The Coalition Leading the One World Nation, or C.L.O.W.N, is a clandestine group of different clown factions around the world, bent on total domination. Even worse, they were winning. Each faction had their own territory carved out of each region. Chicago was just a small cog in a much larger machine. I had been so concerned with taking care of my city, I didn't pay much attention to what had been going on elsewhere. It wasn't like I could just flip on the television. As I poured over their intel, the big picture began to come into view. Everything I had encountered out there all began to make sense.
Stuck to the wall in their command center were newspaper and magazine clippings from the early days, before the printing presses stopped. The headlines and articles were from various publications from around the country. Red string connected them all in spider web of headlines stuck to a crudely drawn map of the US, but instead of the individual states, the country was divided into sections. I began reading the stories on the map and remember:
They seemed to come into existence almost overnight and before we knew it, they were everywhere. When they began showing up, it was as random sightings of clowns trying to lure kids into the woods. People first dismissed it as dumbass teenagers having a little bit of sick and twisted fun. There were a few reports of physical attacks, someone being tackled in Alabama, someone else being chased in Texas. For the most parts, the physical incidents were isolated and never corroborated by the police. Despite schools going on lock down and classes being cancelled, the media decided it was best to ignore the reports and they were passed off as hoaxes or unverified incidents. Missing person cases were treated as suspicious but the clown connection wasn't pursued. They didn't want to give the dumbasses attention. Ignore it and it will go away, they told us. Boy were they wrong.
The sightings grew. The missing stayed gone. The assaults increased. Birthday parties turned into blood baths, bar-mitzvah's became horror shows. The circus...dear god, don't get me started on the circus. It was utter chaos. Once things became wide spread, community leaders were taken out before they could react, followed by local governments.
I recalled my first experience as I was looking at that wall. I was walking my dog at the park and playing fetch. Roscoe loved to play fetch. Something caught his attention and he looked toward the tree line.
"Damn squirrels," I thought to myself.
I called to him, he ignored me. He took a couple of steps towards whatever it was that held his attention, his ears perked up and he took off running towards whatever it was, into the trees. I called after him. Nothing. I called again as I picked up his favorite toy, a chewed up squeaky thing that used to be a giraffe. All of its features worn away from hours upon hours of gnawing, its squeaker barely intact but still functional, its limbs in tatters. I walked in the direction Roscoe ran, calling out his name and whistling. I gave the toy a couple of squeaks, hoping he would come running back. Then I heard what sounded like a bicycle horn and then a yelp.
"Roscoe!" I yelled as I took off into a full sprint into the woods.
I called out again and looked around, no sign of my best friend. I kicked something as I walked. I looked down, it was a bike horn. As I bent over to pick it up, I heard a squeak ahead of me. I looked up and saw them. About 50 yards in front of me stood two freaky looking clowns. Thy looked at me and cocked their heads quizzically.
"What the-" I said to myself. I never like clowns. Honestly, they just freaked me the fuck out, even before all this shit began happening. "You guys see a dog around here?" I called out. They just looked at each other and turned to walk away. As they did, one of them dropped something.
"Hey!" I say again and walk towards them, "I'm looking for my..."
They walked out of my line of sight and seem to vanish into the woods. I reached to where I had seen first seen them and see what was dropped. It was a dog collar. Roscoe's collar. There was blood and tufts of hair on it.
"Roscoe!!!" I called out again.
I snap out of my little flashback and find myself back in Resistance HQ. Lyla is talking. I had zoned out of half of what she was saying thinking of Roscoe. Damn, I missed that dog.
"If they've organized, then that means they must have a leader," I said. "Someone calling the shots. Directing them."
"That's our theory," she replied. "And that's where you come in. We want your help-- no, we NEED your help."
I knew what had to be done and had made my decision before they even asked.
"Where do we start?" I ask.
07 October 2016
06 October 2016
part 3, Friends in Low Places
"Who-" I began.
"Shhh," she said as she placed her hand against my mouth, her bosom against my body. She smelled of lavender, "Don't make a sound."
I could hear the clowns as they ran by the door and down the alleyway. After a moment of hurried squeaks as they searched for me, we heard them retreat back to their tiny car, more squeaks as they piled in and then drove away. As my new found friend leaned against me, I grimaced in pain as she inadvertently brushed against my wound.
"Sorry," she said as she looked down apologetically at my side as she removed her hand from my face, "Come on, we need to take care of that."
