51-52

Chapter 51: Laughter

Click!  

"I'm home, Mom."

Arthur called out toward the bedroom as he entered the house.

"…"

The only response was silence.

Unfazed, Arthur locked the door behind him, glanced at the clown mask in his hand, and met the hollow eye sockets of the mask. Without realizing it, the corners of his mouth curved upward.

"Who's there?"

At that moment, a frail voice came from the bedroom.

Arthur's smile faded as he shifted his gaze away from the mask. Looking toward the bedroom, he replied quickly, "It's me, Arthur."

"Arthur? Who's Arthur?"

However, the voice from the bedroom still carried a tone of confusion.

"Your son."

"…"

After a moment of silence, the voice finally spoke with a hint of realization, "Oh, it's Arthur. You're back. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I thought someone had broken in…"

"Yeah, I’m back."

Setting the clown mask down, Arthur moved to the kitchen. He started heating a cheap frozen steak while continuing the conversation with his mother in the bedroom.

"Don't worry, Mom. I won’t let anyone hurt you."

As he heated the food, Arthur pulled out several bottles of pills from his pocket, opened them one by one, and swallowed the pills inside.

The doctor said these medications would improve his condition, but Arthur didn’t feel any different.

After taking the pills, his gaze unconsciously drifted back to the clown mask on the table.

Gurgle, gurgle—  

The water on the stove began to boil, and the plastic packaging inside started to roll in the bubbles.

Snapping out of his daze, Arthur removed the steak from the hot pan, tore open the package, and plated the meal. Carrying the small tray, he walked into the bedroom.

Inside, an elderly woman with a head of white hair sat on the bed, staring blankly at the television.

"Dinner's ready, Mom."

Hearing his voice, the woman turned her dull, vacant gaze toward Arthur, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Who are you?"

"I’m Arthur."

Arthur was clearly accustomed to this reaction. Skillfully, he placed the tray in front of her and began cutting the steak.

"Arthur? Who’s Arthur?"

"Your son."

Replaying this same conversation for what felt like the hundredth time, Arthur carefully sliced the steak while his eyes drifted toward the bottles of pills on the bedside table.

Alzheimer’s disease—commonly referred to as dementia—is characterized by memory loss, aphasia, apraxia, agnosia, visuospatial impairments, executive dysfunction, and changes in personality and behavior. Its cause remains unknown.

Arthur’s mother suffered from an advanced stage of this disease. She had lost most of her memories, retaining only fragments, and had also lost basic motor skills, spending her days confined to bed.

"Oh, it’s Arthur. You’re back. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I thought someone had broken in…"

On the bed, the elderly woman repeated the same words, her voice faltering.

Arthur finished cutting the steak and placed the plate in front of her.

"Here you go, Mom. Eat up."

She reached for the fork, glanced at Arthur, and said, "You’re the one who needs to eat. You’re nothing but skin and bones."

"I already ate outside," Arthur replied with a faint smile, telling a small lie. Sitting by the bed, he turned his gaze to the flickering television screen, his thoughts drifting back to the clown mask he had taken from the homeless man.

In the bedroom, Arthur stared blankly at the stale jokes on the late-night talk show.

Suddenly, sharp laughter rang in his ears.

Hahaha—  

Startled, Arthur snapped out of his daze and looked up.

"What’s wrong, Arthur?"

On the bed, noticing his reaction, the elderly woman looked puzzled.

"Nothing. I just thought I heard laughter," Arthur replied uncertainly, meeting his mother’s gaze.

"Laughter?"

She glanced around the room before turning back to the flickering television. "Maybe it came from the TV."

"Maybe."

Despite her suggestion, Arthur wasn’t convinced.

The laughter he heard was piercing and distinct—nothing like the canned laughter used in talk shows.

"Or maybe…"

The sudden laughter brought the image of the clown mask to Arthur's mind.

"Arthur, where are you going?"

"It’s nothing, Mom. I’m just going to the living room."

Reassuring her with a quick response, Arthur stepped into the living room. His eyes fell on the clown mask sitting on the table, its exaggerated grin seeming to beckon him.

"Maybe I’m just exhausted… or it’s the pills finally kicking in," he muttered to himself.

It was just a mask.

Shaking his head, Arthur dismissed the absurd thought. It was more plausible that the medication was playing tricks on his mind than believing a mask could laugh.

Hahaha—  

Chuckling at his own ridiculousness, Arthur turned to leave the room when the laughter rang out again.

The sound, coming from behind him, made him freeze in place.

Slowly, Arthur turned his head, his eyes locking on the clown mask on the table.

"That’s impossible…"

A look of disbelief crossed his gaunt face as he stared at the mask.

Almost involuntarily, Arthur reached out, picking up the mask. He examined its crude paint and workmanship, recalling the words of the homeless man.

Turning it over, he studied the rough backside of the mask. The curved surface made the clown’s grin appear even more sinister.

Arthur’s gaze seemed to be drawn in by an unknown force. Slowly, he raised the mask to his face.

Hahaha—  

"Who’s there?"

