Clown Attack [Critique welcome]

“So you wanna play with magic!
Boy you should know what you’re falling for.
Baby do you dare to do this, cuz I’m coming at ya like a dark horse.”

Eve sang out loud in her kitchen. Katy Perry’s Dark Horse was blaring through her I-pod’s ear buds while she prepped ingredients for escargots de Bourgogne. She was in a good mood this evening because her boyfriend, Tim was on his way over for supper. Eve and Tim had been dating for over two months now, but he was always busy, so it felt like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Tim was a businessman with many clients he flew to see all over the world. His most recent venture took him to France. When they had last talked he spoke of how much he had loved the cuisine in Paris. In particular he had enjoyed eating escargots. After hearing him speak so highly of the dish Eve decided she would surprise him by making it for him upon his return to Long Beach.

Eve was not particularly skilled with cooking utensils. She was always more preoccupied with her personal hygiene and make up then what was going on in the kitchen as she grew up. Eventually, this obsession landed her a modeling gig, a couple magazine covers and TV appearances. Not to mention the eye of many rich entrepreneurs like Tim. Eve was very beautiful, but like an old cliché she had an access of beauty and a lack of brains. Eve was using a google print out for the recipe instead of the readily available cookbooks that stocked her shelves, or the cooking channel. No, instead the books continued to collect dust. And the television was left on a news station reporting on the man hunt for a crazed circus clown, who had been charged with the deaths of 3 circus acrobats and 4 audience members.

Eve was having too much fun making the food to worry about correct portions and cooking times. She danced around adding plentiful teaspoons of salt, heaps of crushed garlic, masses of bread crumbs and of course fresh snails out of the front lawn frozen overnight. Eve imagined the look on Tim’s face as she sang to the tune of different love songs that shuffled through her MP3 player. He knew she couldn’t cook. Tim knew Eve couldn’t do much of anything except look pretty and other tricks he had trained her to do before bed. So he took care of her. And she loved him for it. Tim rented her out this beach house after all – fully furnished because he knew she was hopeless when it came to decorating as well – and a brand new 2013 hot pink Camaro so the garage wouldn’t be empty.

Eve’s favorite four-legged gift wandered in with his tail dangling out of the left side of his mouth. Frijole, her Chihuahua, best friend, and 24th birthday present from Tim had come to see what all her hollering was about.

“Oh, hey baby. Smells good in here, huh?” Eve said, before bending over and ruffling the canine’s fur with her ruby red gloss painted fingernails. After that she puckered her lips and leaned in to kiss Frijole on the muzzle. Her cotton candy lipstick left a mark on the Chihuahua’s nose. Eve laughed as she wiped it off him, but Frijole still barked at her as if agitated. Even after the she removed all the lipstick he continued to throw a fit at her. Frijole ran back and forward barking and leaping at her kneecaps, but there was no time to settle him, Tim would be home within the hour.

“Not now baby,” Eve said, while turning up the volume on her I-pod and grabbing the shallot. “I’ll play with you later when daddy gets home.” Eve turned back to her dish while Frijole continued to nibble, and roll around for her attention. Finally, the dog gave up and darted across the checkered red and white tile to the all wood flooring of the living room and continued to bark at the shadow looming at the front door.

The weather had made a turn for the worse outside in the last hour, which was both a good and a bad thing. It meant Tim would probably be late getting home, but Eve would also have more time to cook dinner. Eve flicked through the news stations, trying to get a weather forecast, but all of them were held up on this clown manhunt, so she would just have to hope it didn’t get too bad and Tim’s flight hadn’t been grounded or delayed.

The winds were rocking and swaying the trees in the front yard and the sand on the beach was spinning about in visible funnels. Eve could see the waves ferociously clashing along the beach from her window, but failed to notice the other movement by the bushes. She was too busy trying to figure out if she should add more seasoning to the meal. She had already poured half the bottle out of the shaker and caused the snails to look as if they were some kind of exotic spotted-leopard hybrid mollusca mix.

She had begun chopping up the shallot when the lights flickered and then finally cut out. Immediately she thought the wind must have knocked over something or blown too much sand into a fuse box or anything like that.

“Oh dammit.” This was not good. She didn’t know the electricians number and she didn’t want to call Tim to ask. He would want to ask her why she couldn’t wait for him to get home. She had to try to fix it herself.

