T-Rock cocks his Glock. "Nigga, you hear me, nigga? I said: I like them shades!"
Suddenly, Tall Clown reaches up and tears away his sunglasses, revealing solid black eyes, which causes T-Rock to gasp and step back.
"Aw shit!" he cries, then bites down hard on his lip. He tries to recompose himself, but it's too late. The damage has been done. His niggas saw the fear.
And now Jay-Way lowers his Glock and points at him, laughing.
"Aw shit! You niggas see dis nigga! Nigga screamed like a bitch, nigga!"
The homies all burst into hysterics.
T-Rock bites his own lip so hard it bleeds.
And still Jay-Way laughs. "Y'all see dis nigga? Nigga like, nigga like...Aaaa! Aaah! Nigga, over d'ere screamin' like a straight-"
T-Rock swirls around, blasting at Jay-Way. "Nigga, fuck you!"
-Bap-Bap-Bap-Bap-
Jay-Way's head and chest explode. Blood sprays everywhere. The homies next to him and the youngsters at the fence all scatter as T-Rock continues to unload.
-Bap-Bap-Bap-Bap-
Jay-Way collapses to the ground, dead.
T-Rock lowers his Glock and kicks Jay-Way twice in what's left of his face. Then he books it down the street leaving the gangsta clowns standing there, mute.
They never move.
Not even once.
"I'm Danny Cedar, reporting live on the scene of a basketball court here in Harlem where witnesses say a gang of young black men - dressed as clowns -shot and killed an opposing gang member in what appears to be a territorial dispute. But some say this could be connected to the rising hysteria created by the appearances of clowns all over the country..."
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"This just in: a bank robbery in downtown Chicago became a scene of terrible bloodshed as five men entered Federal Reserve Bank on South La Salle Street wearing matching clown masks and carrying automatic assault rifles..."
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"...apparently Vicki, there's two young men inside the high school cafeteria, another one held up inside the library, still a fourth suspect, apparently a teenage girl wandering the quad... And they are all armed and using explosives; Just to recap, Vicki: A high school in Sioux Falls, South Dakota is under siege by a band of students - four that we know of so far - dressed in black trench coats with their faces painted in clown make-up, in what is a striking and visibly haunting reenactment of the infamous Columbine shootings in 1999..."
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"This is simply unbelievable! They're everywhere! Thousands of them! Carl are you getting a clear shot here? Get the fire over there! Cindy? Cindy, I don't know if you can hear me because absolute pandemonium has broken out here in the city...there's been...God, I don't even really know how to explain this...there's been an invasion here of hundreds and hundreds of men and women dressed as clowns! People are going absolutely berserk! Oh my God! Did you see that! Get that-get that over there! Cindy, there's police action happening...we're hearing heavy gunfire and an explosion of some kind--- oh my God! what the hell is that—"
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"-hundreds are dead and or hospitalized in a series of riots broken out today here in Los Angeles. Clown Hysteria has become Clown War as people are turning to the streets, attacking anyone they suspect may be involved in what has become a nationwide panic-"
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"Reports from London, Beijing, Moscow, even Sydney, Australia as the clown epidemic finally hits on a global scale..."
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"-we're seeing tanks crossing the Golden Gate Bridge as the National Guard joins the US Army here in San Francisco-
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“-riots continuing all over the world--"
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"—they're everywhere! They...they seem to be coming up from out of the ground...from below the sewers...still others are simply appearing and disappearing like magic..."
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"—a terrible tragedy as a daycare in Kansas City is taken hostage by a madman dressed as Ronald McDonald, strapped with a homemade explosive device...Steve Easterbrook CEO of McDonald's has called for a global retirement of all Ronald McDonald clowns, pulling every advertisement on television and the internet..."
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"The Pope calling this The End of Days, saying Satan's Army has come with the faces of clowns to mock God and His followers---"
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"—has officially declared this a State of Emergency nationwide. He's enacting the power to declare Marshall Law, having already invoked the use of military force in several US cities..."
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"Borders are being closed in countries throughout the globe. Everywhere US tourists are fleeing to embassies en mass..."
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"Don, I --- can't describe it...it...it looks like a giant...giant circus tent, filled with tens of thousands of clowns..."
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"Donald Trump is quoted as saying 'this clown epidemic is a global conspiracy…'"
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"—can't believe this is happening, John. I've...in all my years of reporting the news I've never seen anything like what we're witnessing here now...the streets are literally red with blood..."
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October 31, 2016 (Halloween)
White House (Oval Office)
Washington D.C.
The President sits with his staff in silence and rubs his temples. Suddenly, he stops and looks up, his face revealing grave disappointment.
"Last night I had a dream. Actually, it wasn't a dream it was a bizarre nightmare. And do you know what this bizarre nightmare was about? Hmm? Can any of you guess?"
Secretary Kerry clears his throat. "Um, Mr. President...”
"It was about clowns!" The President hollers, rising from his chair as he waves his arms frantically. "Clowns that have invaded this country, scaring people into a mass hysteria-- the result of which has been my having to use military force against my own voters because they've all gone fucking insane! Now, I ask you...gentlemen...ladies. What in the hoorah everlovin' fuck is going on here?"
