Clock Crew Writes

Over the years, the Clock Crew has hosted a number of creative writing contests across a variety of topics and themes. For archival purposes and your viewing pleasure, the “Best Overall” winners of each contest are all archived here.

Everyday Objects

This contest was held in September of 2008. The theme was to take an everyday object and use it unconventionally. The winning story was SnakeClock’s The Way of the Broken, where a man’s seemingly average iPod ends up unraveling the fabric of creation and sends him unwittingly to a side of the universe he’s never meant to see.

Winter '07

A contest with a winter theme were held in the closing months of 2007. A parody of Roald Dahl’s classic Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by SnakeClock, called SnakeClock and the Snow Factory, was the Best Overall story. It explored a factory that creates the magical weather that’s snow, similar to Willy Wonka’s factory that creates the magical confectionary that is chocolate (incidentally, “Moute”, the name of the Wonka-like character in the story, is “Wonka” written upside-down).

Clocktober '07

Held to commemorate the arrival of Halloween 2007, the Best Overall was Losperman’s personal horror dressed up in silly makeup and big red shoes, Tuttles the Clown.

Just So Stories

In September of 2007, the Clock Crew paid homage to the charming, enchanting tone of Rudyard Kipling’s famous children’s series, the Just-So Stories for Little Children. These stories, written at the start of the 20th century, were a series of origin stories, detailing the fantastic events by which the world is, such as how the leopard got its spots, how the rhino got it skin, and how the camel got his hump. Following each story was a lavishly told poem, retelling the story’s events in flowing rhythm. In true Clock style, the Clock Crew wrote stories about the origins of the elements of their world. The Best Overall was SnakeClock’s How Zombie Lincoln Got His Fly, a story about one of the more unique personalities of the Clock Crew and how he found his deceptively simple muse. It also features a poem from the usually poetry-shy writer.

Absurd Clockmas By SnakeClock

The Royal Address was completed, and the king made his way to his royal motorcade. As he exited onto the bustling city street, however, twelve gunshots roared in the air, and the king collapsed. Everyone one the street immediately began to wail with panic.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

“What just happened??”

“My king! My king!”

“Oh no, oh no! StrawberryClock just got shot twelve times! Th-this can’t be real…”

One Clock, his face enveloped with tears, knelt to the king’s body.

“You can’t kill StrawberryClock! Goddamnit, you can never kill him!”

Another soon joined.

“My king! You must live! You must!”

An ambulance quickly approached, its blaring sirens muted from the woeful screams around it. A pair of paramedics burst out the back with a stretcher, preparing to take the king to the hospital.

“No! NO! You can’t kill StrawberryClock! Don’t take him away! Don’t take him from us!”

The ambulance sped away, the sirens’ wail fading sadly into the distance.

* * *

A gentle snow was falling, barely a breath of wind in the air. The sky was a flat grey, and seemed to glow with a white translucence, making the world pallid, yet soothing.

“This will be our first Clockmas without you, StrawberryClock. I never in my life imagined that I would have to face this. All of us didn’t, I guess…”

SnakeClock sat coiled before StrawberryClock’s great tomb. A tall wall of grey marble stood before him, with the image of the crowned king carved upon it with an expression of glee, to represent that he will always be a symbol of happiness. Beneath the image, the epitaph read:

StrawberryClock

March 22, 2000 - March 22, 2007

NOSTRUM REX REGIS IMTEMPORALITER

Standing in front of the marble wall on a large dais was a small white sarcophagus carved with intricate, flowing designs, in which contained a small jar of StrawberryClock’s remains. His actual body is in a secret research facility in Clocktopia, so that scientists could figure out just how the immortal King of the Portal was killed with a mere gun.

“I don’t even know why we’re doing this,” SnakeClock continued, “We have nothing to celebrate. We’re supposed to be celebrating your creation of the Clock Faith, but now it’s gone. We’ve nothing to believe in; why are we professing it?

“It’s a confusing time, your majesty… absurdity rules. Things never stay the same, but we don’t want anything to change.”

“Snake! Are you here again?”

Snake looked behind him, and saw his friend FennecClock approaching. He was a small fox, with white and sandy-brown fur, and enormous pointed ears atop his head. His face looked sly and clever, as is a fox’s nature, but it also suggested a playful, exuberant zeal, almost child-like.

“I suppose I am,” SnakeClock responded, slightly embarrassed, “I just thought I should pay some respect before the Holidays.”

FennecClock came closer.

“Aw, I knew this has been hard for you, Snake. I would have imagined that this would have hit you really hard. You were crushed after that weird B blamming, I thought this would have powdered you. It’s great how you’re bouncing back, though.”

“Mourning a death is no reason to ruin your life, Fennec,” SnakeClock said, looking into his eyes. “I won’t get much done just by navel-gazing.”

“Snakes don’t have navels,” cracked Fennec. Snake stared at him, very annoyed.

“Come on,” continued Fennec, “we have some errands to run today. We should probably be going before it gets any colder.”

SnakeClock yawned deeply. “I suppose you’re right,” he sighed, “I’m starting to get pretty drowsy. I don’t want to fall dead asleep in the middle of the street today.”

FennecClock chuckled. SnakeClock turned once more to StrawberryClock’s memorial and bowed.