Eve removed her headphones and found it odd she no longer heard Frijole barking. The power outage must have scared him, the poor baby.

“Baby come here. Baby where are you?” She called to him. She whistled, snapped, and clapped, but the dog didn’t come. She wandered out the kitchen and roamed the halls without any sight of him until finally giving up. She would find Frijole after fixing the power outage.
Eve walked to the downstairs closet to put on her shoes and found Frijole hanging by the nostrils from a coat hanger. His entrails were hanging out of his stomach and dripping blood onto the hardwood floor. And before Eve could scream she heard a noise in the living room.

Eve covered her mouth and took deep breathes while looking at the dog’s stomach torn wide open. Someone was in the house, someone had killed her baby, and now was in the living room. Even tip-toed to the edge of the hallway and peered into her living room. At first nothing seemed touched or bother. The flat screen, leather couch, fireplace, and lamps were all as they were when she moved in. None of the pictures lining the walls had even been nudged, but the glass door was broken at the bottom. It looked as if it had been busted open; either kicked or shattered by a baseball bat enough times to make a large enough hole for a man to climb through. The sand from outside was being whipped inside by the strong winds.

Eve wasn’t as frightened by the sight of the broken window as she was the absence of what had busted it and killed her Chihuahua. She needed to get out, now. Tell somebody. Anybody! The police. Tim. Her phone! Her I-phone was still in the kitchen. Eve ran into the kitchen and reached for her I-phone. She pulled out the headphones to dial 911, but found the playlist she had left it on was no longer playing. Now a nursery rhyme for Rock-a-Bye Baby which she used to fall asleep was on repeat.

Eve took a deep breath and looked at the screen of her I-phone in fear. During her intense glare she noticed the figure behind her, coming towards her with a knife raised high overhead. Eve turned while leaning to the side as the blade drove down into the kitchen counter. She screamed while looking at the face of her intruder in the eye. Other than the large shoes, the crazed red hair, and the fake eye-lashes one would have never guessed this man was the one form the news station. The clown killer had cursed as he missed her and struggled to pull the blade out of the counter. The trademark red nose that matched his blood shot eyes, dangled by around his neck by a rubber band. His white face paint was runny from the combination of sweat and the storm. His real skin showed in streaks from his neck to his forehead, like a melting mosaic. His uniform and shoes were dirty, as if he had been running through mud and foliage. One of his suspenders had snapped off as well.

Eve only knew this was the identified clown from TV, because of his smile. He gave her the same smile after politely asking her to stand still that she saw in a clip of him on the news stations. Except, it looked much more manic then on television. He relinquished the knife and attempted to reach out at Eve, but she screamed again and tossed the rest of the black pepper in his face. The clown yelled as she rubbed his eyes. Eve grabbed the wine bottle sitting on the table and cracked it across the table as the clown swung wildly at her.

She didn’t scream anymore while holding the broken bottle and stepping away from him, she just waited to see if he would find her position while blinded. The clown rubbed the rest of the black pepper from his eyes and immediately lunged for Eve’s throat, but failed to notice the broken bottle she was holding. The blood dripped from the glass and onto the tip of his equally red shoes. Eve stood with her eyes closed, pressing the bottle deeper and deeper into his abdomen until the intruder fell back onto the floor and groaned.
Eve nearly passed out herself as she watched the clown lay there, gasping for air as his chest slowly heaved in and out and he started gurgling blood.

The lights flickered back on and the timer for the stove instantly went off. Eve remembered she had set it to pre-heat and notify her when she was supposed to put the food in. The garage door opened a minute later and Tim walked into the living room. “Babe, sorry I’m late. I saw the porch light was off and the garage door wouldn’t open, so I parked outside and checked the fuse box. Have you seen anyone by the house, lately? Everything was switched off.” Tim said. He was home in time for dinner, but he had already missed the show.

