A low, growling voice seemed to clear its throat, the sound echoing throughout the hall from far away.

"Come down the hall...." the voice said, growling. Shawn saw a dripping sound also echoing as a leak from an overhead pipe sputter several drops into a puddle nearby.

Shawn felt a mix of relief that there was, in fact, someone else in the building, and concern at the growling. The voice didn't exactly sound cheery, though Shawn supposed he'd worked on other sets where the casting director was stressed out. He started making his way down the hall.

Shawn rounded a corner to see a bright lamp light, blinding and harsh. It was coming from the end of the hall and it's gaze caught him like some kind of spotlight looking for a burglar. After his eyes adjusted, he could see other objects caught in the spotlight's gaze: an old sofa covered in dust, a desk with cobwebs. A large production camera, old and rusty. The roof had several holes in it, stains from leaks long ago.

In the center, the silhouette of a director in chair, the light behind the figure only allowing for the faintest shadow to be made out: curly hair like and afro, strong build, broad shoulders. That's all Shawn could tell of the figure who sat behind what looked like an old desk from the 1920s.

"Welcome." The voice said, all gravel-y and harsh as the blinding light. And then, suddenly:

"Name. Age. Favorite Movie. And also, why should you be chosen from other kids interested in the production." The silhouette in front of the light asked.

The situation hadn't really gotten any less weird, but at least now it was a structure that Shawn was familiar with. These were questions he already knew the answer to. "My name is Shawn Cramer, I'm 10 years old, and my favourite movie is To Kill A Mockingbird." He had three favourite movies he picked from, and the old school camera and desk made him lean towards the older one.

"You should choose me because I love acting, and I'm a quick learner. I pick up my cues really fast, and you won't find many other kids my age with as much on set experience as I have, even in Hollywood."

There was a silent, eerie pause. The sound of pipes dripping before the silhouette answered.

"Very well. This is a different kind of movie. This movie, is a movie about terror."

"Do you have a <Blue>*cough*..*cough*...*cough*...problem with that?"</Blue>

Shawn felt himself start to fidget, but he was still in audition mode and so tamped it down and tried to look serious but considerate. "Oh no, I've done horror movies before. They're a lot of fun to shoot; the director of The Beast from Beyond said I've got a really good scream."

There was a moisture in the air, the smell of something rancid, drifted airily through the open warehouse. Through the blinding light of that harsh, florescent bulb behind the Director, his silhouette cast a large, long shadow on the ground that almost touched Shawn.

"That's...*cough*...*cough*....uh, sorry kid." The Director apologized, silhouette crossing legs as he shifted in the chair.

"Tell me about......*cough*...*cough*....a time when.....*cough*...*cough*.......you had to work with another kid in a scene. Or just, I don't know kid, have you worked with other kids? Do you work well with other kids?"

Despite the rancid air, odd lighting, and weird phrasing, Shawn was feeling a little more comfortable. These were questions he'd been asked before, questions he'd answered in other auditions. "Oh yeah, I've worked a lot with other kids a lot. I've had a few shoots where we help each other a lot - feed each other lines if we forget, or get a good energy going. I've learned a lot from working with other kids, and I hope I've taught as much too."

"Good." The Director said, standing up suddenly, silhouette now casting darkness over Shawn and blocking the florescent light. The room went momentarily dark, the smell of rotten popcorn or some kind of candy that was stale filling the air as the Director started to walk away from the desk, the sound of heavy boots hitting the concrete floor of the warehouse, his frizzy hairy waving in the shadows as he moved.

"You'll be working with a male co-star today, kid." The Director croaked in a harsh bark as he retreated behind the blinding light of the florescent lamp, voice still audible even though he couldn't be seen. The light from the bulb stabbed at the darkness like a series of searing bright barbs.

"Let's call this an audition..." The Director's voice came through from behind the light now, a musing, somewhat jovial voice, like he knew a secret that Shawn didn't. "Ya know? The kind I'm sure you've been in many times before kid. Oh, I almost forgot kid, the name of the movie you'll be trying out for is called...

Ralph Lives Or Dies "

Shawn squinted in the bright light, panic rapidly rising in his throat as he heard Ralph's name. "Who are you?" But the coughing, the hair, the awful smells...he already knew the answer to his question.