“My king…” he said. He then slithered away. FennecClock looked at him for a moment, slightly confused, but then turned and bowed as well. “My king…”

* * *

To get to the main business district sooner, SnakeClock and FennecClock took a shortcut through the park, a quaint plain spotted with majestic leafless trees, covered in huge blobs of snow. A solid blue-and-white sheet was cast all across the park, broken only by SnakeClock’s slither tracks and FennecClock’s paw prints, the first marks on this fresh snow.

Following the path as best they could, the two Clocks eventually came to a small circle, in the centre of it a small black plinth with a silver plaque and a large, black marble B sitting atop it.

The B Memorial.

The plague went on at length about the strange circumstances of how B was blammed back in January 2007, detailing such things as an unprecedented mass voting from Newgrounds users, unusual viruses being attached to the banner ads on the summary page, and M-Bot forcibly removing almost half the reviews, decreasing its average score drastically. The attack took the Clocks by surprise, so they barely had time to retaliate. The whole ordeal was very strange, and unusually well-organized.

SnakeClock looked at the memorial for a moment or two, before commenting “There’s too many memorials these days, don’t you think?”

FennecClock thought for a moment.

“There are too many things to memorialize, probably.”

SnakeClock sighed, and they went on their way, as snow began to bury the memorial.

* * *

FennecClock and SnakeClock traveled down the street, passing festively decorated storefronts, their bright colourful window displays like portraits against the grey, cold world outside. Other Clocks packed the street in high spirits, carrying loudly wrapped boxes, greeting and nodding each other as they passed. Every power pole that lined the street was blanketed in posters of various shapes and sizes, each boasting a candidate for the new King of the Portal.

A poster with a beaming idiot’s smile, beneath which were the words “JOSH BEDN 4 KYNG!”…

A black-and-white image of OrangeClock, across which was written “VOTE” rather than “OBEY”…

A giant and severely vandalized image of Foamy the Squirrel leering angrily and displaying two middle fingers…

It was chaos.

Out of the blue, Snake said “Well, I guess we’re here now, aren’t we Fennec?”

Fennec looked at Snake, confused. “What?”

“Clockmas is continuing as if nothing’s wrong. I was thinking that it was going to blow right over since the Clock Faith is gone, but it’s like it doesn’t even matter. I suppose capitalism is a stronger force than faith, isn’t it?”

“That’s kind of a callous opinion,” FennecClock replied, “maybe we’re still celebrating it because it’s so much a part of society as a happy time. It’s when we forget that we have work and responsibilities, and we put this time aside for family, for friends, for play. I think we need it more than ever.”

“So it’s a hollow distraction?” Snake rebutted, “A time to forget; a time to ignore; a time to put on our happy face?”

“Well, I can see why you’re cynical about it, Snake. This is a religious holiday, which shouldn’t be stronger than the religion it’s a part of. But it’s probably spread past those confines, and now it’s part of secular society.”

“That’s always irked me major,” Snake hissed, “An atheist spends the other 11 months bemoaning StrawberryClock’s divinity, and then celebrates a holiday centered around the divinity that he think doesn’t exist. He shouldn’t be able to have his cake and eat it, too.”

“Whether or not capitalism made Clockmas secular,” Fennec said, “we all need a time to have our happiness. We don’t get an opportunity like this any other time.”

“It really rubs it in the faces of people that don’t have anything, either,” SnakeClock continued, “people with nowhere to go, no one to be with, and nothing to be happy about… you know how single people hate Valentine’s Day? People with all the other problems hate Clockmas.”

“It’s a lot easier to find it at this time of year…” FennecClock mused.

As they continued down the street, they passed an old church on the corner. A truly majestic building, made from sandy-coloured brick and flying buttresses soaring out from the sides, and a mooi pointed façade with a tall, narrow spire, atop which was a gilded, crooked letter B.

But this church was a shell of its former wonder. The stained glass windows were all boarded up or broken, and the grand oak doors had boards nailed across them to prevent entrance. Through a piece of plywood across a large round window just above the door, the top of StrawberryClock’s head could barely be seen. An edifice that once held a great reverence as a universal refuge and charity was now just an abandoned building that had to be boarded up to prevent crackheads and vandals from using it. It now held the same stature as a shack.

The two Clocks stared up its soaring steeple for a few moments, a sorrow beginning to build within SnakeClock. He grit his teeth slightly and began to shiver, but then shook it off before he got lost in his own grief.

“There’s not much time,” he said curtly, to the still-staring FennecClock. “We’re almost at the mall.”

* * *

The Great Clock Mall is a wide crescent of concrete and steel surrounding a wide, circular plaza, decorated with coloured tiles arranged in mooi mosaics, various wooden arches garnished with boughs of holly and twinkling Clockmas lights lining the perimeter of the plaza, and a round, frozen blue pool in the centre used as a skating rink. The plaza was packed with Clocks, lugging packages, socializing and gliding about gleefully on the skating rink.

It was quite an idyllic scene, but just outside the mall’s crescent was a cold, black parking lot, crowded with cars, crawling about desperate for a parking space. The air was chaotic, brakes squealing as cars darted forward out of turn, drivers screaming at each other over spaces that they had a supposed claim of, and everyone just generally in an off-put mood in this black, barren land… all in the spirit of giving, undoubtedly an essential pillar of Clockmas. The magical time of year when Clocks get things that they’ve been hankering for months, even years, but have never found valid and responsible reasoning to get it, but now reasoning be damned; it’s Clockmas!

