Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  “Clowns are a supernatural species,” Bert repeated. “Unbelievable.”

  “Well, start believing,” Sharp replied. “No one knows where they came from, or much about their true nature. Their existence is shrouded in mystery. Mostly because they’re all murderous psychopaths with way too much power. As a seemingly normal mage transitions into a clown, they become dark and twisted. Worst of all, they get a hunger for flesh.”

  It was then Bert noticed another clown riding an adult-sized tricycle. Shiny red, it even had tassels and a horn. However, what really caught his eye was that the clown was steering the tricycle with two severed human arms. The dead hands were wrapped around the handlebars and the clown held onto the forearms, using them to maneuver the bike. He gave Bert a wink as he passed by.

  Another clown juggled human heads. These didn’t grin at him like the ones in the mirror. They were very dead, their severed necks dripping and flicking blood all over the clown’s face and costume as he kept them in motion. Noticing Bert’s attention, a long, snake-like tongue slithered out of the clown’s mouth and licked the blood from around his lips, smearing it across his white face.

  Another clown sat on the floor chewing on a human leg like a greasy piece of chicken. He held it out toward Bert, offering him a bite. Bert shook his head. The clown shrugged and went back to gnawing.

  “Okay, so they eat people.”

  “That’s not all,” Sharp said. “They’re powerful. Like, you should be crapping your pants powerful.”

  “Any particular field?”

  “Yeah, all of them. They’re adept in virtually every facet of magic, but prefer magic that allows them to put on a good show. They’re masters of illusion and deception. They created your idea of ‘clowns’ by showing up for celebrations and doing silly tricks for kids. And kids, being stupid little mongrels, adore them. And their dipshit parents are all like, ‘Hey, why not let a creepy, pasty skinned man with a squeaky voice and bag of tricks play with our children?’ Then, later, once they have the little tyke’s trust, the clown comes back for a snack. And they’re never caught. Regular human morons started emulating them without ever realizing what it was they were pretending to be. Amazing you apes haven’t gone extinct.”

  Bert watched as a nearby clown tried to convince a wiener dog to jump through a hoop. The problem, however, was that the dog was clearly dead. Like, old road kill dead. It wouldn’t be jumping through anything. Bert almost felt bad for the clown, who was putting on quite a show of frustration. Then, it put a finger to its lips, as though it were thinking. The clown dipped its hand into a pocket and withdrew a human finger. It wiggled the finger in front of the dog’s nose, and much to Bert’s surprise (though he knew he shouldn’t be at this point), the dog wagged its tail and hopped to its feet. At the clown’s direction, the dog jumped back and forth through the hoop. The clown tossed the finger to the dog and took a bow. Crunching on the finger, the dog took a bow as well, and Bert saw that its eye sockets were empty.

  Another clown performed pantomime. It might not have struck Bert as odd, if not for how normal it was compared to the other clowns. Then the clown began climbing an imaginary wall, only it wasn’t imaginary. He was ascending a wall of nothingness. Even the front of his costume pressed against him, as though he were climbing a wall of glass. Halfway to the ceiling he flipped upside down and climbed back down.

  “Sharp, if clowns are as bad as you say, why hasn’t the Hand eradicated them?”

  “They did. The last of them were killed on some distant planet a couple hundred years ago. There hasn’t been a clown seen on Earth in hundreds of years. They’re extinct.”

  “They don’t look extinct. If they’re the real deal, how have they avoided the Hand finding them?”

  “Masters of illusion and deception,” Sharp repeated. “That’s what I’m trying to explain. These beings are more powerful than anything you’ve ever faced. More powerful than anything you even knew existed. Powerful enough to hide from the Hand. And Bert, just as an FYI, they really hate wizards.”

  “Well, what the hell do they want with me?”

  “I don’t know, but if they wanted you dead you would be.”

  Bert turned his attention to the six oversized chairs. A clown sat in each, legs dangling over the end. They didn’t look much different from the others, except for the one in the center chair. It was clear he was the leader. Power radiated from him like an inferno. He had an air of unchallenged authority, total and complete control. And he was just a child.