From the bedroom, his mother’s dull voice called out, her expression tinged with confusion as she repeated the question.

"It’s me, Arthur, Mom," came the reply from the living room.

Straightening his hunched figure, Arthur twisted his neck and let out another burst of laughter.

"Hahaha—hahahaha!"

End of Chapter  

*Chapter 52: Laughter *

“Woof, woof, woof!”

“Shut up, stupid dog!”

A coarse voice cursed aloud as a bearded man, holding a bottle of alcohol, staggered along the streets of New York.

He turned his head and shouted at a stray dog on the street.

The man with the scruffy beard raised his bottle, took a large swig, and kicked an empty soda can on the sidewalk.

Clang, clatter, clink—

The dented can rolled noisily along the empty street, its sound echoing in the stillness.

The bearded man seemed unfazed by the racket. Instead, he burst into hearty laughter.

But then, amidst his laughter...

The rolling can suddenly stopped, halting at someone’s feet in the distance.

His laughter died abruptly. The bearded man, still holding the bottle, squinted at the figure in the distance. A drunken look of confusion spread across his face.

Under his dull gaze, the figure slowly emerged from the shadows.

It was a clown.

The clown wore an old-fashioned, shabby shirt and a red clown mask. His mouth was twisted into a grotesque smile, as though offering an expression of joy.

Walking with a lively bounce, the clown approached the bearded man. The eyes behind the mask stared intently at the man’s stupefied face. Then, in a cheerful voice, the clown asked:

“Why… so serious?”

Unable to hold back his own laughter, the clown continued in a bright and playful tone: “My mother always told me to never forget to smile, to wear a happy face. She said my life's mission was to bring joy to everyone.”

“Now, let me share that joy with you.”

As his words fell, a burst of uncontrollable laughter erupted from the clown.

“Ha… ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Under the infectious sound of the clown's laughter, the corners of the bearded man’s mouth began to twitch upward, seemingly beyond his control.

Moments later, the same laughter burst out of his mouth, echoing the clown’s.

Crash!  

The bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground. Yet, the man didn’t seem to care. Gripping his stomach with both hands, he doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

“Laugh to your heart’s content… ha… ha-ha-ha-ha!”

---

*The Next Morning*

At dawn, several NYPD squad cars surrounded the scene of the incident.

Yellow police tape cordoned off the area as officers kept onlookers at bay and questioned the homeless man who had discovered the body.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man stammered under the sharp gaze of the detective.

“I was just out early, hoping to scavenge something useful. Who’d have thought I’d stumble upon a dead guy in the middle of the street?”

“Then why did you report it?” the detective asked.

“I didn’t want any trouble.”

The homeless man shook his head, explaining, “If I didn’t report it, what if someone accused me of killing him?”

“All I want is to avoid trouble. Life’s already hard enough for me as it is. I don’t need a murder case hanging over my head.”

The man nervously glanced at the officers moving around the scene and then at the body. Finally, he hesitantly asked the detective, “I’ve told you everything I know, officer. Can I...?”

Noticing the man’s expectant gaze, the detective glanced at the burger in his hand before tossing it to him.

“It’s yours now.”

“Thanks, officer! You’re a good person,” the man said, catching the burger eagerly. He took a big bite and added with his mouth full, “If you have more questions, you know where to find me. I’ll be around.”

“Don’t run off,” the detective warned.

“I won’t, officer. I’m always nearby. Just drive down the street, and you’ll see me,” the homeless man mumbled, devouring the burger.

---

*“What’s the status?”*

After questioning the homeless man, the detective crossed the police tape with a furrowed brow.

“Not much to go on,” his colleague replied, shaking his head. “Just a random homeless guy who happened upon the body.”

“Did we identify the victim?”

“Yeah, based on his driver’s license, he’s Harvey Cruz. A drifter. Used to work at an auto repair shop, but that was months ago. He’s got a record for public drunkenness and assault. Just got out of lockup three days ago.”

“A guy with a long rap sheet,” the detective mused, glancing at Harvey’s body. He started forming an idea.

“Maybe we should look into who he might have crossed?”

Street deaths like this were often the result of grudges, especially for someone with Harvey’s history.

“That’d make things straightforward,” his colleague said. But then his gaze shifted to the assistant coroner nearby.

Following his gaze, the detective approached the coroner.

“The state of the body is... odd,” the coroner said, glancing down at Harvey’s corpse.

“Odd?”

The detective’s brow furrowed. He had seen plenty of crime scenes, but hearing the coroner describe a body as “odd” was unusual.

“You’ll understand when you see it,” the coroner said, motioning for him to take a closer look.

The detective crouched down and studied Harvey’s face.

“What the…?”

Harvey’s face was frozen in a wide, grotesque smile, as if he had died laughing.

“A smiling corpse?”

The detective struggled to imagine what could have caused such a bizarre death.

“Other than the expression, there are no visible wounds,” the coroner explained. “No gunshot wounds, no blunt force trauma, and no signs of poisoning. Apart from the smile, everything seems... normal.”

---

(End of Chapter)