SnakeClock and FennecClock entered the crescent’s open end, entering the plaza.

“Well, we’re here,” Fennec observed, “what should we do first?”

“It’s hard for me to keep straight what needs to be done,” SnakeClock said. “Lessee… I need to get a gift for you… something for TownClock… I know RupeeClock wanted that new Shanda the Panda graphic novel…”

“Snake!”

ArcticClock called from beneath a nearby archway.

“Arctic!” Fennec called. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping would be my first guess.” Arctic joked, coming towards them, “A necessary evil. At least now we don’t have all that ‘divinity of StrawberryClock’ tripe to motivate it.”

“What do you mean?” SnakeClock asked, with slight resent.

“Well, now that the Clock Faith is gone, Clockmas is finally celebrated proper,” said ArcticClock, “no more ‘religion’ bullshit.”

“Oh yeah, the whole ‘have your cake and eat it too’ thing,” SnakeClock rebutted. “Don’t believe in what you’re celebrating in; just get in on it for the presents and hooch.”

“That’s all it’s been for a while now, y’see, but the Faith kept pretending it wasn’t, so that we all could still feel all warm and fuzzy about crazed materialism and shoving happiness and joy down everyone’s throats.”

“Now wait a sec, Arctic,” FennecClock said, “don’t you think that’s kind of cynical of you?”

“Cynical, maybe, but at least not naïve. It was difficult to concentrate on what Clockmas was while being bombarded by all that Faith propaganda everywhere. Now it’s so much easier to enjoy it for what it is.”

“Propaganda?” SnakeClock was starting to get exasperated. “What were we trying to manipulate by spreading Clock love everywhere and trying to-”

“The Faith really gets so much attention this time of year, and it’s exploited to recruit more Clocks. Might as well do a song and dance while everyone’s looking at you, eh?”

“But… so why do you think Clockmas dumped the Faith, then?” SnakeClock posed, “Capitalist exploitation? The appeal of free dingen from your loved ones? Too much ‘cute dingen’ associated with it?”

“Love and togetherness!” FennecClock chimed in, but the debate was pretty much between Snake and Arctic now, who were up in each other’s faces.

“How many animated Ash Wednesday specials do you see? What about Good Friday sales at Bit-Mart? How about special toys made for Penteclock? Clockmas gets so much attention not because it’s an important religious holiday, but because everyone else likes it. More important religious holidays don’t get that kind of hype because they’re so… so pious!”

SnakeClock was taken aback slightly by this statement.

“Ah, now Clockmas… it was freed from that because it got so many appealing, secular icons attached to it. All those jolly old Clocks, talking animals, living snowmen, singing poos… it got everyone into it that didn’t want to be intimidated by all those bible-thumpers and being reminded that they’re filthy pigs that are going to Hell… so Clockmas is no longer a part of that.”

“So…” SnakeClock was fuming by this point, “you’re used to… the absurdity?”

ArcticClock turned suddenly, his back to Snake.

“A Faithful Clock lecturing me on absurdity? Get the fuck out.”

This last retort hit Snake deep. He winced when he heard it, like he was punched in the head.

“Need you be such a bitch, Arctic?” FennecClock yelped.

“Well, he asked for it.” Arctic rebutted. FennecClock rolled his clock.

“’Asked for it’, he says… come on, Snake, let’s go to-”

But Snake wasn’t there. He had slunk away. Confused at first, Fennec started to look around. “Snake? Snake?”

He looked over to Arctic. “You didn’t see where he went, did you?”

“No, I had my back turned.” ArcticClock snapped. FennecClock leered at him with some frustration, and then noticed some strange streaks in the snow. He sniffed them. He soon caught a scent trail, and trotted off.

* * *

The snow was getting thicker, the wind was getting stronger. SnakeClock slithered quickly through the dark Clockwork Woods, both enraged and grieved.

“It’s true! It’s true!” SnakeClock yelled to himself, “It’s been true all along! It’s nothing! We don’t believe! It’s all TV specials, baking and shopping. It’s become a holiday of decadence! Aaaaaaaaargh!”

On he pressed, no mind or care for where he was going. The snow was piling high and the world was getting darker; soon it would be too cold for SnakeClock to remain awake.

“Absurd! Absurd!” he screamed on, becoming delirious. “Absurd! Absurd!”

He began to slow down.

“Absurd… ab…”

Finally, he stopped and collapsed, strewn across the snowy ground.

Soon, SnakeClock felt a strange warmness, and then slowly got up. He saw that the snow in the air was completely still, and the constant wind that was blowing through the woods had stopped. SnakeClock moved forward, snow brushing away around him, and behind him, he noticed that he was now leaving no tracks.

Time had stopped. Is this what death is like?, SnakeClock thought to himself.

Between a pair of nearby trees, SnakeClock noticed a faint streak of red, as if torn through the snowy grayness. As he approached it, it started to widen. SnakeClock was afraid, and at the same time hypnotized by it. As it expanded, it began to glow, further entrancing SnakeClock. When he was near enough to touch it, it finally formed a shape; a red, upside-down bulb. Several green spots appeared on the bulb, and a large tuft of green appeared on top of the bulb. A strawberry!

SnakeClock reared back in fear. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of white light shone all around, Snake staring dumbfounded. The light soon began to focus upon the strawberry’s center, swirling towards it and becoming even brighter. The light soon concentrated into a pure white disc, one so brilliant that SnakeClock could barely look at it.