Dinner & A Show

Eve sang out loud in her kitchen. Katy Perry’s Dark Horse was blaring through her iPhone’s ear buds while she prepped ingredients for escargots de Bourgogne. She was in a good mood this evening because her boyfriend, Tim was on his way over for supper. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Tim was a businessman with clients he flew all over the world to see. His most recent venture took him to France. When they last talked he spoke of how much he loved the cuisine in Paris. In particular he enjoyed eating escargots. After hearing Tim speak so highly of the dish, Eve decided she would surprise him by making it upon his return to Long Beach.
Eve was not particularly skilled with cooking utensils. She had always been more preoccupied with personal hygiene and make-up, rather than what was going on in the kitchen as she grew up. This obsession landed her a modeling gig, a couple magazine covers, a few TV appearances, and the eye of many rich entrepreneurs like Tim. Eve was very beautiful, but like an old cliché she had an excess of beauty and a lack of brains. Eve was using a print out for the recipe instead of the readily available cookbooks that stocked her shelves, or the cooking channel. No, instead the books continued to collect dust. And the television was left on channel 4, reporting on the man hunt for a crazed circus clown, who had been charged with the deaths of 3 circus acrobats and 4 audience members.
Eve was having too much fun cooking to worry about correct portions and cooking times. She danced around adding plentiful teaspoons of salt, heaps of freshly crushed garlic, masses of baked bread crumbs, and of course ripened snails out of the front lawn frozen overnight. Eve imagined the look on Tim’s face as she sang to the tune of different love songs that shuffled through her device. He knew she couldn’t cook. Tim knew Eve couldn’t do much of anything except look pretty and other tricks he had trained her to do before bed. So he took care of her. And she loved him for it. Tim rented her out this beach house after all – fully furnished because he knew she was hopeless when it came to decorating as well – and a brand new hot pink Camaro so the garage wouldn’t be empty.
Eve’s favorite four-legged gift wandered in with his tail dangling out of the left side of his mouth. Frijole, her Chihuahua, best friend, and 24th birthday present from Tim had come to see what all her hollering was about.
“Oh, hey baby. Smells good in here, huh?” Eve said, before bending over and ruffling the canine’s fur with her ruby red gloss painted fingernails. After that she puckered her lips and leaned in to kiss Frijole on the muzzle. Her cotton candy lipstick left a mark on the Chihuahua’s nose. Eve laughed as she wiped it off him, but Frijole still barked at her as if agitated. Even after she removed all the lipstick he continued to throw a fit at her. Frijole ran back and forward barking and leaping at her kneecaps, but there was no time to settle him, Tim would be home within the hour.
“Not now baby,” Eve said, while turning up the volume on her iPhone and grabbing the shallot. “I’ll play with you later when daddy gets home.” Eve turned back to her dish while Frijole continued to nibble, and roll around for her attention. Finally, the dog gave up and darted across the checkered red and white tile to the all wood flooring of the living room and continued to bark at the shadow looming at the front door.
The weather had made a turn for the worse outside in the last hour, which was both a good and a bad thing. Eve flicked through the news stations, trying to get a weather forecast, but all of them were held up on this clown manhunt, so she would just have to hope it didn’t get too bad and Tim’s flight hadn’t been grounded or delayed.
The winds were rocking and swaying the trees in the front yard and the sand on the beach was spinning about in visible funnels. Eve could see the waves ferociously clashing along the beach from her window. She was too busy trying to figure out if she should add more seasoning to the meal. She had already poured half the bottle out of the shaker and caused the snails to look as if they were some kind of exotic spotted-leopard hybrid mollusca mix.
She had begun chopping up the shallot when the lights flickered and then finally cut out. “Oh dammit.” She didn’t know the electrician’s number and she didn’t want to call Tim to ask. He would want to ask her why she couldn’t wait for him to get home. She had to try to fix it herself.
Eve removed her headphones and found it odd she no longer heard Frijole barking. The power outage must have scared him, the poor baby.
“Baby come here. Baby where are you?” She called to him. She clapped, whistled, and snapped, but the dog didn’t come. She wandered out the kitchen and roamed the halls without any sight of him. Eve could see through her glass front door that the street lamps were pitch black as well.
Eve confirmed the outage was caused by the weather and realized would have to wait for them to come back on. She walked to the downstairs closet to put on her shoes. Maybe Frijole had somehow made it into the garage, had she left it cracked?
Eve finally found Frijole hanging by the nostrils from a coat hanger in the closet. His entrails were hanging out of his stomach and dripping blood onto the hardwood floor. Before Eve could scream she heard a noise in the living room.
Eve covered her mouth and took deep breathes while looking at the dog’s stomach torn wide open. Someone was in the house, someone had killed her baby, and now was in the living room. Eve tip-toed to the edge of the hallway and peered into her living room. At first nothing seemed touched or bothered. The flat screen, leather couch, fireplace, and lamps were all as they were when she moved in. None of the pictures lining the walls had even been nudged, but the glass door was broken at the bottom. It looked as if it had been busted open; either kicked or shattered by a baseball bat enough times to make a large enough hole for a man to climb through. The sand from outside was being whipped inside by the strong winds.
Eve wasn’t as frightened by the sight of the broken window as she was the absence of what had busted in and killed her Chihuahua. She needed to get out, now. Tell somebody. Anybody! The police. Tim. Her phone! Her iPhone was still in the kitchen. Eve ran into the kitchen and reached for her iPhone. She pulled out the headphones to dial 911, but found the playlist she had left it on was no longer playing. Now a nursery rhyme for Rock-a-Bye Baby which she used to fall asleep was on repeat.
Eve took a deep breath and looked at the screen of her I-phone in fear. During her intense glare she noticed the figure behind her, coming towards her with a knife raised high overhead. Eve turned while leaning to the side as the blade drove down into the kitchen counter. She screamed while looking at the face of her intruder in the eye. Other than the large shoes, the crazed red hair, and the fake eye-lashes one would have never guessed this man was the one form the news station. The clown killer had cursed as he missed her and struggled to pull the blade out of the counter. The trademark red nose that matched his blood shot eyes, dangled by around his neck by a rubber band. His white face paint was runny from the combination of sweat and the storm. His real skin showed in streaks from his neck to his forehead, like a melting mosaic. His uniform and shoes were dirty, as if he had been running through mud and foliage. One of his suspenders had snapped off as well.
Eve only knew this was the identified clown from TV, because of his smile. He gave her the same smile after politely asking her to stand still that she saw in a clip of him on the news stations. Except, it looked much more manic then on television. He relinquished the knife and attempted to reach out at Eve, but she screamed again and tossed the rest of the black pepper in his face. The clown yelled as she rubbed his eyes. Eve grabbed the wine bottle sitting on the table and cracked it across the table as the clown swung wildly at her.
She didn’t scream anymore while holding the broken bottle and stepping away from him, she just waited to see if he would find her position while blinded. The clown rubbed the rest of the black pepper from his eyes and immediately lunged for Eve’s throat, but failed to notice the broken bottle she was holding. The blood dripped from the glass and onto the tip of his equally red shoes. Eve stood with her eyes closed, pressing the bottle deeper and deeper into his abdomen until the intruder fell back onto the floor and groaned.
Eve nearly passed out herself as she watched the clown lay there, gasping for air as his chest slowly heaved in and out and he started gurgling blood.


