one.

He picked a door, any door, with the clown in hot pursuit.

Stumbled into some sort of storage room, not much bigger than Je

Randall tried to focus like the Terminator, imagining red lights flashing around the things that might be useful. An android from the future wouldn't need to stumble around the room, looking for something to kill a clown with.

Be

Something caught his attention. Metal tanks in the middle row. He grabbed one of them, not knowing what was inside. How awesome would it be if it was laughing gas?

He threw the tank at the clown. It struck the chainsaw blade, creating a shower of sparks, but that still wasn't enough to knock it out of his hands. Be

Yeah. He could work with this.

The clown stared at the spi

Randall grabbed another tank and slammed the nozzle against the shelf. He tried to hold it steady long enough to aim it, but the tank shot out of his hands, and flew straight into Be

Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.

The clown stood back up. No guts exposed, which was disappointing. Randall couldn't even tell if the clown was in pain, though the tank had to have shattered some ribs.

Deciding that he would stick with what worked, Randall grabbed a third tank. Making sure he gripped it tighter than before so he wouldn't lose control, he bashed off the nozzle, then lunged at the clown with it.

Poor clowny bastard. What a lousy time to have such a big mouth.

Randall slammed the tank into the clown's gaping, bloody mouth, then pounded it hard with his fist to get it in a couple more inches. The clown clawed at it and stumbled back against the shelf, knocking over a bunch of medical supplies, including an inhaler.

The clown didn't exactly inflate--not like a beach ball or anything--but his stomach definitely expanded as if he'd been gobbling down a really big meal, really fast. Randall grabbed his chainsaw from the floor and knew he should get back to Je

Is he really going to...?

Be

He stood there for a moment, the inside of his torso carved out all the way to his backbone, and then fell. His final gift of laughter to the world was a short but intense blast of flatulence. It might have been natural, or it might have been him landing on a whoopee cushion. Randall didn't much care, though dying with a fart sound was a pretty ironical way for a clown to go.

Perhaps once he had been a good clown. A noble clown. But he'd stolen Randall's chainsaw, and had to die.

My saw!

Randall clenched it tight, close to weeping with relief.

Finally. He had it back.

The motor sounded kind of weird. He wondered what kind of fuel they'd put in it. This baby only ever got premium.

He returned to pediatrics. Je

"Randall! Oh, thank God! I knew you'd come back!"

"You know you can count on me, babe. Always and forever."

"Always and forever," Je

Randall felt a bunch of emotions at once. Pride, that he was able to come through for her. Love, that had never faded. And hope.