The light faded, and in its place a clock.

StrawberryClock!

SnakeClock quickly groveled before the slain King.

“Oh, now cut that out,” StrawberryClock said. “This’ll go straight to my head!”

“Y-your majesty…” SnakeClock stammered, still groveling, “are y-you here to take me away t-t-to the other side?”

“I what?” StrawberryClock, a little confused. “Oh, right, right. The whole time stopping, bright lights and seeing me appear. That would seem like me coming to take you, I guess…”

SnakeClock shuddered.

“No, no, it’s not time for that yet. Come on, get up. So long as I’m here, I may as well have a good conversation.”

With some hesitation, SnakeClock got up, and looked StrawberryClock in the face, utterly awed by the sight of him, but trying to hold back his awe for the sake of good manners, though he did it poorly.

“Um… to what do I owe the pleasure, your majesty?” SnakeClock finally said.

“I dunno, I guess I’m still new to the whole ‘vision’ thing. You’re having some trouble or something, from what I heard?”

SnakeClock looked down in shame.

“Clockmas…” he whispered, “I think now it’s meaningless. The… the Faith is gone, yet this holiday that celebrates it still goes on anyway. Now… now I don’t know what it is anymore.”

“Tell me, SnakeClock,” StrawberryClock responded, holding his chin in deep thought, “how do we celebrate Clockmas?”

“Well… er…” SnakeClock wasn’t sure how to respond, stumbling over words.

“We, um… we take time from work, we spend time with family, we, um… geez, I don’t know… this is so hard for me…”

“You’ve been doing it for a while; it should be obvious,” Strawberry cracked, “It’s celebrated by time with loved ones, and time with you. Everything else stems from that.”

SnakeClock looked up slightly.

“That’s all?”

“Why do we indulge in feast and sweets? Because it’s somewhere many people gather to one another’s company. Why do we exchange gifts? To express affection towards others, whatever it may be. Why do we take time off work? Well, how can we be reminded of all that’s good in our lives if we’re still concerned about getting to work on time?

“It’s time to play, time to unwind, time to think, time to forget responsibilities… it’s a time that this world needs. It’s a holiday that pulls a little more weight than the other holidays of the Faith; it serves a purpose besides worship.”

“But, your majesty…” SnakeClock responded, “It’s severely exploited, ravaged, I’d go so far to say raped. People get even more stressed at this time of year by the insatiable demand for gifts, they get even more hateful and resentful by all the preparation, some are even reminded that they’ve no one to love, and no one to love them. Some think that it’s arrogant to celebrate this holiday with all the pain and horrors that go on in the background, as if Clockmas is being used to ignore it for a bit. Your majesty, Clockmas is hated!”

“Well, it’s up to someone what they want to reflect on at this time of year,” Strawberry rebutted, “this time of year is an opportunity to reconnect with what’s good in your life, it’s not a demand. There have always been malcontents and peasants, and just hiding them under the rug for a month won’t let them solve their own problems.

“Besides, sometimes appreciation of loved ones includes ones you’ve never seen before. Charity can be an expression of love, and at least it helps show what Clockmas is for. If people prefer to think of this time of year as no different from any other, just with a lot more window dressing and fanaticism, they’ll at least have time to meditate on it.”

“But… why does Clockmas continue? Its foundation is gone. It’s a shell.”

“’Clockmas’ is just the most familiar term for it. I prefer to think of it as ‘the holidays’. Hundreds of other faiths take this time of the year for the same reasons behind Clockmas, and I’m glad for it. The idea of time to just drop everything, get time to think about all your grief, and a bit of time for yourself while you’re at it.”

“So… so Clockmas… doesn’t need the Faith to be ongoing?”

“It was set up just so that it wouldn’t need constant worship and religion to do what it needs to do; the whole rest of the year is for everything else. Bit of a downer that it’s so used for money and stress and whatnot, but if that’s how you want to spend your ‘you-time’, go for it.”

“You-time…” SnakeClock had a revelation. “Sounds so much like ‘Yule time’…”

“Well, it wasn’t all up to me. This time of year is up to a lot of people.”

“So it’s universal, then. Love and kindness, charity and reflection… those weren’t exclusive to the Clock Faith. The end of the year… is the perfect time to focus on those things. A whole year behind us, a whole one ahead… time to think about where we tripped, where we succeeded… to see what was wrong, what can be right… it’s for anyone that wants it. This time of the year… it’s not Clockmas. Not if we don’t want it to be.”

“Well, I still encourage you worshipping me and B, don’t get me wrong,” StrawberryClock joked, “but like I said, there’s enough time for that over the rest of the year.”

“Speaking of that,” SnakeClock said, “that’s one more thing that irks me… why can’t we have Clockmas year-round? That seems to be a fantasy of most Clockmas TV specials.”

“Good Lord, SnakeClock! Do you know how mind-numbing a world where we’re constantly happy would be? Clean-cut, spic-and-span, sterile, colorless and unchanging… now that’s when Clockmas would be absurd! We would have nothing to contrast it with if it’s no happier than any other time of year, it wouldn’t be a time of appreciation if what we appreciated never went away or never changed. Clockmas is only a special time if whatever isn’t Clockmas is special in its own ways.”