  At least, he appeared to be a boy. His skin was the same pasty white as the others, and he dressed like them too, but where they all appeared to be adults, he didn’t look a day over eight years old. A wide eyed, dimple cheeked, innocent smiling little clown baby sitting atop his thrown.

  And the power. Without question, the child was more powerful than any mage he’d ever seen. If all the wizards he’d ever known gathered in one place, they’d be a drop of rain to the oceans of power swirling around this little boy.

  But he wasn’t a little boy, Bert realized as their eyes locked. His pupils were slit like a serpent, but it wasn’t that which made him sure. It was that his eyes were old. Ancient. Full of knowledge and madness. There was a storm in those eyes, staring back at him, begging to be unleashed.

  “Sharp,” Bert said, eyes still locked with the child. “That is the most terrifying little boy I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s not a little boy,” Sharp replied. “That’s the single most dangerous being you’ve ever encountered. That thing could probably destroy the world with a snap of its little fingers. It just looks like a kid… Fucking clowns.”

  “Clowns,” Bert said, speaking aloud for the first time.

  The little boy stood in his chair and jumped up and down, clapping his hands. On cue, the others joined him in celebration. Some bounced like their master. Others squealed and laughed. The one on the tricycle honked his little horn. Another did a somersault. Even the dead wiener dog seemed rather excited.

  As they quieted down Bert asked, “So, what can I do for you?”

  Something struck him across the face. He wasn’t sure what, but realized he was looking up at the ceiling and knew it to be true. Something had slapped him. Slapped him right off his feet. Yet, no physical blow had been dealt. Nor did he sense the slightest hint of magical energy. He’d been magically bitch slapped and couldn’t even sense the power that did it.

  “Well, Sharp,” he said, still lying on the floor. “I think I’m starting to see what you were talking about.”

  “Yeah, because our blood ghoul pal and the funhouse mirrors weren’t evidence enough.”

  Bert rose to his feet and forced a smile. It was the only polite thing to do since they were all smiling at him, baring razor-sharp teeth and bouncing like a bunch of damn children. Nothing, he decided, would ever shock him again. He was wrong.

  The little boy said, “You will not speak unless asked a question, wizard child.”

  It was a child’s voice on the surface, but beneath it were a multitude of voices. There was a penetrating baritone, a strained madman’s shrill, a slithery serpent rasp, and others, all wrapped up together in one voice. As if Ozzy Osbourne, Barry White, and the Devil had joined a children’s choir.

  Bert pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. This seemed to please the clowns and was met by applause, cheers, and more general celebration.

  Grinning, the child asked, “Is it true that you are a wizard?”

  Bert nodded, then added a quick, “Yes.”

  The clowns went nuts.

  “It isn’t often we get a wizard to play with,” the boy said, licking his lips.

  “Oh, that can’t mean anything good,” Sharp said.

  The clown child continued, “My friends want to taste your blood.”

  The clowns went wild.

  “And how exactly do I respond to that?” Bert asked Sharp.

  “You don’t. Just stand there and look stu
pid. Shouldn’t be hard.”

  The child said, “But unfortunately, one of my friends wants you to stay alive, for now.”

  “Awww,” the crowd cried at once. Some booed. Others frowned. They all pouted. The head-juggling clown stopped juggling and threw one of the severed heads at Bert. On instinct, Bert caught the head like a basketball, then remembering what it was and dropped it. He wiped the blood off on his jeans.

  Trying to ignore the head by his feet, Bert put on his best poker face and kept his eyes on the leader.

  “Your kind doesn’t like us,” the child said. “You wizards are too serious. You never want to play. Not like us. We always want to play, but no one wants to play with us anymore. You wizards killed most of our kind. This makes us very sad.”

  Exaggerated sobs went up around the room as the clowns began to cry. They hugged each other, crying on one another’s soldiers and openly weeping as though it were a funeral.

  “We aren’t meant to be sad,” the clown child said, bring the room to silence. “We’re meant to be happy.”

  The crying stopped, and all at once, they were all smiling at him again.

