Young Writers Society

*These characters connect to my stories about “Zeze and Zuzu the clowns.” You may check out stories that connect to this underneath my folder titled “Zeze and Zuzu the clowns”. Gacha Club character designs are on my wall. Enjoy!*

It was May 12th, 1962. The second Saturday of May, in fact.

Hadrien and Drystan lived next door to each other. The boys met when they could and delved in the most fun they could have.

There was not much to do on that Saturday except, of course, go to Zeze and Zuzu’s house, called “The clown house” by the neighborhood kids.

The legend said that Zeze and Zuzu were two clowns who performed in a theater troupe, until they mysteriously disappeared one day. There were rumors that Zeze’s friend killed them out of jealousy, but no one could be sure.

Their ghosts were said to haunt an abandoned, long lost house, along with the ghost of a young girl named Danika Whitmore, who went missing on September 1st, 1951.

The boys, having nothing to do with their time, decided to explore the abandoned house when their parents’ backs were turned.

Hadrien and Drystan walked through the dust-ridden house, coughing every now and then. Neither would admit it, but both felt the fear prickle on their backs, mocking them, challenging them.

In the corner of the living room, which they were still navigating through mildewed furniture, Hadrien thought that he saw a young, blue-eyed, bloody girl motion for them to leave, but she disappeared before Hadrien could point her out.

Maybe it was all in his imagination.

“Do you hear that?” Drystan asked softly.

At first, Hadrien didn’t hear anything.

But then, he heard the innocent sound of cheerful circus music, ringing throughout the house, getting closer…closer…

“New visitors! How marvelous!” A shrill, female voice squealed behind them.

The boys whipped their heads around, facing the yellow-haired, pink-eyed, green and teal party hat, pink-dress, blue and yellow striped tights, Mary Jane wearing, red nosed, grinning ear-to-ear clown.

“You’re…you’re…” Drystan was saying, but his words were lost inside of him.

“I’m Zeze the clown! That’s Zuzu over there!”

“What-“

“Hello there! So terribly sorry that I didn’t introduce myself earlier!” Zuzu said, popping up from behind and squeezing Hadrien. 

Zuzu turned Hadrien around to face him.

Zuzu was different from Zeze. His eyes were pure black, his hair was evergreen green, he wore a flower wreath on his head, donned with pink and purple roses, his overflowing coat was the same color as his hair, the bow on his neck was yellow, bright, lemon yellow, like Zeze’s hair, his pants were bubblegum pink, like the bows on his gray boots.

Both had red, circular noses. Both were clowns.

But Zuzu had a grim, cold nature to his smile that Hadrien could not seem to place.

“We’re so glad you decided to stop by!” Zeze said, taking hold of Drystan.

“Very glad.” Zuzu said.

The boys tried to fight their way out of their hold, but the clowns simply carried them to the darkness of the basement, which had more dust than upstairs and a strong scent of…

“What is that smell?” Drystan asked Hadrien.

“The body of Danika!” Zeze cheerfully replied.

Both boys wanted to hack their guts out upon hearing that, but there was no need.

When they got to the bottom, Zeze bonded Drystan’s arms to an armchair with miscellaneous scarves she found and slashed his body with various garden tools lying around.

Hadrien watched in horror as his friend gurgle-screamed, blood spewing out of his body and on the eager clown. How could anyone laugh at death? His childhood friend was becoming a gored skeleton before his very eyes and all he could do was watch.

“It’s you and me next, kid.” Zuzu said.

Hadrien gulped.

He didn’t want to die to a clown in a basement of an abandoned house, becoming another spooky story to tell on Halloween night.

But it appeared that he had no choice. When Zeze finished, Zuzu guided him to the chair and tied him up to the seat.

It was his decision to go to the house. His decision to explore it. His decision which lead to the pleading, dying eyes of his only friend.

Hadrien was in a horror of his own making.