SnakeClock stared vaguely at StrawberryClock for a few moments, absorbing this last thought. As he stared, the snow began to move again, at first very slowly. The air was also beginning to get colder. Time was beginning to start again.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,” StrawberryClock said, “I can only manifest to any given Clock for one second, which is why we had to all that time-stopping and everything. But it looks like I’m through for now; I’ve got to go back…”

“Wait! Your majesty!” SnakeClock pleaded, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I never thought I would get this chance! There’s so much I… so much I…”

“You’ll get your chance again…” StrawberryClock said, as he began to fade into the snow, “it sounds like you need this year’s Clockmas more than ever. Whatever happens… keep on… ticking…”

SnakeClock collapsed.

* * *

“Snake? Snake?”

SnakeClock heard FennecClock’s somewhere in the blackness.

“Snake!”

“…I swear to God… if someone’s… making that joke again…”

FennecClock laughed. SnakeClock grinned.

SnakeClock was still lying where he fell in the forest. The snow was now a straight blizzard, and the sky was solid black, pocked with white spots blowing every which-way. Over his head, FennecClock’s downy, snow-specked fur stirred wildly.

“You’re alright, Snake. Alright. We’d better get you to my place ASAP, though.”

“Your cabin’s… right near here… isn’t it?”

“It’s a few minute’s walk. Here, get on my back.”

FennecClock laid down, and SnakeClock weakly slid onto his back. FennecClock stood and looked back at him, and Snake nodded to show he was secure. FennecClock smiled, and leapt his way through the snow.

“Listen,” said Fennec as he ran, “I’m sorry about what ArcticClock said. I had no idea you’d take it so hard.”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” Snake responded, “he has right and reason to his opinion. I’m cool with it.”

“You seem to be a lot gladder now than you were,” observed Fennec. “What’s changed?”

SnakeClock thought for a moment…

“I’m not really sure, but at least I’ve got time to mull over it. Happy holidays, buddy.”

FennecClock thought for a moment…

“Merry Clockmas.”

To Wield the Power of a God
By VikingClock

The sun begins to set, in the dark city of Newgrounds. Like every other sunset, it leaves the city in yellowish-orange glow, mooi, for a city so corrupt. In one of the countless apartments, a man doused in shadows watches a movie on his computer.

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!” howls the mysterious figure. He hurls the useless computer into a wall, and shouts, “No more! No more of this endless shit, and all of this power!” He dives into his pocket and yanks out his Newgrounds wallet. It contains his Newgrounds ID, revealing that he is a level 30 with an Elite guard supreme badge. He is then struck with inspiration, “ I KNOW! I will blam every movie on Newgrounds, just for the hell of it!” He then unleashes a devastating, demonic laugh., and as he laughs he sees his mirror. The mirror reveals two red glowing eyes looking back at him from under the shadows. It reveals a madman. He is forced to stop laughing, and ask himself, “I can no longer stand this wretched place.” As he mutters these words, he eyes a gun on his table. But shouts, “NO! Not yet, I can’t kill myself! I can’t let all of this…power fall into the wrong hands. I , I will go and find a new person, someone who might, just might, be able to control this unholy power. And when I do I can rid myself of this wretched place and live in peace.” He then puts on a sagging overcoat, grabs his Newgrounds wallet, and walks out the door.

The cloaked man now walks out to the street of Newgrounds, where people walk around in a hurry, as if they have important things to do. All of the characters in Newgrounds, are certainly characters. People try to sell spam and porn, while noobs wielding lollipops complain and ask for help on topics that any 3 year-old could figure out. But there are some in Newgrounds who could pass for, normal. Knight clock in human form (depending on the world they are in people will change form Ex. In Clocktopia one will look like their clock form but in Newgrounds, they will look like their, “normal” self.) Knight Clock then walks down the street with an average grin on his face, indicating his good mood. He then walks by a slightly dirty artist looking fellow, the artist is selling abstract painting that are both mooi and disturbing. Like a car wreck, mooi in the way that you can’t take your eyes away, no matter how wrong or weird.

The smell artist then asked Knight, “Whoa, whoa wait sonny! Can you do me a favor? It is of the, utmost importance!”

Knight clock had no choice but to say, “Uhm, sure. What do you need?”

He blurted quite loudly, “Well I need to go piss, could you watch mah stand whilst I go?”

“Yeah ok. Heh, I got nothing better to do.” With the same average expression, Knight guards the stand. As if fate was playing a sick joke, the cloaked figure walks by. Hurrying, he almost misses the paintings and the person sitting close to them. Intrigued, he walks over.

Still intrigued, he says, “Nice paintings kid”

Not sure if he was talking to him, Knight said, “Oh these? Well they ar-”

Expecting an artist’s modesty, the cloaked figure interrupts him ands says, “Yeah, yeah, sure, great. Say kid, if you don’t mind me asking, could I see your ID?”

Starting to get a bit concerned, Knight forfeits his wallet. “Ok, here. Look if this is about Clock day 05 then I swear, it was just a joke, I meant nothing horrible by it.

“Relax, I’m no admin. Hehehe, clock day 05, that was a pretty funny joke. Heh, a clock eh? Level 11, neutral, and a security guard badge. Well you seem like a completely normal person, which is saying a lot for a place like this.”

“Uhm, well, thanks. Do you mind if I ask your name?”