The meeting erupts into several White House reps and Army generals shouting all at once until the President calls for silence.
"Alright enough! Listen carefully people! Right now, the most important issue is not who's to blame but what's going to be done! I need solutions and I need solutions now."
"Mr. President," General Milley cuts in. "I think we need to consider the possibility that this is an act of terrorism, possibly orchestrated by China and we need to respond quickly--- I say we employ the armed forces-"
The President waves at him, shaking his head. "Wait-wait-wait! Excuse me? Are you suggesting we go to war with China on the theory that they're instigating a global network of terrorism by using soldiers dressed as clowns?"
The question is so rhetorical it dem
ands an abrupt silence.
"Is there anyone in this room who doesn't think I'm a complete fucking idiot?"
No response.
Before The President can resume his tongue-lashings, a team of secret service enter the room.
Everyone rises from their seats in unison.
"Mr. President," the team leader calls out as he rushes to The Commander and Chief's side, grabbing him. "You need to come with us. There's been a possible security breach."
The President starts to ask something but he's immediately seized by three secret service agents and promptly escorted out the Oval Office.
The remaining staff watches in rising dread, some of them shouting at the team leader, demanding explanations.
Team Leader holds up both hands and asks everyone to remain calm. "There's a mob of clowns gathering outside the White House. We're deploying riot-control helicopters, as well as our own agents on foot and if you would all remain calm..."
But he doesn't gets to finish because already staff members are racing out of the room; some joined by several of the secret service agents, still others are rushing to the windows (Kerry in the lead) to see what exactly it is taking place.
"My God," Kerry whispers, mostly to himself, as he stares through the glass at what looks to a be a legion of clowns, all standing in formation, motionless; eyes entirely black.
General Milley joins Kerry at his side, nodding. "This is it. This is what we've been waiting for."
Kerry frowns and looks at him. "You mean...you've been expecting this?"
Milley returns the harsh look and shakes his head. "I'm afraid that's classified, Mr. Secretary."
Kerry's mouth drops as looks back to window.
"So it's true," he says. "Operation Bozo. My God. I thought it was just a stupid rumor."
"I'm afraid not," Milley exclaims.
The Secretary wipes his forehead of sweat and sighs. "Christ. What's the world coming to?"
Milley hears this and smiles. "All governments...overrun by clowns."
Kerry covers his mouth and laughs.
Milley does the same.
And the laughter becomes contagious. Soon everyone remaining in the room, the White House staff, the secret service, they all start laughing and before long the laughter rises so loud it splits the sound barriers of the unseen universe. The Earth shakes; all land trembles. There's a giant, rippling effect that tears through the center of the planet, destroying its blazing core. And suddenly, everything just explodes.
And with that, the laughter of a bad joke, we end the world.
THE END.
THE MIRROR by Kenneth O’Brien
‘That one.’
Harold Purves studied the old mirror indicated by his wife and baulked at the price tag. ‘It’s a bit expensive don’t you think, Eleanor?’
‘Pah!’ she scowled. ‘Money, money, money. That’s all you think about.’
‘That’s because we don’t have a lot of it, dear.’ Harold hated it when she dragged him round on shopping trips. He knew that Port Linton Curios would be no different from the rest – just another drain on his dwindling financial resources.
‘Well, if you did better at work, perhaps we wouldn’t have to scrimp and scrape all the time. Honestly! Sometimes I wonder why I married you!’ Her voice reminded him of fingernails scratching a blackboard.
Harold shuddered at his analogy and, with a sigh, returned his attention to the object of his wife’s desire. He knew that capitulation to her demand was the only way to stop her nagging. It was a full-length mirror with a simple wooden frame. The timber was blackened and traces of rot could be seen in the corners. The foxed glass was obvious enough to display its status as an antique even to an undiscerning eye. He could see why this would appeal to the shallow depth of Eleanor’s personality. He was also aware of how unbearable his life could become if he did not fulfil her wish and purchase the mirror for her. His life was intolerable enough. Perhaps he could work a few extra shifts to pay for it…
‘Can I be of any assistance?’ A wizened old man with half-moon spectacles, and a shock of unkempt white hair leaned in between Harold and Eleanor.
‘Has John Roy McCauley’s mirror caught your attention? A fine piece, but not for the financially challenged, I’m afraid, eh?’
‘I can see that!’ Harold snorted somewhat sarcastically. ‘I’m surprised you had a tag big enough to fit in all those numbers.’
‘And you are?’ asked Eleanor, peering with a somewhat unimpressed expression at the stranger.
‘The proprietor of this fair establishment.’
‘John Roy McCauley?’ Eleanor demanded. ‘Tell us about him,’
Damn! Thought Harold. This clever old codger’s going to feed her a bit of history and clinch the sale.
