Clowns

Walking in to the reception of the hotel was like walking in to a living time capsule. The hotel had obviously been built to cash in on the tourist boom of the mid 1980s, when the communist government had realised it could take advantage of its beautiful coastline to attract some Pounds, Deutschmarks and Lira to boost its ailing economy. Despite the fall of communism, civil war and boom and bust not much had changed in that little hotel in the intervening 30 odd years.

It was after midnight when I arrived so any bed would do. So I didn't really care about the functional buildings, the austere decor and the brown throw on the bed that could only be there to add some colour to the otherwise unrelentingly white walls.
But as I drew the curtains I saw the eerie sight of the empty swimming pool against the pitch-black sky. Not just any swimming pool but an Olympic-sized effort with stadium seating and huge floodlights towering over it. I shivered; it was the kind of place that the gang would find themselves solving a mystery in a Scooby Doo cartoon.
I drew the curtains and climbed under the covers hoping I could get some sleep without the vision of the deserted pool haunting my dreams.
2.37am.  I was sitting up in bed, sweat dripping off my naked torso, had a piercing scream really woken me from my sleep or had I dreamt it? The answer lay behind the curtains but that would mean confronting the view of the pool. I took a deep breath and slowly climbed out from the sanctuary of my bed. I tentatively opened the curtains. The scene had transformed, no longer a dark, shadowy, empty swimming pool in a deserted stadium but the floodlights burned brightly, illuminating a surreal scene. The stadium was filled with row after row of clowns, each clown was different, clothes, hair, make up but all of them were brightly coloured, with garish combinations that both complemented and clashed.  They were all laughing and pointing at a girl in the pool trying to swim despite there being no water. Then the chant started, swim, swim, swim, swim. They were clapping now, faster and faster.

I didn’t know what to do, could I go out and try to stop this charade? Could I stand alone against an army of clowns? Or should I just get back into bed, put my head under my pillow and try to forget the whole thing? I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my back, making me shiver.

The girl in the pool pretended to swim and the slow handclap turned into a round of applause and laughter again filled the air. Then the girl climbed out of the pool, wrapped a towel around her and bowed to the audience and left the scene. An electrical clunk meant the lights died and the clowns dispersed. I checked the balcony door was locked and went back to bed.

The next morning I was sure I’d been dreaming, it was too surreal for words, obviously the strange view had wormed its way into my sub-conscious. I opened the curtains and took a sharp breath. The sun was already high in the sky and the contrasting blues of the sky and the sea were truly amazing. I watched a boat chug across the waters servicing the green islands in the near distance. In the foreground the deserted pool didn’t seem half as scary against the beautiful backdrop of the Adriatic. As I stepped on to the balcony something caught my eye. Down in the pool was a red, curly wig of the type only a clown could wear.