“To be honest kid, I don’t even know anymore.” He then reaches into his back pocket and finds what he is looking for, but he ponders a moment, then grins. He says. “Here kid, I want you to have this, more importantly I want you to have this and use it as your ID says, neutral. And never forget, power does strange things to a, “normal” person.”

Knight clock is handed the small item. It is a Newgrounds I.D. Before he can object to the strange gist, the man was gone. So, Knight opens the wallet and his eye’s glow gold as he inspects the level 30 ID with all of the mooi golden perks. Knight is unable to find words, for five minutes, he can’t even move. Once he is able to speak again, he says, “Wow, so, much…power! Time to go test this puppy out!” He then goes to the portal where he accesses one of the databases, he watches a shitty stick animation and blams it, without hesitation. Normally, it would not of been dented by Knights feeble blam. But now, instantly destroyed. Knight’s eyes fill with amazement as he continues to instantly pass and destroy movies. “This, is, so, awesome! I need to get to Clocktopia now! I gotta show the other clocks!”

Knight then accesses a gateway marked with a clock, in the gate way his body transforms into his clock form. There in the heart of Clocktopia, he walks straight to town hall, determination burning in his clock. Rupee clock then spots him

Rupee shouts, “Hey! Knight mah man, how’s it goin?”

“I’m going to request an audience with the Administrators, round up as many clocks as you can and tell them to go there. I want as many people as possible to be their to witness this day of history. Should be…fun” says Knight clock, with a smirk.

The audience chamber is set up with a big rectangular table in the middle with assorted admins and seniors sitting at the table. Surrounding the table are countless other clocks, and at the end is Knight clock.

“My fellow clocks! I have recently been blessed with a gift of unholy power-”

“Yes, yes, super. Could you please get to the point, we have work to do you know.” interrupts Leek clock.

Regaining his composer, he says, “Very well then.” Suddenly, Knight pulls out the shinning golden blade (because of the realm the ID has changed into its actual item) and the golden badge. The onlookers are amazed, baffled, and jealous some of the admins and seniors fall out of their chairs, some start bowing, but all are confused.

Tree, with a look of complete astonishment asks, “How did you, where did you? Wha?” The smirk returns to Knight’s face. “Now that I have all of your attention, it is time to get down to business. As all of you well know, this is the ultimate level one can reach on Newgrounds, next to admin, hell, I don‘t even think an admin could stop me! With this I can instantly pass or blam any movie I come into contact with. In a matter of days I can make something hit #1 on the top 50 list. Now this power can be used for or against the clock crew, I don’t mind which. All I ask is that I receive super moderator abilities and respect. And I will fiven all clock movies that I feel deserve my blessed touch. And we can all be happy.

Not trusting him, Leek asks, “How do we know that you will not betray us. For all we know, this could be a scam. Hell, if I had power like that, I would fuck up the little people.”

Knight clock’s smirk becomes a grin. “My noble Leek, you have my word that I will be nothing but loyal to the Clock Crew.”

The admins then formed a quick huddle and discussed their options. Leek then broke from the huddle and said, ”Very well then, you will receive your powers. But, if you abuse any of your new powers, you will be banned from the clock crew.”

Power surges through Knight’s body. He can feel the new powers. He then announces, “Long live B!” And cheers erupt from all of the clocks.

They were good times for the clock crew. Knight starts enjoying the finer things of Clocktopia. He chats with seniors in a fancy ball, helping newer clocks hone their flash skills. B, is number one on the Newground’s top 50 list, along with other popular clock flashes. He even banned some people, for no reason, but no one would dare report him. For everyone was too busy begging for their work to be blessed by his divine voting ability. But as the, “good times” keep rolling, Knight looks a bit more, evil. His clock gives off a red tint, and he starts to care less about people who are not him. At the end of the montage is a picture.

A month passes. Knight’s eyes are almost completely red and he carries the look of a man who is better than you, and knows it. He also spends more time in Newgrounds than the Clock crew.

“What a, mooi day“ Knight then looks over to see a boy of 13 carrying a flash file, he also wears a foamy shirt. Knight points to him, and says, “You, boy! You look, happy, why is this?”

The boy says, “Well today is the day illwill releases his latest foamy movie Knight then thinks, “ah what a splendid idea! I will go and blam Illwill‘s latest movie. Imagine the look of surprise on his face. Hahaha!” Knight then smirks.

The boy continues, “And I just finished my first movie, it has these to stick figures” Before he can utter another word, a shot of lightning darts out of Knight’s hand, and he instantly kills the flash in the boys hand.

“Do me a favor boy, don’t make flash, ever again” Knight then walks on, leaving the boy with his shattered flash. And his shattered dreams.

But there is controversy in other places. In the darkened halls of the Clock Crew HQ, the administrators and seniors are discussing important matters.

Tree stands and shouts “This needs to end now, this, Knight clock needs to be stopped. The Clock crew was once a thriving flash community, now it is a place where we bow down to some nobody on a power trip!” Clamor and murmurings starts to arise. Leek says, “Sigh, you are right, but how we get rid of him must be swift and painless, or we will badly damage the ratings of all clock movies on Newgrounds. Well he technicality broke the rules and abused his powers. So I suppose, we ban him. After a while he will loose interest with us and go bother someone else…hopefully. So, are we all clear on the plan? Murmurs of agreement was his only answer

The plan works like clockwork. Knight cannot access the clock portal and soon looses interest. He was tired of the clock crew anyway. Every time he visited, which was not that much, he was bothered to fiven movies by worthless low-lives. He then focuses on the portal and he blams and protects countless other flashes.