The old man blew his nose into a dirty grey handkerchief, stuffed it into a pocket with a flourish of his hands and began his tale. ‘Up on the sandstone cliffs overlooking the sea, there stands a ruined old house. This was once the home of John Roy McCauley, Earl of Port Linton. It was a terrible place that stood like a stone Cerberus guarding the seaward entrance to the town. It was said that the people of Port Linton would not go near the edifice because of the awful things that happened there. You see, McCauley was known as The Dark Earl and practiced the black arts. There was talk of human sacrifice and of rape and murder. In fifteen ninety, when James the sixth of Scotland began a campaign to rid the country of witchcraft, McCauley was tried and executed for his perverted misdemeanors.’ The old man held up an index finger for dramatic effect. ‘But that wasn’t the end of it! Oh no! Just before he died, The Dark Earl swore that he would return and feed upon the world that had seen fit to destroy him. Not long after his death, the mansion was razed to the ground.’ The shop owner placed a hand on the mirror frame. ‘This,’ he said softly, ‘was all that survived.’
‘Is it haunted?’ asked Eleanor.
The proprietor nodded. ‘Some previous owners say that it’s most definitely possessed. There is a legend that this mirror was a witness to so much brutality and depravity that it has become a magnet that attracts evil acts. It’s claimed that wicked things happen in its presence, and that it consumes these sins for its own dire purpose; a lodestone of malevolence, one might say.’
‘And the purpose is?’ Eleanor asked arching an eyebrow.
‘It’s said that once it has absorbed enough evil, The Dark Earl will step through the glass and walk the Earth once again to wreak his havoc. All I can tell you for certain is that it keeps returning to this shop with an alarming regularity. It seems that nobody can tolerate it in their possession for too long.’
Eleanor gripped her husband’s arm. ‘Oh, Harold! We must have it! Think what the girls will say when they come to my book club and I tell them the story of our haunted mirror.’
Harold Purves sighed. There was no way out of this. He had been maneuvered skillfully into purchasing the object. He looked at the shop owner, his mouth set in a grim line of defeat. ‘Can we negotiate?’
The proprietor smiled and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I have to make a living, you know.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Harold replied as he reached for his wallet. ‘Can you have it delivered? Here’s the address.’
The proprietor studied the slip of paper Harold had given him and frowned. ‘The newer part of town? You an incomer?’
Harold shook his head. ‘I was born here but my family moved away when I was still young.’
The shop owner smiled, displaying a row of dirty teeth. ‘And now you’re back. They always come back, you know.’
‘Do they indeed?’
The proprietor laughed. ‘Oh yes. Indeed they do.’
He stepped back to admire his handiwork. With the mirror fixed to the wall of their bedroom, he called Eleanor to come and have a look.
‘What d’you think? I’ve used some lemon oil to clean the frame. I think it came out quite well.’
She nodded and pursed her lips. ‘Yes.
That’s fine.’ Then, she frowned. ‘It looks a bit lopsided though.’
‘No it’s not.’
‘Perhaps we should have brought in a proper tradesman to fit it.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it. After all, it’s only a mirror.’
‘Only a mirror?’ Eleanor repeated acerbically. ‘You’d have thought I wanted you to buy a diamond necklace the way you harped on about the price. Only a mirror. Pah!’ She turned on her heels and left the bedroom in a swish of Crimplene skirt leaving Harold to stand seething with anger and frustration. Was nothing good enough for this woman, this…harpy? Why in God’s name had he married her? He couldn’t even remember the last day he had felt some joy. Was it so long ago? All he ever seemed to do was work to pay for her luxuries. She, meanwhile, waltzed around like some kind of duchess and constantly demeaned him in front of her friends as if he were nothing more than her personal jester. One of these days…He halted, mid-thought, as he noticed his reflection in the mirror. In the looking glass, he was dressed in a strange manner; shoes with silver buckles, long, white hose, blue breeches with white shirt that laced up at the front. Behind him, a large fire burned in an ornate hearth. He blinked and looked again. This time, he saw himself as he would expect; in his jeans and shirt, face purple with anger, standing by the double bed that never saw sexual activity any longer. Must have been a trick of the light. He shook his head and winced as he felt a pain in his left arm. Perhaps he was allowing Eleanor to stress him out too much. If only he could find the courage to divorce her. Immediately, he reasoned that such action would be pointless. She would fleece him for every penny and he would be even worse off than he was at the moment. No, he thought, divorce wasn’t the answer. But what could he do?
Times like this irritated Harold more than any other. Here he was with one of his few days off and he was banished upstairs to the bedroom, sitting on the duvet with a newspaper and cup of lukewarm tea. He could hear Eleanor and her cronies cackling at cawing at their weekly book club downstairs. He knew they were probably laughing at him. Eleanor would, no doubt, be discussing all his faults with them. To top it all off, his heartburn just wouldn’t go away. He rubbed his chest in a futile attempt to ease the pain. There were some antacid tablets downstairs but he would not be allowed into the lounge until the event had concluded. How he wished things were different. Absently he turned over a page of the paper but, as he did so, caught sight of his reflection in the old looking glass. It was lopsided. Eleanor had been right. The mirror needed adjusting and he picked up the screwdriver that had lain on the dressing table since his last attempt at hanging.
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