Clown food

The herd lurched about restlessly. The animals had no idea something was wrong.

The hunter watched from a distance, far enough away to not spook the herd. It wouldn't matter, though, if he were spotted, because he knew how to disguise himself so as to not instill fear.

He SO enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. He loved stalking in silence and killing with precision.

He observed the animals for a few minutes and chose the one he wanted -- smaller, but still meaty. A good meal by any standards, even his. Not too young, that wouldn't be sporting. Not too old, either. The meat got tougher with age.

The hunter scanned the area, looking for ways to isolate his next meal from the rest of its herd.

The herd began to shift about with greater excitement and move out of the area, leaving two stragglers behind. Fortunately for the hunter, his quarry was one of those left behind. His anticipation mounted. This might be easier than he first thought.

He could have taken them both. He was good enough and quick enough to do it. He didn't want to behave in a gluttonous fashion, however. Also, dispatching two at a time could be messier than he liked. He couldn't kill two quite as quickly as he could kill one.

Again, luck was on his side. A quarrel erupted between the two who remained. Such arguments often did. He loved it when they fought. They separated themselves. He didn't have to do it.

Sometimes he had to mimic the sound of their mothers calling. He was an excellent mimic and always got the job done.

One strode away angrily. Incredibly, once again, his luck held. His prey stayed behind. The hunter began his sure and steady approach, soundlessly from behind his quarry. His supper would never hear him coming anyway. And if he did, the hunter was fully and perfectly camouflaged.

As a clown.

The young boy had an iPod in one hand and ear buds in both ears. His eyes were closed. His body swayed to the last music he would ever hear. He was oblivious to the monstrous horror looming up behind him. The abomination's reptilian lips drew back. The cavernous Cheshire Cat maw opened to reveal triangular teeth in a configuration not found in any textbook.

The huge mouth smashed down on the boy. It almost snapped him up in one gulp. Sadly, someone approached quite suddenly -- and screamed. It was the boy who argued with the young boy whose arm was now dangling from the clown's mouth.

The arm hung loosely, kind of like a cigarette, but not as cool, because it was an arm, and it was dripping blood.

The other boy, the younger one's brother, had come back to apologize.

Wrong time and wrong place to make amends.

The clown glared at the boy and snarled -- or tried to. Awfully hard to snarl when your mouth is full of boy. It bit down, slicing through the arm like butter. The arm fell into the grass. The clown stepped out of phase and vanished from sight. It disappeared from whence it came.

The arm laid in the grass and kept bleeding until it ran out of blood.

The younger one's brother, quite understandably, kept screaming.