(Edited version so far. Sorry it's condensed)

A good short story. It sets the scene really well, I think. We even get to know Eve fairly well without anything sounding like exposition.

Before she grabs and breaks the wine bottle, I think she should remember someone doing that in a movie she saw once. Otherwise, she might seem a bit too resourceful if that is her natural reaction.

I also think Eve should have some sort of emotional closure at the end. For example, she feels a little guilty about killing the clown, but assures herself that it was a life-or-death situation, and that she did the right thing. She could even say something like "that's for Frijole!" Basically, she needs some final thought about the clown incident before before the lights come on and the story is over.

I'm gonna go through this and repost it with my critique if you don't mind. I have to procrastinate from my own college work.

Dinner & A Show

Eve sang out loud in her kitchen. Katy Perry’s Dark Horse was blaring through her iPhone’s ear buds while she prepped ingredients for escargots de Bourgogne. She was in a good mood this evening because her boyfriend, Tim was on his way over for supper. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Tim was a businessman with clients he flew all over the world to see. His most recent venture took him to France. When they last talked he spoke of how much he loved the cuisine in Paris. In particular he enjoyed eating escargots. After hearing Tim speak so highly of the dish, Eve decided she would surprise him by making it upon his return to Long Beach.

Eve was not particularly skilled with cooking utensils. She had always been more preoccupied with personal hygiene and make-up, rather than what was going on in the kitchen as she grew up. This obsession landed her a modeling gig, a couple magazine covers, a few TV appearances, and the eye of many rich entrepreneurs like Tim. Eve was very beautiful, but like an old cliché she had an excess of beauty and a lack of brains. Eve was using a print out for the recipe instead of the readily available cookbooks that stocked her shelves, or the cooking channel. No, instead the books continued to collect dust. And the television was left on channel 4, reporting on the man hunt for a crazed circus clown, who had been charged with the deaths of 3 circus acrobats and 4 audience members.