  “We want to be happy. We want to play. But you silly little wizards hunt us, so we hide. And we wait. But one day we’ll reveal ourselves and we’ll play with the wizards again. Oh, we will play and play and play.”

  This was met with another roar of approval.

  “We like new toys,” the child said. “We like them, oh, so very much. Do you like new toys?”

  Bert nodded.

  The child pointed toward a clown on the other side of the room. “Our young friend Ding Dong has his eyes on a new toy. He thinks we’ll all like the toy so much that we’ll make him one of our favorites, one of the most beloved among our little family. But he can’t go out there and reveal himself, no, no, we must stay hidden.” He held up a finger to his mouth, making the quiet gesture. The other clowns copied him. “Ding Dong thinks you’ll be a good little pet. He thinks you’ll find this toy for him. Do you understand?”

  Bert nodded.

  The clown child beamed. “Just think of it as a game of fetch.”

  Bert forced a smile.

  “Do you want to know the most exciting part of the game?”

  “Absolutely,” Bert replied.

  Silently, to Sharp, he said, “We don’t know what it is.”

  “Yup,” Sharp replied.

  “We don’t know what it is,” the clown boy said. The others went wild. “But we do know that whoever has our new toy, well, someone wants to play with them. But not us. We just want the toy. But we’ll take both.”

  “Wait.” Bert realized too late that he spoken out of turn, but decided to go with it. “Someone wants to play with them? You mean someone is looking for the person who has the…toy?”

  The clown child didn’t respond immediately, but just watched him with silent contempt. Just had to open my big mouth, Bert thought, his stomach tightening while he awaited his punishment.

  Finally the clown child said, “Yes, someone wants to play with the person who currently has our toy. We don’t care about all of that. We just want the toy. Ding Dong heard your name, little wizard. He heard that you were capable of completing this little game of fetch for him.”

  “What do you know about the person who has the toy?”

  “We know nothing about them. They don’t interest us. Just the toy,” he said, winking. “But if we did, we wouldn’t ruin the fun by telling you. Find the item, find the person. Or is it, find the person, find the item?” He fell into a giggling fit. “Find the item being sought, and you’ll find the person. Or, find the person, and you’ll find the item being sought. Such clever little things, words.”

  Bert nodded, trying not to speak out of turn again.

  “You’ll begin this little game immediately,” the child said. “And do hurry, you haven’t much time. Ding Dong isn’t known for his patience. He and his friends will be checking in on you.”

  Bert glanced over at Ding Dong, who grinned at him. Bert smiled back.

  Ding Dong looked the same as the other clowns. Pale white skin. Ridiculous costume. His head was bald, except for neon green tufts poking out above his ears, and he had a bright red nose. And razor-sharp teeth. Just another one of the guys.

  Bert turned back to the leader.

  “Ding Dong wants you be his friend,” the boy said. “And a friend would do this for him. A friend would bring him his new toy. But, if you don’t, well, Ding Dong will be so upset. He’ll think you don’t want to be his friend. He’ll be devastated, and, well, maybe a little jealous. You have a lot of friends, wizard. He might take them from you. And since he won’t have a new toy, well, I guess he’ll just have to play with them. He’ll play with them until he’s the only friend you have left, and then, he’ll come play with you. Understand?”

  “Um, Sharp,” Bert asked. “Was that a very long-winded and confusing way of saying if I fail they’re going to kill everyone I care about?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so,” Sharp replied. “Fucking Clowns.”

  Bert nodded at the clown child. “Yes, I understand.”

  The clowns went wild again. A rather obese clown did a somersault toward him, popped up to his feet, honked his nose, then turned and farted fire in Bert’s direction. The heat was impressive. The smell wasn’t.

  “Good,” the clown child said, grinning. “That makes us very happy.”

  He made the slightest hint of a hand motion. The clown on the tricycle road over to Ding Dong, who made a show of reaching deep down into one of his pockets and pulling out a dead pigeon. The clown on the tricycle held up one of the severed arms and Ding Dong placed the pigeon in the palm. The tricycle-riding clown rolled over to Bert and stuck out the hand.

