Sparkles The Vampire Clown

By Aaron Abilene

A clown is hired for a birthday party only to get bit by a vampire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Abilene
• Release date: Apr 30, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223930778

Book preview

Sparkles The Vampire Clown

Aaron Abilene

Published by Aaron Abilene, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SPARKLES THE VAMPIRE CLOWN

First edition. April 30, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Aaron Abilene.

Written by Aaron Abilene.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Aaron Abilene

Sparkles The Vampire Clown

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Also By Aaron Abilene

Sparkles The Vampire Clown

Written by Aaron Abilene

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George Lively, a portly 45-year-old insurance salesman, trudged up the driveway of his modest suburban home, feeling the weight of another day devoid of sales and satisfaction. The two-story brick house stood defiantly before him, as if to mock his lack of control over his life. A small yard, somewhat unkempt, was all that separated him from the echoes of his strained relationship with Sarah.

Evening, George, called out Mr. Thompson from next door, watering his immaculate lawn.

Evening, Mr. Thompson, George replied half-heartedly, barely lifting his head as he approached the front door.

Inside, the scent of spaghetti sauce filled the air, but George's heart was heavy and his stomach churned at the thought of another silent dinner with Sarah. As he hung his coat on the rack, the sound of clattering dishes emanated from the kitchen.

Is that you, George? Sarah's voice rang out, her tone laced with indifference.

Uh, yeah, it's me, George responded, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants.

Your dinner's on the table. I made spaghetti.

Thanks, Sarah, George mumbled, sliding into his usual seat at the head of the table. His wife's back was turned as she put away the remaining pots and pans, and there was no warmth in her movement. He stared down at his plate, the steam rising from the pasta mirroring the churning thoughts in his mind.

Another rough day at work? Sarah asked absentmindedly, not bothering to look at him.

Same old, same old, George sighed, twirling his fork listlessly in the spaghetti. Not much has changed in twenty years. A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the scraping of silverware against plates. The couple had long since run out of things to say to each other, their connection fraying with every passing day.

George, Sarah said suddenly, her voice low and cautious. Do you ever think about how things could have been different?

His fork paused mid-twirl. What do you mean?

I don't know, she replied, shrugging. Like, if you'd chosen a different path or something.

Sarah, I didn't choose insurance. It chose me. Or rather, it was the only thing that would have me back then. His stomach clenched as he pushed his plate away, appetite gone. Besides, there's no point in dwelling on what-ifs, is there?

Maybe not, Sarah conceded, rising from the table to clear their plates. But sometimes I can't help but wonder.

Me too, George whispered, his gaze lost in the swirls of pasta sauce smeared across his plate.

As night fell, George lay awake in the spare room, staring at the ceiling, wondering where his life had taken a wrong turn. The gulf between him and Sarah seemed insurmountable. A single tear slid down his cheek, dampening the pillow, as the loneliness enveloped him like a shroud.

––––––––

The monotonous hum of fluorescent lights did little to brighten George's spirits as he slumped in his cubicle. Surrounded by gray partitions that seemed to close in on him more each day, he dialed yet another number from his list of potential clients. The phone rang in his ear, a shrill reminder of the two decades he'd spent making these calls.

Hello? A woman's voice answered, equal parts impatient and disinterested.

Good afternoon, ma'am, George started, forcing cheer into his tone. I'm George Lively from Consolidated Insurance, and I just wanted to take a moment of your time to talk about our fantastic new life insurance policy.

Insurance? No, thanks. The woman hung up abruptly, leaving George with nothing but the dial tone's empty echo.

Strike fifty, he mumbled, crossing out the name on his list. Twenty years at Consolidated Insurance and still no promotion, no recognition. Just endless days of cold calls and rejection.

Hey, Georgie! came a call from across the room. It was Dave, one of the newer salesmen. You got a joke for us today?

George looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. He may not have been the best salesman, but he had always possessed an uncanny ability to make people laugh. Ever since childhood, he'd been the class clown—the one who could brighten anyone's day with a well-timed quip.

Alright, alright, George said, standing up in his cubicle, his round belly jiggling as he did so. Here's one for you: Why couldn't the bicycle find its way home?

Dave raised an eyebrow, grinning in anticipation. I don't know, why?

Because it lost its bearings! George delivered the punchline with gusto, and the office erupted into laughter. For a moment, the weight of his unfulfilling job lifted from his shoulders.

Good one, George! Dave said through chuckles. You should really consider doing stand-up comedy.

The laughter faded, but George's smile remained. It was a secret he'd kept hidden within the pages of a worn notebook, tucked away in his desk drawer. For years, he'd been writing jokes and dreaming of the day he could trade his cubicle for a stage, his headset for a microphone.

Thanks, Dave, George replied, a glimmer of hope igniting in his chest. Maybe I will.

As the workday dragged on, George found himself lost in thoughts of bright spotlights, roaring laughter, and applause. The dream had always seemed so distant, so unreachable, but perhaps it wasn't too late to change course. Perhaps there was still time to find his way back to who he truly was—the man who could make people laugh, the man who could bring light into even the darkest corners of life.

––––––––

George stood outside the door of the dimly lit comedy club, swallowing hard as he clutched his worn notebook to his chest. The raucous laughter from inside echoed through the small alley, a cacophony that both excited and terrified him. He had been working up the courage for months, and now, he finally found himself at an open mic night, ready to take center stage.

Here goes nothing, George whispered to himself, taking a deep breath and stepping into the club. The smell of stale beer hung in the air, mixing with the scent of sweat and anticipation. As he approached the bar, he noticed familiar faces – coworkers, friends, and even neighbors – scattered throughout the room, their eyes fixated on the stage.

Hey, George! called the emcee, a young man with a skinny tie and a mischievous grin. You're up next!

Next? George's heart raced in his chest, but he nodded, trying to appear confident. Yeah, I'm ready.

Break a leg out there! the emcee said, patting George on the back before bounding onstage to announce the next act.

As George climbed the steps onto the stage, the lights grew dimmer, casting eerie shadows across the room. He could feel his hands shaking as he took hold of the microphone, his eyes scanning the crowd for reassurance. The emcee's voice rang out, introducing him to the audience, and the room erupted in applause.

Um, h-hello, everyone, George stammered, his face flushing as he stumbled over the words of his first joke. Why did the scarecrow win an award?

The room was silent, save for the sound of someone coughing in the back. George swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. He, uh... he was outstanding in his field.

A few chuckles broke through the silence, and George felt a small surge of confidence. He pressed on, his voice growing steadier, his nerves easing as he launched into another joke.

Did you hear about the guy who invented Lifesavers? George asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He made a mint!

The laughter grew louder, more enthusiastic, and George began to hit his stride. As he continued his set, the audience warmed up to him, their faces lighting up with each punchline. They laughed at his observations about the absurdities of life – insurance salesmen, marriage, and even middle age.

Thank you, thank you! George said, wiping sweat from his brow as he finished his last joke. The room was alive with laughter and applause, and, to his amazement, the crowd rose to their feet, giving him a standing ovation.

As he walked offstage, his heart filled with warmth and pride, George knew that this was where he belonged – under the dim lights of the comedy club, among the laughter and the cheers. It didn't matter how many cold calls he had to make or how long it took for him to find success; he would do whatever it took to chase this feeling, to chase his dream. And maybe, just maybe, one day, he could make people laugh for a living.

––––––––

In the dim backstage area, George's adrenaline coursed through his veins as the applause and laughter still echoed in his ears. He took a deep breath, feeling alive for the first time in years. I did it, he thought, grinning to himself. I really did