Eve was having too much fun cooking to worry about correct portions and cooking times. She danced around adding plentiful teaspoons of salt, heaps of freshly crushed garlic, masses of baked bread crumbs, and of course ripened snails out of the front lawn frozen overnight. Eve imagined the look on Tim’s face as she sang to the tune of different love songs that shuffled through her device. He knew she couldn’t cook. Tim knew Eve couldn’t do much of anything except look pretty and other tricks he had trained her to do before bed. So he took care of her. And she loved him for it. Tim rented her out this beach house after all – fully furnished because he knew she was hopeless when it came to decorating as well – and a brand new 2013 hot pink Camaro so the garage wouldn’t be empty.

Eve’s favorite four-legged gift wandered in with his tongue dangling out of the left side of his mouth. Frijole, her Chihuahua, best friend, and 24th birthday present from Tim had come to see what all her hollering was about.

“Oh, hey baby.” Eve said, before bending over and ruffling the canine’s fur with her ruby red gloss painted fingernails. “Smells good in here, huh?” She puckered her lips and leaned in to kiss Frijole on the muzzle. Her cotton candy lipstick left a mark on the Chihuahua’s nose. Eve laughed as she wiped it off him, but Frijole still barked at her, clearly agitated. Even after she removed all the lipstick he continued to bark. Frijole ran back and forward barking and leaping at her kneecaps, but there was no time to settle him. Tim would be home within the hour.

“Not now baby,” Eve said, while turning up the volume on her iPhone and grabbing the shallot. “I’ll play with you later when daddy gets home.” Eve turned back to her dish while Frijole continued to nibble, and roll around for her attention. Finally, the dog gave up and darted across the checkered red and white tile to the all wood flooring of the living room and continued to bark at the shadow looming at the front door.

The weather had made a turn for the worse in the last hour, which was both a good and a bad thing. Eve flicked through the news stations trying to get a weather forecast, but all of them were held up on this clown manhunt, so she would just have to hope it didn’t get too bad and Tim’s estimated flight arrival hadn’t been delayed or grounded.

The winds were rocking and swaying the trees in the front yard and the sand on the beach was spinning about in visible funnels. Eve could see the waves ferociously clashing along the beach from her kitchen window. There was a loud sound, but she assumed it was Frijole. Eve was too busy trying to figure out if she should add more seasoning to the meal to consider otherwise. She had already poured half the black pepper out of the bottle and caused the snails to look as if they were some kind of exotic spotted-leopard hybrid mollusca mix.

Eve had begun chopping up the shallot when the lights flickered and then cut out. “Oh dammit.” She didn’t know the electrician’s number and she didn’t want to call Tim to ask. He would want to ask her why she couldn’t wait for him to get home. She had to try to fix it herself.
Eve removed her headphones and found it odd she no longer heard Frijole barking. The power outage must have scared him, the poor baby.

“Baby come here. Baby where are you?” She called to him. She clapped, whistled, and snapped, but the dog didn’t come. She wandered out the kitchen and roamed the halls without any sight of him. Eve could see through her glass front door that the street lamps weren’t illuminated.

Eve confirmed the outage was caused by the weather and she would have to wait for them to come back on. She walked to the downstairs closet to put on her shoes. Maybe Frijole had somehow made it into the garage. Had she left the door ajar by accident?

Eve finally found Frijole hanging by the nostrils from a coat hanger in the closet. His entrails were hanging out of his stomach and dripping blood onto the hardwood floor. Before Eve could scream she heard a noise in the living room.

Eve covered her mouth and took deep breathes while looking at the dog’s stomach torn wide open. Someone was in the house, someone had killed her baby, and now was in the living room. Eve tip-toed to the edge of the hallway and peered into her living room. At first nothing seemed touched or bothered. The flat screen, leather couch, fireplace, and lamps were all as they were when she moved in. None of the pictures lining the walls had even been nudged, but the glass door was broken near the bottom. It looked as if it had been busted open; either kicked or shattered by a baseball bat enough times to make a large enough hole for a man to climb through. The sand from outside was being whipped inside by the strong winds.

