Disclaimer: I do not own the boy or their show, but I very much claim every random thought I have about them, which so far is turning into fan fiction.
Author's Note/Warning: If you really hate clowns, then this story is either the worst thing ever (hopefully that's the only reason!) or you hate them so much that you love it when people put them in their stories. Soooo...there you go. You were warned.
Dean's POV - Chapter 3.5
As John and Dean pulled up to the home where the latest victim was found, Dean had found himself a little more curious about Belinda. If her friends could afford a home like this, what did that say about her? He couldn't think about that right now though.
He noticed the houses around him as he and Dad went to the front door of Melissa's home. The same alarm company was being used and Dean wondered if that was coincidence or a clue. He quickly forgot about it, however, once he was inside and Melissa was telling her story; that wild and crazy story about a creepy clown statue and…a clown ghost? Sam would be shaking in his heavy-duty boots if he were here right now, although he'd pretend like it didn't bother him. But Dean knew better.
Dad had decided Dean should go to the clown museum to see what he could find out about what could be instigating this legend, and that was fine by him. The sooner they got this hunt figured out, the sooner they could go see Sammy and he could find out what the deal was with his suddenly silent sibling.
John dropped Dean off at the museum without nary a look back at the odd building where he was leaving his eldest. Dean watched John pull off. He turned back to the colorful museum, framed by life-sized statues of friendly clowns beckoning you to enter the doors. Circus-themed music blared from outdoor speakers and Dean hated the place immediately. The loud colors and music were more annoying than fun, but he stepped quickly through the doors hoping to get some sort of auditory relief at the very least.
He didn't. Not right away. More of the same music was playing as a giant carousel in the middle of the room spun, clown statues of varying heights and costumes standing, sitting on benches or riding atop horses in midstride. It was like an oversized music box was playing the most annoying song ever.
On the walls were framed photos of various famous clowns – or at least Dean assumed they were famous. He didn't exactly know his clown history – or care to know. He walked over to a far wall and read the names – Joseph Grimaldi, Emmett Kelly, there were a slew of Bozos.
Dean walked further down the row, his face twisted in perplexity at all the oddities as he went.
"Can I help you?"
Dean's eyes swept the room for the disembodied voice that seemed to be coming from the carousel. He took a few more steps forward to see around it and noticed the lanky young man who must have been watching him when he entered.
He searched his brain right quick for the name his father had told Melissa. "Uh yeah, hi," he started as he walked to the waiting man. "I'm Agent Sledge and I just have a few questions I wanted to ask you."
"Robert," the man replied, running his fingers nervously through wild, curly brown hair. He didn't leave it in any better shape than it was before he touched the tiny tumbleweed. "What can I do for the FBI?"
Dean thumbed back at the clowns on the wall. "I didn't realize there were so many famous clowns in the world," he said to the man. "Must have been too busy gettin' laid," he mumbled to himself.
"Oh yes," Robert replied, not hearing Dean's last statement. Robert clearly lit up at the mention of what must have been his favorite subject. "You know they started out as Fools who entertained much of royalty in many countries around our world. That morphed into court jesters who dressed in colorful outfits and performed all kinds of acrobatics…"
"Uh huh," Dean replied with feigned interest.
"…and then the jester became someone known as a Zany, which you could find in the first fairs that started to move from town to town around 1,000 A.D. Then in Italy, in the 1,500s, there was a show called the Comedy of Arts. That show revolved around the Zany and before you know it, you have the clown as we know them today!"
Robert finished with a flourish, spreading his arms as he waved slightly at all the memorabilia around him.
"Fascinating," Dean replied a little on the high-pitched side. "You'll have to forgive me. My clown knowledge doesn't extend much past Ronald and Pennywise."
Robert wrinkled his nose. "Yes, our modern culture doesn't exactly take the time to look into the greats who inspired the caricatures that advertising agencies and authors are getting rich off of. Pennywise? Yuck." Robert shuddered. "I don't have too much tolerance for the evil situations in which some people try to place these magnificent entertainers."
"Yeah, clowns just wanna have fun, huh?" Dean grinned at his own joke waiting for Robert to join in. Robert quirked an eyebrow instead, turning to go to the tall desk where he must have been hiding when Dean came in.
Dean followed him. "Well, listen, Robert. I'm actually here because of those evil situations."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"Have you heard anything about the deaths that have been happening around here? People being found dead? In other people's homes?"