5 months seem to roll by. Knight is in an old run down apartment in Newgrounds, sitting on a bed, holding a pistol that he soon aims at himself. He then lowers the gun and whispers, “No, not now.” He then gets up, puts on a long over coat with a hat, and he grabs that accursed ID. He then walks down the streets of Newgrounds, looking for someone worthy enough to wield such great power. He then spots an art stand, covered with bizarre art that is both mooi and disturbing. Knight laughs at the similarities and walks over to the booth.

Knight walks up to the average kid at the stand and asks, “Hey kid, nice art, you mind if I see your ID?”

The Tragic Memories that Perish Easily
By VikingClock

What a mooi night tonight was. The play at the theatre had just let out, and everyone was rushing to the doors, whispering and critiquing the play they had just seen. I slowly rose out of my seat, and in no hurry, I walked to the door. The play was, The Phantom of the Opera, my personal favorite. Thirteen times I have seen this play, and each time I enjoy it more. But today’s performance was special, it felt phenomenal, almost unreal. For the play was so incredibly mooi that tonight, at the end, I shed a tear. As I walked out the theatre and got into my car I turned the ignition on in my Mercedes convertible, it purred like pampered feline. Taking the usual trip home, I saw shining yellow tape blocking my way. The police, for some reason, had blocked the road, and gave no detour route. Imbeciles. My wife and I were just this morning talking about how incredibly stupid the police in this area were. As my car came to a haut a police man strolled over and confronted me.

“Uhhhm eh, sorry sir, there’s a bit of a mess up here, your gonna need to take another route home.”

“What are you talking about? This is the only way I ca-” My sentence could not be finished. For I had just seen the reason the road was closed. What this blundering oaf called a, “bit of a mess” was the remains of a women. In a mooi silk red dress. A look a shear horror appeared on my face. “It, it, cannot be!” Without hesitation I flung the door open and shoved the cop out of my way. The closer I got to the mangled corpse the more I knew that my eye’s did not deceive me. This mangled corpse was my wife. I knelt on the ground, and stared into the face of my former lover. It was then, in a flash, that tonight’s events began to unfold in my mind. And it all started with today, when I came home from work.

“Honey! Guess what I got!” I shouted in pride as I opened the front door, with a large oafish smile on my face.

My wife sat on the couch watching her soap opera, and filling herself with fantasies involving Julio and Tyrone. She then heaved a sigh and said, “Let me guess, another one of those stupid plays. I mean really, do you always have to drag me to them.”

“But honey, this time its being preformed by some Paris’s finest actors! Its not everyday they come to America, they hate America!” As I looked at her uncaring face my oafish smile turned into a stern glare. “Also, I recommended my boss to see this play, and I would like it if he met my wife. Honestly baby, you need to get out more. He he, the neighbors think I buried you in the back yard or something.” I gave a small chortle. My wife knew that once I mentioned my boss she had no choice. After all, it was her idea that I should become a lawyer. Personally, I wanted to be an actor, I wanted to perform. But once I got married, I knew that my dream was obliterated. All of those years of being in plays and private tutoring were wasted. For I eventually went to law school, impressed my parents, and got the women I loved. Or so I thought.

We were now upstairs preparing for the opera house. As I was adjusting my tie in the mirror I caught the reflection of my wife in her red silk dress. She looked gorgeous, the thoughts that raced threw my mind arrived a mile a minute. She then blurted out, “Ugh, this darn underwear rides up my ass like there’s no tomorrow.” Not only did this statement not make any sense, it also ruined the mood.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah ,yeah. Sigh, I swear, if I wasn’t married to you, I would of thought you were gay.”

There she goes, right for my tentacles. It seems like every time I do something she doesn’t like (which is all the time) she goes straight for my nuts. It makes me hate her, and that’s when I forget how much I love her.

The drive to the theatre was silent. For I had nothing to say to her and she had nothing to say to me. Once we arrived at the theatre, I made quick small talk with my boss and my wife smiled and looked pretty, as she is accustomed to doing in front of the person who keeps me employed.

As the play began we quickly got to our box seats. The play was the same as the other twelve. The story never changed, the characters never change, and the songs never changed. Why it intrigues me so, I shall never know. Almost suddenly, the curtain closed for intermission. My wife then leaned over in her seat and whispered into my ear.

“Listen I’m sorry, but I am tired and bored out my mind. You saw your boss, now can we go?”

For some reason, I agreed. For I was tired also and the play did not intrigue me anymore tonight. So we got into the Mercedes and drove down the road that would lead us home. We were in such a rush, that we did not even bother to put our seatbelts on. Maybe because I was tired, but I drove ten miles over the speed limit. And yet my wife’s mouth was still moving faster than the car.

“I’m so glad we got out of there. I’ve seen that play too many times. How about next time you want to suck up to your boss just get on your knees.”