Eve wasn’t as frightened by the sight of the broken window as she was the absence of what had broken in and killed her Chihuahua. She needed to get out, now. Tell somebody. Anybody. The police. Tim. Her phone! Her iPhone was still in the kitchen. Eve ran into the kitchen and reached for her iPhone. She pulled out the headphones to dial 911, but found the playlist she had left it on was no longer playing. The nursery rhyme, Rock-a-Bye Baby was on repeat. Eve listened to this song often if she couldn’t sleep at night.

Eve took a deep breath and looked at the screen of her iPhone in fear. During her intense stare she noticed a moving figure behind her. It was coming towards her with a knife raised high overhead. Eve turned while leaning to the side as the blade drove down into the kitchen counter. She screamed while looking at the face of her intruder. Other than the large shoes, the crazed red hair, and the fake eye-lashes one would have never guessed this man was the clown from the news report. The clown killer cursed as he missed her and struggled to pull the blade out of the counter. The trademark red nose that matched his blood shot eyes dangled around his neck by a rubber band. His white face paint was runny from the combination of sweat and the storm. His real skin showed in streaks under the make-up from his neck to his forehead, like a melting mosaic. His uniform and shoes were dirty, as if he had been running through mud and foliage. One of the clown’s suspenders had snapped off as well.

Eve truly knew this was the identified clown from TV because of his smile. He gave her the same smile while politely asking her to stand still as he continued wrenching the knife free. That smile she saw in a clip of him on the news stations matched his perfectly, except it looked much more manic now than on television. He relinquished the knife and attempted to reach for Eve, but she screamed again and tossed the rest of the black pepper in his face. The clown yelled as he rubbed his watery eyes. Eve grabbed the wine bottle sitting on the table and cracked it across the edge of the table as the clown swung wildly at her.

She didn’t scream anymore while holding the broken bottle and stepping away from him, she just waited to see if he would find her while blinded. The clown rubbed the rest of the black pepper from his eyes and immediately lunged for Eve’s throat, but failed to notice the broken bottle she was holding. The blood dripped from the glass and onto the tip of his equally red shoes. Eve stood with her eyes closed, pressing the bottle deeper and deeper into his abdomen until the intruder fell back onto the floor and groaned.

Eve nearly passed out herself as she watched the clown lay there, gasping for air as his chest slowly heaved in and out and he started gurgling blood. Eve sat for a while longer until the lights came back on and the oven timer rang, signaling it was done pre-heating. Almost simultaneously the door opened and she knew Tim was home. He was just in time for dinner, but had missed the show.

(Final Draft) - Will consider all opinions in the re-write however. Thank you guys. Be ruthless as possible. It will only make me better, specifically on parts you don't think I needed.

Eve sang out loud in her kitchen. Katy Perry’s Dark Horse was blaring through her iPhone’sNot sure the Iphone needs to be mentioned here ear buds while she prepped ingredients for escargots de Bourgogne. She was in a good mood this evening because her boyfriend, Tim was on his way over for supper. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Tim was a businessman with clients he flew all over the world to see. that flew all over the world to see his clients His most recent venture took him to France.
When they last talked he spoke of how much he loved the cuisine in Paris. In particular he enjoyed eating escargots. After hearing Tim speak so highly of the dish, Eve decided she would surprise him by making it upon his return to Long Beach.

Eve was not particularly skilled with cooking utensils. at cooking. She had always been more preoccupied with personal hygiene and make-up, rather than what was going on in the kitchen as she grew up. This obsession landed her a modeling gig, a couple magazine covers, a few TV appearances, and the eye of many rich entrepreneurs like Tim. Eve was very beautiful, but like an old cliché First of all, there should be a comma after cliche, and you may want to just omit that part, you typically shouldn't use cliches, so pointing them out may get you points off she had an excess of beauty and a lack of brains. Eve was using a print out for the recipe instead of the readily available cookbooks that stocked her shelves, or the cooking channel. No, instead the books continued to collect dust. And the television was left on channel 4, reporting on the man hunt for a crazed circus clown, who had been charged with the deaths of 3 circus acrobats and 4 audience members.

Eve was having too much fun cooking to worry about correct portions and cooking times. She danced around adding plentiful teaspoons of salt, heaps of freshly crushed garlic, masses of baked bread crumbs, and of course ripened snails out of the front lawn frozen overnight. Eve imagined the look on Tim’s face as she sang to the tune of different love songs that shuffled through her device. He knew she couldn’t cook. Tim knew Eve couldn’t do much of anything except look pretty and other tricks he had trained her to do before bed. So he took care of her. And she loved him for it. Tim rented her out this beach house after all – fully furnished because he knew she was hopeless when it came to decorating as well – and a brand new  hot pink Camaro so the garage wouldn’t be empty.