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" I finished asking.
"You can call me Lyla. We have to get moving. I promise I'll answer all of your questions once we get to where its safe," she said as she walked past me a slowly opened the door, carefully checking to make sure the area was clear. She walked out the door and up the nearby fire escape.
"This way," she said. "It's not far, just up here. Clowns have trouble climbing. Their big feet make it difficult to navigate a ladder."
With a roll of my eyes, I followed her up the ladder, "Well, duh!" I muttered to no one. I then followed her across the rooftops to the next block over.
"Down there," she said, pointing to the subway entrance across the street and started down the next fire escape. Sticking to the shadows, she ran across the street and slowly started down the stairway to beneath the city. I followed her lead. When we reached the platform, she jumped down onto the track and headed down the tunnel.
She said "Don't worry," as if reading my mind, "This area is clear. We sweep it regularly. Our base of operations is just up here."
"We?" I asked as I followed her into darkness.
She stopped next to a maintenance door. As she opened it, she turned with a smile and said, "Mr. 'Clown-Hunter', welcome to the Resistance!"
The room we entered was impressive. The back wall had been knocked out, opening up into an abandoned train station. A small gathering of tents surrounded a fire barrel, a small group of people warming in front of it. I recognize the family I rescued earlier among them. A couple of sentries patrolled the blocked entrances to the platform. The room was dimly lit in areas by emergency back up lights, powered by generators. Power cords snaked across the ground, connecting them all together. I counted maybe 10 to 15 people in the make shift camp, mostly refugees.
"You know me?" I asked, clutching my side as she lead me to a larger tent filled with cots.
"We've been watching you for a while." she replied, motioning me to take a seat. "I have to say, you do nice work. You've probably helped half of the people here." A man wearing a white coat and surgical gloves rolled over on a stool and started to tend to my wound.
"You got lucky," he said. "It's deep, but just a flesh wound." and he pressed gauze to my side and applied pressure.
"That's Charlie," Lyla said. "A man of few words but a genius with a needle and thread!"
"Nice to meet you Chuck. Now can someone please tell me who the holy hell you people are?" I quipped.
"I told you," replied Lyla. "We are the Resistance. The resistance against the Coalition Leading the One World Nation. And we need your help."
"Shhh," she said as she placed her hand against my mouth, her bosom against my body. She smelled of lavender, "Don't make a sound."
I could hear the clowns as they ran by the door and down the alleyway. After a moment of hurried squeaks as they searched for me, we heard them retreat back to their tiny car, more squeaks as they piled in and then drove away. As my new found friend leaned against me, I grimaced in pain as she inadvertently brushed against my wound.
"Sorry," she said as she looked down apologetically at my side as she removed her hand from my face, "Come on, we need to take care of that."
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" I finished asking.
"You can call me Lyla. We have to get moving. I promise I'll answer all of your questions once we get to where its safe," she said as she walked past me a slowly opened the door, carefully checking to make sure the area was clear. She walked out the door and up the nearby fire escape.
"This way," she said. "It's not far, just up here. Clowns have trouble climbing. Their big feet make it difficult to navigate a ladder."
With a roll of my eyes, I followed her up the ladder, "Well, duh!" I muttered to no one. I then followed her across the rooftops to the next block over.
"Down there," she said, pointing to the subway entrance across the street and started down the next fire escape. Sticking to the shadows, she ran across the street and slowly started down the stairway to beneath the city. I followed her lead. When we reached the platform, she jumped down onto the track and headed down the tunnel.
She said "Don't worry," as if reading my mind, "This area is clear. We sweep it regularly. Our base of operations is just up here."
"We?" I asked as I followed her into darkness.
She stopped next to a maintenance door. As she opened it, she turned with a smile and said, "Mr. 'Clown-Hunter', welcome to the Resistance!"
The room we entered was impressive. The back wall had been knocked out, opening up into an abandoned train station. A small gathering of tents surrounded a fire barrel, a small group of people warming in front of it. I recognize the family I rescued earlier among them. A couple of sentries patrolled the blocked entrances to the platform. The room was dimly lit in areas by emergency back up lights, powered by generators. Power cords snaked across the ground, connecting them all together. I counted maybe 10 to 15 people in the make shift camp, mostly refugees.
"You know me?" I asked, clutching my side as she lead me to a larger tent filled with cots.