  Bert stared at the dead hand which held the dead bird. The clown cocked an eyebrow at him and nudged him in the chest with it. Bert shrugged and picked up the dead bird, realizing there was a small scroll wrapped around its foot. He removed the scroll and handed the dead bird back to the clown, who in turn, shoved the whole thing into his mouth. There was a crunch and the pigeon was gone.

  Bert unrolled the scroll. In oversized print, it read, ‘The Family Fun Clown Circus.’ In smaller print, ‘Tons of fun for the whole family! Just ask for Ding Dong when you call.’ Below that was a telephone number.

  Bert shoved the paper in his pocket and turned back to the clown child.

  Frowning, the little boy said, “Unfortunately, this concludes our play date.”

  All around the room the clowns started sobbing again.

  “You may leave now,” the child said.

  Bert glanced around the room, looking for the exit. “Which way?”

  Grinning, the child winked at him. Then the world started spinning. But it wasn’t the world which was spinning, he realized. It was him. His body was twirling through the air like a Frisbee, and ascending, being pulled in a vortex of darkness…

  ...And then he was sitting on the grass, trying not to vomit. Carefully lifting his head, he realized the Beast was parked right beside him. He was outside the Falcon’s Nest.

  “Well, at least they dropped you off at your ride,” Sharp said.

  “Yeah,” Bert replied, “maybe those clowns aren’t so bad after all.”

  They both laughed.

  “Clowns,” he said as he climbed into the Beast. “What the hell?”

  Chapter 13

  From the passenger seat Sharp said, “The Autumn Woe is getting stronger.”

  “Yeah,” Bert replied. “You know, you could’ve mentioned before. I know you sensed it before I did.”

  “Not my fault you’re weak,” he replied. “But seriously, it’s growing. Like someone is gathering forces.”

  Bert shrugged. “Maybe it’s the Hand. I can feel it, Sharp. Which means Carter and every other powerful wizard in the state probably can too.”

  “It could be the Hand,” Sharp said. “But do you think that’s a good thing?�
��

  “Not particularly. But maybe their presence will deter some of the bad guys.”

  “I don’t know, Bert.” Sharp paused for a moment. “Something isn’t right. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “All of it,” Sharp said. “Think about it. Dark wizards will do anything to avoid being detected by the Hand. Those wizard hipsters earlier, if they’re on the run, why reveal themselves? And Dasfarus? And the clowns? Clowns are supposed to be extinct. Even if the Hand secretly knows they’re still around, you can bet your ass they have people hunting them. So why would they all come here at the same time and kick up a dust storm of power. They might as well put up billboards that say, ‘Here we are! Come get us!’ It doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re right,” Bert said, mulling it over. “But are there more out there? I mean, more than Dasfarus, the hipsters, and the clowns? Those clowns are seriously powerful, but are they responsible for causing this much of a disturbance?”

  Sharp didn’t reply immediately. “If the little clown baby unmasked his power, he could create an Autumn Woe that would be felt across the continent. They may be adding to it, stirring the pot to create a little chaos and showing off their antlers a bit. Probably the same reason they’ve allowed Ding Dong this chance to prove himself. He swoops in, beats the competitors, and steals the prize without any wizards finding out. Well, except you of course, but they’ll almost certainly kill you. Thus proving he’s a clown among clowns. But no, I don’t think they’re solely responsible for the Autumn Woe.”

  “So, you’re saying that there are a lot more super-powered jackasses running around? Great.”

  “I’ve sensed a lot of Autumn Woes over the years. This one feels like it’s about numbers. I think there are a bunch of jackasses running amuck.”

  “But it still doesn’t explain why they all put themselves out in the open like this. Surely they know the Hand is going to notice.”

  “Exactly, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense. I mean, the moment these guys sensed the presence of other powerful forces, they should’ve hit the road. Not the clowns, I get that they’re nuts, but the hipster kids? Dasfarus? They should’ve hightailed it. I mean, that’s how the Hand hunted and eradicated most of the dark wizards.”