Welcome to my page of Arty stuff and stuff! I'll be posting updates here about all the Comic Cons I'll be attending. Follow me to find out where and when I'll be scaring the hell out of you all. Here a little story how it begins and ends
Art the Clown (a melancholic soul with a painted-on smile) worked alone at the Clown Café, a whimsical establishment tucked away on a cobbled side street. His r
outines were simple: juggling rubber chickens, pulling endless ribbons from his oversized hat, and making balloon animals that somehow seemed to possess a life of their own. He found a strange solace in the laughter of children, a stark contrast to the unsettling emptiness he felt inside. His only friend was a dilapidated, music-box-playing monkey he called Mr. Bubbles (a surprisingly cynical primate with a penchant for stealing shiny objects). Art’s life was a quiet symphony of pastel colours and forced cheer, until the night the carousel came to town. The carousel was unlike anything Art had ever seen. Its painted horses were skeletal, their eyes glowing with an unnatural phosphorescence. The music it played wasn’t merry; it was a hypnotic dirge that seeped into your bones. Drawn by an irresistible force, Art found himself near the carousel, watching a young girl with pigtails (Lily – a child with an unnervingly knowing gaze) ride a horse that seemed to writhe and pulse with a life of its own. As the music reached a crescendo, Lily vanished. Not in a simple disappearing act, but as though she'd been *absorbed* by the carousel's malevolent wood. The music stopped abruptly, leaving an echoing silence filled with the scent of ozone and something…rotten. Bubbles, usually aloof, chattered frantically, his tiny eyes wide with terror. That night, the clown's painted smile cracked, replaced by a rictus of pure, unadulterated horror. The carousel had fractured something within him, unleashing a darkness that swallowed the joy, leaving only a monstrous emptiness. The following days saw Art's transformation. His cheerful colours were replaced by a grim palette of black and crimson. The playful mischief in his eyes turned cold, calculating. He discovered a perverse satisfaction in inflicting pain, a twisted echo of the laughter he once craved. The carousel, it seemed, hadn't just taken Lily; it had gifted Art a new purpose, a new role: the Terrifier. Bubbles, ever the cynic, seemed to find a perverse amusement in his friend's descent into madness, his chattering now a chilling accompaniment to Art's reign of terror. The once lonely clown had found his audience, but it wasn't the giggling children of the Clown Café; it was a far more terrified, and far less forgiving, crowd.