"We've been watching you for a while." she replied, motioning me to take a seat. "I have to say, you do nice work. You've probably helped half of the people here." A man wearing a white coat and surgical gloves rolled over on a stool and started to tend to my wound.
"You got lucky," he said. "It's deep, but just a flesh wound." and he pressed gauze to my side and applied pressure.
"That's Charlie," Lyla said. "A man of few words but a genius with a needle and thread!"
"Nice to meet you Chuck. Now can someone please tell me who the holy hell you people are?" I quipped.
"I told you," replied Lyla. "We are the Resistance. The resistance against the Coalition Leading the One World Nation. And we need your help."
12 February 2014
part 2, Custard's Last Stand
I could hear it's shoes squeak with each hurried step as it tried to run from me. I glance at my watch, it's about 2 hours til dawn. That fat bastard won't be making it back to it's den tonight, especially with me on it's tail. Might as well finish it off.
I finally catch up and I can see it waddling hurriedly about half a block ahead of me when it ducks into an alley-way I know to be a dead end. Time to go to work.
"Hey Tub-o. What's the big hurry?" I call out mockingly, "I was just getting warmed up!"
I step into the opening of the alley, cutting off it's retreat. It was cowering at the wall, honking it's bicycle horn pleadingly.
"Come on," I say while cracking my knuckles, "Let's dance."
It was then that the large, rotund, cowering clown in front of me starts laughing. He stands upright and stretches.
"Shit," I mutter.
It flashes its nasty, jagged, yellowed teeth at me in a twisted grin. Its orangish eyes glaring at me maniacally. The moonlight casting an eerie glow off its pale white skin. The damn thing had to be a good foot taller than me. Outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.
It was an Alpha and I fell right into it's trap. I couldn't believe I had made such a rookie mistake.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I repeat as I hear a noise behind me.
They were approaching from all around. I was surrounded. There was at least six of them, maybe more. I reached over my shoulder and grabbed my trusty shillelagh, a souvenir I picked up a number of years ago. It was about 3 feet long made for a lightweight and versatile weapon and when coupled with an ancient Celtic fighting style I had mastered, a deadly one.
"This may hurt a little." I say to no one in particular as I lashed out at the closest one and shattered its jaw. The cursed thing went down like the Denver Broncos.
The next one strikes with an over-sized mallet. I block and deflect with my weapon then drop down, spin, and sweep its leg, knocking it off balance and finishing it off with the ball of my shillelagh to the bridge of its nose, blood splattering upward. 2 down. 4 to go.
As I stood upright and turned to face my next adversary, I was hit in the face with a pie, blinding me. Custard. I HATE Custard. And where in the blazing HELL do they get all of these fucking pies?!?
One jumped on my back, and another strikes me in the gut. I reach back and flip the one off my back and into the one in front of me. As I wipe the custard from my eyes, I feel the sting in my side and look down. There, staring back at me, the hilt of a knife. Damn thing shanked me.
"Now I'm angry"" I said as I grabbed the protruding handle and pulled out the weapon. The pain was excruciating but from best I could tell, the wound was only superficial.
Just then an arm grabbed me and pulled me into a nearby doorway, slamming it shut and bolting it behind me.
"You're in no condition to fight" said a female voice, "And besides the suns coming up. They're retreating."
I finally catch up and I can see it waddling hurriedly about half a block ahead of me when it ducks into an alley-way I know to be a dead end. Time to go to work.
"Hey Tub-o. What's the big hurry?" I call out mockingly, "I was just getting warmed up!"
I step into the opening of the alley, cutting off it's retreat. It was cowering at the wall, honking it's bicycle horn pleadingly.
"Come on," I say while cracking my knuckles, "Let's dance."
It was then that the large, rotund, cowering clown in front of me starts laughing. He stands upright and stretches.
"Shit," I mutter.
It flashes its nasty, jagged, yellowed teeth at me in a twisted grin. Its orangish eyes glaring at me maniacally. The moonlight casting an eerie glow off its pale white skin. The damn thing had to be a good foot taller than me. Outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.
It was an Alpha and I fell right into it's trap. I couldn't believe I had made such a rookie mistake.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," I repeat as I hear a noise behind me.
They were approaching from all around. I was surrounded. There was at least six of them, maybe more. I reached over my shoulder and grabbed my trusty shillelagh, a souvenir I picked up a number of years ago. It was about 3 feet long made for a lightweight and versatile weapon and when coupled with an ancient Celtic fighting style I had mastered, a deadly one.
