The Maze of Mirrors resonated with the horrified screams of a couple that had bravely ventured into the labyrinth, and birthing from those screams came a rhythmic sound. If one listened, it sound like the squeak of a chew toy or rubber ducky, gradually rising in volume until it seemed to swirl about the two new visitors (Alicia and Aaron) that had stumbled into their curiosity. The squeaks grew louder and louder until it was a near deafening vexation, echoing off the mirrors, echoing in one’s mind until after five seconds the sound abruptly ceased.<br/><br/>Standing within the corridor of the maze was a rather black and white individual—though the dark blood that stained the front of his white tank and glistened off his neck was a contradiction. He stood with a unicycle resting on the back of his shoulders as his eyes observed the two like golden rings beaming from the black voids of his sockets. His face was painted white with dark, raccoon circles over his lazy eyes and the etchings of wicked teeth zigzagging his mouth. His face was pink with the blood that stained the white tank that was thin enough to reveal the soft ripples of an able-bodied abdomen beneath. Red suspenders clung to black and white striped pants that fell over the fuzzy heads of two teddy bears with black buttons for eyes and Xs for mouths. The source of the horrid squeak was found.<br/><br/>The clown that stood before these visitors slowly blinked his eyes, revealing to them that he was no illusion manifested by the mirrors around them. “Hi,” he greeted calmly before he shrugged his shoulders and with his left hand lowered the unicycle upon the floor. Once it was erect, he sat upon the black leather seat that was situated comfortably beneath his ass. His legs spread wide at first to balance himself and to act as the way he normally sat. Beyond that painted chain-chomp grin, the clown’s lips pulled into a smirk as he used his left hand once more, fingers curling into his palm as his thumb indicated over his shoulder, the corridor behind him. “I don’t mean to ruin your fun, but I marked the correct path through this maze. Just follow my trail upon the floor. ‘Don’t want my guests getting lost,” he informed before his lips split into a cheerful smile despite the blood that blushed them. “You guys need to come see my show.”<br/><br/>The smile immediately left his face as his legs closed and his feet settled upon the black pedals of his cycle. He started wheeling past the young, assumed couple as the tire left a red trail. For every rotation of his pedals, there was a tune that emitted, which sounded similar to the Pop Goes the Weasel song. It was unknown where the tune could be coming from for the unicycle didn’t seem equipped with a music box. As soon as the<em>Pop! Goes the Weasel!</em>part arrived, the clown instantly fell over to sprawl across the floor on his back. The unicycle appeared to have jammed and with the clown’s thud of a fall came the noise of several pots and pans tumbling as though from a kitchen cupboard to the floor, and then the blooper of a track:<em>womp, womp, womp, woo~omp</em>followed. Slowly, the clown rose onto his elbows, teeth gritting in a wince. “Ah, shit. I hate when that fucking happens,” he grumbled. He rose back to his feet and stomped upon the wheel of the unicycle as it suddenly shot erect once more. He resumed his seat and proceeded down the corridor from which the visitors came as visitors like them near the entrance emitted another scream. The clown’s irritable shout could be heard:<br/><br/><em>Boo! God damn it!</em><br/><br/>If the two new visitors continued to explore the Maze of Mirrors, they would find the clown’s said trail not entirely drawn by a unicycle’s tire. There were footsteps that swelled, shrank, and seemed to step all over the place, and they would soon find hand prints in blood spotting the mirrors. Spots and smears as though there had been a struggle; and the trail became thick with blood all over the floor. The smell became rank with death as the bloody trail continued to thicken until on the next exposition of mirrors was a name. The name was done in runny strokes that read: Bojangles…and on the other side of the hall: was here!