Eve’s favorite four-legged gift wandered in with his tail tongue dangling out of the left side of his mouth. Frijole, her Chihuahua, best friend, and 24th birthday present from Tim had come to see what all her hollering was about.  

“Oh, hey baby. Smells good in here, huh?” Eve said, before bending over and ruffling the canine’s fur with her ruby red gloss painted fingernails. After that she puckered her lips and leaned in to kiss Frijole on the muzzle. Her cotton candy lipstick left a mark on the Chihuahua’s nose. Eve laughed as she wiped it off him, but Frijole still barked at her as if agitated. Even after she removed all the lipstick he continued to throw a fit at her. Frijole ran back and forward barking and leaping at her kneecaps, but there was no time to settle 'Deal with' or 'calm' I don't think settle really works there, it definitely doesn't flow to me. him, Tim would be home within the hour. Shorten the time. He arrives at the end of this right? This short story doesn't even seem like it's twenty minutes long. On that note, you might want to have her pretty far into making the dish if he's almost home. It's a slight plot hole.

“Not nowthere should be a comma here. baby,” Eve said, while turning up the volume on her iPhone and grabbing the shallot. “I’ll play with you latercomma when daddy gets home.” Eve turned back to her dish while Frijole continued to nibble,no comma here and roll around for her attention. Finally, the dog gave up and darted across the checkered red and white tile to the allas opposed to what? Half wood flooring? wood flooring of the living room and continued to bark 'Resumed barking?' just a suggestion at the shadow looming at the front door.

The weather had made a turn for the worse outside[color:1cae=ff3333]Comma here in the last hour, which was both a good and a bad thing. Eve flicked through the news stations, trying to get a weather forecast, but all of them were held up on this clown manhunt, so she would just have to hope it didn’t get too bad and Tim’s flight hadn’t been grounded , cancelledor delayed. (things always sound and read better when in threes. It's not an absolute, but it's usually best to do things like this in threes...unless it's like the description below, rocking and swaying, it makes sense cuz trees usually only move in two directions. Back and forth.)

The winds were rocking and swaying the trees in the front yard and the sand on the beach was spinning about in visible funnels. Eve could see the waves ferociously clashing along the beach from her window. She was too busy trying to figure out if she should add more seasoning to the meal.just making sure, did you make sure snails actually need seasoning and aren't just cooked? She had already poured half the bottle out of the shaker and caused the snails to look as if they were some kind of exotic spotted-leopard hybrid molluscaplural of mollusk? mix.

She had begun chopping up the shallot when the lights flickered and then finally cut out. “Oh dammit.”Given her dumb chick characterization, might want to go with something 'cuter She didn’t know the electrician’s number and sheI'd add in something like 'definitely' or 'really' here to lessen the, non-poetic, repetition didn’t want to call Tim to ask. He would want to ask her why she couldn’t wait for him to get home. She had to try to fix it herself.

Eve removed her headphones and found it odd she no longer heard Frijole barking. The power outage must have scared him, the poor baby.
“Baby come here. Baby where are you?” She called to him. She clapped, whistled, and snapped,Three! Yay, but you already said she called to him. It also might be more ominous to just say 'The dog didn't come.' which fits what happens next but the dog didn’t come. She wandered out the kitchen and roamed the halls without any sight of him. Eve could see through her glass front door that the street lamps were pitch black as well.

Eve confirmed the outage was caused by the weather and realized would have to wait for them to come back on. She walked to the downstairs closet to put on her shoes. Maybe Frijole had somehow made it into the garage, had she left it'the door', not 'it' cracked?

Eve finally found Frijole hanging by the nostrils from a coat hanger in the closet. His entrails were hanging out of his stomach and dripping blood onto the hardwood floor. Before Eve could scream she heard a noise in the living room.

Eve covered her mouth and took deep breathes while looking at the dog’s stomach torn wide open. Someone was in the house, someone had killed her baby, and now was in the living room. Eve tip-toed to the edge of the hallway and peered into her living room.  At first nothing seemed touched or bothered. The flat screen, leather couch, fireplace, and lamps were all as they were when she moved in.  None of the pictures lining the walls had even been nudged, but the glass door was broken at the bottom.I would make her noticing the broken glass a separate sentence since she notices it separately It looked as if it had been busted open; either kicked or shattered by a baseball bat enough times to make a large enough hole for a man to climb through. The sand from outside was being whipped inside by the strong winds.Glass door? Probably can't tell what broke a glass door. It's glass, sorta just breaks. You also shouldn't mention a bat since the clown attacks her with a knife, not a bat.