"This may hurt a little." I say to no one in particular as I lashed out at the closest one and shattered its jaw. The cursed thing went down like the Denver Broncos.
The next one strikes with an over-sized mallet. I block and deflect with my weapon then drop down, spin, and sweep its leg, knocking it off balance and finishing it off with the ball of my shillelagh to the bridge of its nose, blood splattering upward. 2 down. 4 to go.
As I stood upright and turned to face my next adversary, I was hit in the face with a pie, blinding me. Custard. I HATE Custard. And where in the blazing HELL do they get all of these fucking pies?!?
One jumped on my back, and another strikes me in the gut. I reach back and flip the one off my back and into the one in front of me. As I wipe the custard from my eyes, I feel the sting in my side and look down. There, staring back at me, the hilt of a knife. Damn thing shanked me.
"Now I'm angry"" I said as I grabbed the protruding handle and pulled out the weapon. The pain was excruciating but from best I could tell, the wound was only superficial.
Just then an arm grabbed me and pulled me into a nearby doorway, slamming it shut and bolting it behind me.
"You're in no condition to fight" said a female voice, "And besides the suns coming up. They're retreating."
18 October 2013
part 1, Enter: The Clown Hunter
Full moon tonight. Always seems they are more frenzied on full moons.
They roam the streets in packs. Always 3 or 4 of them. Always at night. Not sure why these things seem to be nocturnal, maybe its the pale skin. Funny, I'd always thought it was make-up. I'd been tracking this one for a couple of hours now, hoping they'd lead me back to their den. Unfortunately for me, that wasn't going to happen tonight.
The drop of a tin can and the screech of an alley cat in the distance startle them and then they set off to investigate its source. I follow from above so they don't detect me. A few blocks up I see the glow of someones campfire coming out of the ground floor of an old, burned-out skeleton of a building. Frickin' idiots. Everyone knows to stay off the streets at night, what little folks are left in this part of town, that is.
With a loud honk of the bicycle horn the large one was carrying, my quarry tears off in the direction of the fire. I can tell they now have caught the scent of whatever is cooking. From my vantage point, it's easy to get ahead of them. Now all I have to do is wait.
I crouch in the darkened archway above the small family of three huddled around the burning trash can, trying to stay warm on this autumn night. The kid looks like she's maybe 5 at the oldest. Dad is cooking something...some kind of animal, probably a cat, and mom is holding the kid. These folks must not be from around here, they have the look of road-weariness on them. I have half a mind to drop in on them and give them a stern lecture on making camp on ground level, but that can wait 'til after.
The wind shifts and I can tell they are close. That pungent stench of what can only be described as a cross between fried bologna and old tuna. I stand and stretch, any minute now...
Mom screams. Time to play.
I drop from my perch and land square on the shoulders of the first one. I feel both collar bones snap beneath my heels. A growl of agony as it falls. A quick swing of my trusty shillelagh and the growl turns to a gurgle. One down. 3 to go.
I turn my head and give a quick wink and a smile to the kid who is clutching mom's arms, then turn back to my prey, staying between them and the family. The large one growls and points at me, the other two follow the command and lunge. I duck. They collide. I grab one from behind and snap his neck and throw the limp corpse at the other. He pushes it aside and lunges again, only to meet my fist, square between the eyes, followed by a round-house that would make Chuck Norris jealous. That's 3 down.
I turn to face the leader. Crack my neck for effect and give the old kung-fu-flick-come-hither. It roars, turns tail, and runs away. I'm about to give chase when Dad asks, "What the hell are they?"
"Clowns." I reply.
"So...it's true...I mean, we've heard the stories but have never..." Dad stammers.
"Get off the street. There's a vacant building up the block. It's clear. Get inside and lock the door. Stay in 'til morning." I order them.
"Who are you?" Mom asks.
"Me? I'm the Clown Hunter." I say as I take off after the remaining target.
They roam the streets in packs. Always 3 or 4 of them. Always at night. Not sure why these things seem to be nocturnal, maybe its the pale skin. Funny, I'd always thought it was make-up. I'd been tracking this one for a couple of hours now, hoping they'd lead me back to their den. Unfortunately for me, that wasn't going to happen tonight.