There was a door that creaked open from somewhere in the distance, the sound of muffled clothing flapping from a distant hallway, echoing towards where Shawn had place himself. Then there was a loud grunt, followed by what sounded like a voice struggling to scream. But the scream seemed buried somehow, loud but soft. Desperate but silenced. The sound of someone who was bound or screaming from within a plastic bag.

The door in the distance clanged shut and Shawn could hear footsteps approaching, the sound of someone grunting as they dragged a heavy load.

As soon as Shawn asked the question, the blinding light went dark, preventing Shawn from seeing who was coming. From seeing anything for that matter. The heavy, dark air seemed to buzz with silence, all except for the muffled screaming that was getting closer.

Then, there was the sound of 'click' the sight of a spark: a single match, the flame illuminating first a dirty fingernail, flesh gray finger poking through a torn white clown glove. The flame crept closer to a grinning face that held a cigar, crushing through it's maniacal smile.



"It's me kid. I'm the director of this show. I'm the creative talent." Mr. Cherrywinks said, lighting the cigar and throwing the match to the floor, the ember still glowing as it struck the ground

"Mr....Cherry...Winks..."

Shawn's mind came up with a hundred questions, but they died on his lips as he realised he couldn't ask them without potentially revealing more information that could get him and Ralph in even deeper trouble. Maybe Shawn was under the Fortuneteller's umbrella, but Ralph certainly wasn't. "What are you going to do?"

"Me?" The evil clown said touching his other hand to the puffy, ragged chest of his Clown suit, the gesture all innocence. "I ain't gonna do nuthin' kid." He took a drag of the cigar and blew the smoke out. It came out all hollow, wispy and gray.

"I'm just here to direct. I'm the 'Director'!" he barked. "You're the main star of the show. Just like you always wanted!" The last sentence sounded like it was shot out of a cannon.

"Well..." he started, standing up now and making his way towards Shawn. "Maybe not the star..." It looked like for a moment he might come right over to Shawn, perhaps to end his life. Perhaps he was going to vault over the desk and slice Shawn's head off like Shawn had seen done to the other kids.

But instead the Clown sat back at the desk. "These are the tryouts." Mr. Cherrywinks said. "So, in this tryout. You'll be fighting for the part of a life time. Ralph's lifetime. You remember Ralph, don't ya? Small kid. Younger. Used to be in the Circus. Was part of the group that tried to bring back the Master Maker before I killed the rest of them."

"Funny thing. I'd been lookin' for Ralph for a while now. He isn't from your part of town. He ain't even live in your town. He ain't even in your state. So imagine my surprise when.....*cough*..*cough*...*cough*..." The clown stammered backwards, before recovering from the coughing fit.

"Shit kid. I was surprised to find out he was with you. But I had a little help in find out that information...hehehe."

Shawn tried to keep his expression locked down. Maybe Mr. Cherrywinks knew what he done, maybe Mr. Cherrywinks was trying to bait him into revealing it. He tried to seem terrified (not difficult), but also confused and curious. "How'd you find that out?"

"Someone you know told me kid. You're co-star actually. He told me that he'd been lookin' up on you. And he hates you. He said that you'd been livin' with some kid. Two kids actually. Even though I know you ain't got no brothers and sisters because Gaggles told me that you travel alone with Mom and Dad the night she killed Mr. Sellick." Cherrywinks explained.

"Boy, for the life of me, I can't explain why your co-star hates you as much as he does. But he spilled all the beans on his snoopin'. You'd be surprised what people are willin' to tell kid, are willin' to do, when their lives depend on it!"

Eric emerged from the shadows into the dim light pulling a bounded Ralph whose face was blindfolded, body covered with ropes. He let Ralph drop like sack of potatoes.

"There. I did what you said mister." Eric said to Mr. Cherrywinks, voice sad and...fearful?

Shawn had seen Eric upset before through the power's of the Fortune Teller's crystal ball. But he had never seen him appear afraid. Other kids at school had said that Eric was mean spirited and did whatever he wanted. They said it was better to get on his good side, or even better not to be noticed by him. He seemed to pass the halls of the school like some untouchable royalty all full of confidence and brio. But now, in the dim light, he resembled more of a beaten dog than a towering bully who demanded respect.