"Uh yeah, I guess I have heard something about that. But what's that got to do with us here?"
"Well, one of the homeowners spoke about some ghost story that's going around your town? A ghost clown or something?"
Robert inhaled as he ran his fingers through his curly mess again. "Oh, yeah. Yeah I know about that. It's a legend. Kinda like one of those scary home-alone stories you hear about. You know, with the babysitter getting a call from a stranger who turns out to actually be in the house. Except in this case there is a clown standing poised like a statue and the babysitter or visitor or whomever it is who doesn't normally live there sees it and gets creeped out. So they call up the homeowner who is away at the time and the homeowner tells the person there is no such statue in their home." Robert rolls his eyes at the lunacy of it. "How crazy can it get? It's just a story!"
"Is it? Because people are getting killed, Rob," Dean tells him seriously.
"Riiiight," Robert replies as if the lunacy had now taken shape before him. "Well, I know the legend. But it's just a legend, man." Robert pauses in thought, "And the name is Robert."
Dean considers Robert a moment, but continues his questioning. "So is there such a clown from around here who may have been a tad…I don't know. Homicidal? That you know of?"
Robert sighed as he fiddled with some papers on his desk that was hidden behind the high counter. "That darn opera, Pagliacci, from 1892, didn't help our cause," he mumbled absently.
"Pagliacci?" Dean repeated.
"Yeah," Robert said matter-of-factly, putting his now-impatient focus back on Dean. "It's about a clown who murders his unfaithful wife and her lover."
"I see," Dean said, nodding his understanding, but not getting the reference.
Robert sniffed. "And then there's John Wayne Gacy."
"Oh yeah!" Dean exclaimed. "He was, ummm…"
"Pogo."
"Pogo!" Dean snapped quickly in remembrance. Robert sucked his teeth at the enthusiasm.
"Yeah. And you already pretty much mentioned Stephen King, the movies that depict clowns as these horrid creatures." Robert stops to look t Dean again. "They were innocent entertainers for hundreds and hundreds of years. Even that opera most likely didn't turn the clown as evil as the 20th century did," he said sadly.
"So what do you think?" Dean asked, choosing not to go to Robert's pity party. "Was there someone local?"
Robert sighed and thought a bit. "As far as I know, that legend isn't based on anyone in particular. No one from around here anyway. I'd say what you have is something that looks like the legend, but it's something else entirely."
Dean twisted his mouth at the suggestion. Maybe it wouldn't be as easy as that to nail this one down. "OK, thanks for your help, Rob."
"Robert."
"Yup," Dean replied nonchalantly, turning to leave. Then he turned back. "Fear of clowns? That's a real thing, isn't it?"
"Actually it is. It's called coulrophobia and it's got a pretty interesting history…"
"Yeah, no." Dean interjected, checking a mental list that would have made no sense to Robert, then continuing his incongruent questioning, Columbo style. "What about local clowns? Where do they get their costumes and makeup?"
"Funny People," he said, confused by the haphazard questioning. "It's an association for the clown workers. They sell a lot of those things there. Of course you can always find some basic stuff in a costume shop and places like that."
"Of course," Dean replied, thinking again. "Coulrophobia?"
Robert nodded, choosing not to understand what Dean was trying to suss out for himself. "Coulrophobia."
"Thanks."
"Yep." Robert quickly left the desk to head to a back room, running his fingers through his shaggy mane, already focused on something new.
Sam hates clowns, Dean thought to himself. "And it has a name. Who knew?" Dean pulled out his phone again to look at the calls that had come in and gone out. Sam's number was listed so many times going out. He wasn't sure how far back he'd have to scroll to see Sam's number as an incoming call again.
Dean walked out of the building, still staring at his phone. The happy clowns that surrounded him were doing nothing but reminding him of the pain of his loss. The case was suddenly starting to pale in comparison. "You would hate this, wouldn't you Sammy?" Dean spoke to the air.
He stood in the bright sun, looking around the moderately busy town. He stood there and pondered his next move. He was supposed to call Dad to come get him. He was supposed to be thinking more about this hunt and everything that Rob guy just told him. It was a legend; most likely there would be no real person's ghost that they could easily put an end to by salting and burning the body. Legends were harder to fight, but there would be a way. And he should be thinking about that way. But he couldn't. Because he was back to thinking about Sam and he knew what he had to do.