Eve wasn’t as frightened by the sight of the broken window as she was the absence of what had busted in and killed her Chihuahua.Friend She needed to get out, now. Tell somebody. Anybody! The police. Tim. Her phone! Her iPhone was still in the kitchen. Eve ran into the kitchen and reached for her iPhone. She pulled out the headphones to dial 911, but found the playlist she had left it on was no longer playing. Now a nursery rhyme for Rock-a-Bye Baby which she used to fall asleep was on repeat.

Eve took a deep breath and looked at the screen of her I-phone in fear. During her intense glare Not really how the screen of an Iphone works, also I doubt she's glaring. She's terrified, not angry. she noticed the figure behind her, coming towards her with a knife raised high overhead. Eve turned while leaning'and jumped' or 'flinched' sounds more characteristic of some one who is scared. Don't forget the connotation of words. It makes things feel different as a reader to the side as the blade drove down into the kitchen counter. She screamed while looking at the face of herthe intruder in the eye. Other than the large shoes, the crazed red hair, and the fake eye-lashes one would have never guessed this man was the one form the news station. The clown killer had cursed as he missed her and struggled to pull the blade out of the counter. The trademark red nose that matched his blood shot eyes, dangled by around his neck by a rubber band. His white face paint was runny from the combination of sweat and rain from the storm. His real skin showed in streaks from his neck to his forehead, like a melting mosaic. His uniform and shoes were dirty, as if he had beenfrom running through mud and foliage. One of his suspenders straps had snapped off as well.

Eve only knew this was the identified clown from TV,no comma needed because of his smile. He gave her the same smile after politely asking her to stand still that she saw in a clip of him on the news stations. 'The same smile she saw on the news' I don't know what you meant in the first sentence, change it or make it more clear Except, it looked much more manic then 'than it had' or 'than' not 'then' on television. He relinquished the knife and attempted to reach out at Eve, but she screamed again and tossed the rest of the black pepper in his face.When did she grab black pepper? I don't think you remarked on her keeping it with her, and she walked away from the kitchen with the intent of fixing fuses. Why does she have this. The clown yelled as she extra S rubbed his eyes. Eve grabbed the wine bottle sitting on the table and cracked it across the table as the clown swung wildly at her. Dar is a bit right, isn't she supposed to be ditzy? Why not have her grab a knife? His knife? Run into the kitchen to get something?

She didn’t scream anymore while holding the broken bottle and stepping away from him, she just waited to see if he would find her position while blinded. The clown rubbed the rest of the black pepper from his eyes and immediately lunged for Eve’s throat,With his teeth? He abandoned the knife, right? but failed to notice the broken bottle she was holding.
Make this a separate paragraph if you're going to skip time, even a single action.
The blood dripped from the glass and onto the tip of his equally red shoes.Doesn't the word 'sanguine' also mean blood red? I'd go with that instead, 'equally red shoes' seems clunky, to me at least Eve stood with her eyes closed, pressing the bottle deeper and deeper into his abdomen until the intruder fell back onto the floor and groaned.
Eve nearly passed out herself as she watched the clown lay there, gasping for air as his chest slowly heaved in and out and he started gurgling blood. Like Dar said, needs finality. I'd put back in the final paragraph from the first draft.

FINAL VERDICT: watch your comma usage and minor grammar issues. Though I suppose that's why we're here. Always keep word connotation in mind. Connotation means that two words or phrases can mean the same thing, but have a different thought process attached to them. Like saying 'you're fired' or 'we have to let you go.' or the words 'bossy' and 'authoritative'. Connotation is very important to writing.

Overall? Good job. Still not sure you can hang a dog bu it's nostrils. In the cbox you mentioned no headphones in the world could block out the sound of broken glass? full ear ones or noise cancelling could, but your best bet would be mentioning a PARTICULARLY LOUD crash of thunder. So you can justify it if asked.

You asked for ruthless, I'd use the word 'thorough~'

This is the second draft, not the newest one.

-The Muse.