The drop of a tin can and the screech of an alley cat in the distance startle them and then they set off to investigate its source. I follow from above so they don't detect me. A few blocks up I see the glow of someones campfire coming out of the ground floor of an old, burned-out skeleton of a building. Frickin' idiots. Everyone knows to stay off the streets at night, what little folks are left in this part of town, that is.
With a loud honk of the bicycle horn the large one was carrying, my quarry tears off in the direction of the fire. I can tell they now have caught the scent of whatever is cooking. From my vantage point, it's easy to get ahead of them. Now all I have to do is wait.
I crouch in the darkened archway above the small family of three huddled around the burning trash can, trying to stay warm on this autumn night. The kid looks like she's maybe 5 at the oldest. Dad is cooking something...some kind of animal, probably a cat, and mom is holding the kid. These folks must not be from around here, they have the look of road-weariness on them. I have half a mind to drop in on them and give them a stern lecture on making camp on ground level, but that can wait 'til after.
The wind shifts and I can tell they are close. That pungent stench of what can only be described as a cross between fried bologna and old tuna. I stand and stretch, any minute now...
Mom screams. Time to play.
I drop from my perch and land square on the shoulders of the first one. I feel both collar bones snap beneath my heels. A growl of agony as it falls. A quick swing of my trusty shillelagh and the growl turns to a gurgle. One down. 3 to go.
I turn my head and give a quick wink and a smile to the kid who is clutching mom's arms, then turn back to my prey, staying between them and the family. The large one growls and points at me, the other two follow the command and lunge. I duck. They collide. I grab one from behind and snap his neck and throw the limp corpse at the other. He pushes it aside and lunges again, only to meet my fist, square between the eyes, followed by a round-house that would make Chuck Norris jealous. That's 3 down.
I turn to face the leader. Crack my neck for effect and give the old kung-fu-flick-come-hither. It roars, turns tail, and runs away. I'm about to give chase when Dad asks, "What the hell are they?"
"Clowns." I reply.
"So...it's true...I mean, we've heard the stories but have never..." Dad stammers.
"Get off the street. There's a vacant building up the block. It's clear. Get inside and lock the door. Stay in 'til morning." I order them.
"Who are you?" Mom asks.
"Me? I'm the Clown Hunter." I say as I take off after the remaining target.
Preface
It started a few years ago.
People turning up missing wasn't anything new. This was Chicago. People have been turning up missing in this city since this city was a baby. The first few, people didn't even seem to notice. It was when they started showing up again, that people really started to care. At first, it seemed like there was a serial killer loose in the Windy City, but then it got really weird...I mean, sure, people were still turning up missing, but more and more started not turning back up dead.
Then came news of the attacks. I think the first reports were out of Milwaukee. Then Detroit, Minneapolis, St. Paul, Des Moines. Des Moines for chrissakes. Who in their right mind goes to Iowa? Seemed like something out of News of the Weird, ya know? Anyways...
Fast forward to today. Everything we know has changed. The world has changed. The threat has changed. The enemy has changed. THEY have changed. They were once seen by some as entertainment, now they're seen by all as monsters.
Gone are the struggles of world governments. Gone are the struggles over whose god is right. There is only struggle to survive. But hey, this town was born out of struggle. I guess you could say I was born out of struggle.
These are the tales of what has come to pass. The world we now know. The world I have vowed to protect.
People turning up missing wasn't anything new. This was Chicago. People have been turning up missing in this city since this city was a baby. The first few, people didn't even seem to notice. It was when they started showing up again, that people really started to care. At first, it seemed like there was a serial killer loose in the Windy City, but then it got really weird...I mean, sure, people were still turning up missing, but more and more started not turning back up dead.
Then came news of the attacks. I think the first reports were out of Milwaukee. Then Detroit, Minneapolis, St. Paul, Des Moines. Des Moines for chrissakes. Who in their right mind goes to Iowa? Seemed like something out of News of the Weird, ya know? Anyways...
Fast forward to today. Everything we know has changed. The world has changed. The threat has changed. The enemy has changed. THEY have changed. They were once seen by some as entertainment, now they're seen by all as monsters.
Gone are the struggles of world governments. Gone are the struggles over whose god is right. There is only struggle to survive. But hey, this town was born out of struggle. I guess you could say I was born out of struggle.
These are the tales of what has come to pass. The world we now know. The world I have vowed to protect.
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