He was sporting a black eye and bruises on the left side of his face. His clothes, on the right side were torn, deep gashes and scratches like some animal had attacked him. His face and arms were covered in black smudges and grimy smears like he'd been working in a garage.

Shawn remained impassive, even as his mind roiled with anger at the sight of Ralph bound up and helpless. This was all Eric's fault! If he hadn't stolen the rabbit's foot, none of this would have happened, they'd all still be okay.

And yet, he couldn't fully hate Eric; he'd made the same decision Shawn had, selling other kids out for his own skin. Shawn didn't want Eric to die, not out of some selfless impulse, but because subconsciously he knew that if Eric deserved it, so did he. "Okay, you made your point. You can let Eric go now. This is about Ralph and me, right?"

"Cough...cough...cough..cough!!!!!"Cherrywinks exploded into a loud coughing fit. Once he cleared his throat, he gave all three kids in front of him a hearty, gravely laugh.

"Wrong!" He barked at Shawn. "You ain't half as smart as I thought you were kid! this is about tryin' to win the Soul Contest. But like anything else in the Circus, its about having fun! An nothin' is more fun than a contest. Ain't no other way to think about it. Well, maybe that true. Think of this just like this kid:

"The Clown Troup is gonna win the Soul Contest. If we gotta do that by goin' after the lowest fruit, which is you. Also, I've been lookin' for Ralph to tie up the loose end an make sure the Master Maker doesn't come back and enter the Contest."

But, because I'm a nice ....."cough!...cough...cough.." guy....Because I'm a nice Clown, I'm gonna let you and Eric fight it out for Ralph. Whoever wins can trade their own soul for Ralph's. That way he can live and one on you can die."

"So there it is kid. Now you know."

He gave Eric a look. "I ain't so sure that your co-star Eric is willin' to trade his soul for Ralph's." Mr. Cherrywink's said.

"Only the winner can trade their soul for Ralph's? So either way, you're getting two souls?" Shawn shot Eric a look - not trying to intimidate him or shame him or provoke him or anything like that, but trying to get an idea of how much he knew about what was going on and how he was dealing with it. If there was a way out of this with everyone still alive, and right now Shawn was seeing depressingly few ways to make that happen, it'd have to involve at least some cooperation with Eric. And, worse comes to worst, he'd have to size up his opponent.

"Cough...cough...cough...thems is the the brakes kid! It's a soul contest, not a free lunch. Ha!

"Noooooooo!!!!" Eric wailed a shriek of protest, of fear. "You said that if I did what you told me to do, that I would have a chance to leave. That you would let me go! You promised!" Eric didn't sound like a bully. He sounded like Ralph all of the sudden. A Ralph that was missing his rubba-sucky blanket.

"Correction kid. I said I'd give you a chance kid. And if you did what I said, you'd have a chance to live. You do have a chance!" Cherrywinks mocked Eric.

"The first to bring me back a finger or a eye or head wins." Cherrywinks said. He took a long, satisfying drag from the cigar filling his cheeks with smoke before exhaling a plume of whispy smelling chaggar.

Then he reached into the parachute canvas of his nylon-yellow clown suit and stuck one gloved hand in it rummaging around like he was searching for something. He began to discard objects from within his suit onto the warehouse floor, a small pile of junk accumulating in front of his Clown boots. First a small red anvil. Then a small mouse that scurried away. A broken mirror. An old, dirty shoe. Finally he produced a large stopwatch.

The thumb of the ragged-white glove pressed the side switch.

"You guys got twenty five minutes. If no one brings me anything, then I take ALL the souls! Hahahahahaha!" He laughed before breaking out into a coughing fit.

Shawn put on a brave face - if Eric was scared, he needed to seem like he knew what he was doing, if only so he'd be more likely to listen to Shawn. Even so, he felt sick. He had no idea how he was getting out of this...

When Cherrywinks set the timer, Shawn walked quickly past Eric, whispering "Follow me." as he went and starting to look around the warehouse for ideas.

Shawn Joins Thread

Shawn: The Clock Is Ticking...