Once again, straight for my balls. But I simply replied, with my eyes still on the road and still picking up speed. “What, how can you not love that play. I mean the love triangle alone, a man who has lived in seclusion falls in love with a mooi women, but she loves an old friend. Its kind of like how you, have been fucking the UPS guy. Ok, maybe its not that similar, but you get my point right, honey?” I did not take my eyes off the road. For I knew she knew that what I said was correct and she was speechless right now. The car roared as I picked up speed. “I gave you the world women, and this is how you repay me?” No answer, just like I suspected. “Well no more. Good bye my, love.” Still picking up speed I snatched the ice scraper I kept under my seat. I gripped it tightly and took a mighty swing at her face. My aim was true, I hit her square on the nose. Her vision was now clouded in crimson blood. She did not even see me reach over her lap and swing the car door open. The car was now going at least 100 miles per hour. My foot then rose from off the pedal, and I kicked her squarely on the arm. My Italian shoes sent her flying out the car, and she hit the ground with sound I had never heard before. It happened so quickly…that she didn’t even have time to scream. A few seconds later I stopped the car and grabbed a bag from the back seat. In it I placed my weapon of choice and the tissues I used to clean up any blood left on my Italian interior. I then softly laid the bag on the seat where that vile women once sat. I then got back into my car and drove back to the play.

The play was spectacular. The acting was truly breath-taking. But the true performance of the night was just beginning.

I know returned to the present, kneeling down over that woman’s lifeless corpse. And now, to put all of those years of acting to good use. I cried in agony, “This cannot be! *sob* I will no longer look at this body! She cannot be my wife, my wife is at home, waiting for me to return.”

The blundering oaf who stopped my car then stammered, “Um, uh, sir, is that your wife then?”

“My wife is at home! Waiting for me to return.” I repeated. I then arose from the ground, but not before shouting at the cops, assuring them that she would be home. Those poor souls must of thought I was insane. Just like I had planned.

And now, I had a plane to catch. For now, I would live my life to the fullest, I shall seize the day, everyday. I shall go to Paris, there I will learn to act from some of the best in the business. My plane ticket is already in the glove compartment, and my money is being transported to a bank in Paris. There, I will be happy, just like I planned. And after this whole ordeal…I will never even think of that women. For now, she is only a memory.

A New Leader
By SageClock (AKA Cableshaft)

7:39 in the morning on Monday, and Rupee’s latest Flash movie, Clocks Among Us, was finally ready for Newgrounds. He was supposed to release it a little over two hours ago, but if he did that, the audio would have had synching problems near the end, and the main menu would have looked like crap. He didn’t think Strawberry would get too pissed if he explained all this to him, but with Strawberry, you never knew for sure. Especially the more prolific authors, such as himself, which bring more notice and respect to the Crew with every new front-paged movie.

Rupee was pretty confident his newest movie would be a pretty large success. It would get a decent score, be watched about 20-30,000 times. Not amazing, but pretty good for clock movies. For some reason, the majority of people on Newground tend to avoid Clock Crew movies, except the major blockbuster flicks the come out of Strange and Blue Clock every once in awhile. No one could figure out why, since it was obvious that Clock Crew films, on average, were significantly higher in quality and entertainment than a lot of the unoriginal schlock that could be found on the portal (Note: The masterpiece,“B”, is included in this figure, which skews the average up rather significantly).

Well, this movie will catch the eye of a few people, at least, who will give it a chance, realize its awesomeness, and convert into a clock fan. Even if it doesn’t, though, it will still be enjoyed by the small horde of clock supporters out there. And that was motivation enough.

Rupee filled out the information for the movie, spent way too much time trying to decide on what to put in the author’s notes (he finally decided on “A horror movie parody where clocks appear to be everyday, regular people, giving you change, cutting you off on the freeway, and taking the last copy of the movie you planned on renting tonight. But if you let them get too close to you, they attack, and you become a clock just like them! Teh horrorz!”), and sent the movie off into the Portal, where the general public would decide whether or not it was worthy enough to remain.

“Okay,” he said to himself, “now I can get some sleep.” He yawned, and limped into bed.

Not even two minutes later he was back in front of the computer.

“Come on, dammit. Hurry up and pass judgement so I can see what score I’m getting, and read the reviews.” The reviews would still be there when he woke up if he went to sleep, but he needed some reassurance his last two weeks weren’t wasted now. Refresh. Refresh. Didn’t seem to help him pass judgement any faster, though.

He decided a different tactic might be better. It’s was a little too early for most clocks to be up, but if he could find any online, he could get them to “vote 5” and get him closer to the 300 votes he needed.

Crap. Just Battery. Well, he was worth a try, at least.

RupeeClock: Hey.
BatteryClock: HAI THUR!!!111
RupeeClock: http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view.php?id=304588
RupeeClock: Vote 5!!!
BatteryClock: AJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJJAJJJAJAAJ NO YESNO.
BatteryClock: I LYKE TO KISS KISS <3 BAI ME A HORSY AND JEWSEE FROOT!!!!!!!11ONE ONE EXLAMASHIN
RupeeClock: ….
RupeeClock: I can’t tell if that means you voted or not :(

Oh well. He decides to check the portal again. “Let’s see. According to the most recent entries list, I’m about halfway through all the judgmented movies, now, and it’s been about ten minutes, so I just have to wait like ten more minutes and I’ll be able to see everything. Damn, I’m not sure if I’ll last that long.”

So he decides to try to kill the time a bit by seeing what else is on the portal. Not enough clock movies, that much is certain. Looked like maybe his was the only one in the main page of the portal at the time.

While Rupee was scouring the page, he spotted the corner that proclaimed who the “King of the Portal” was. He wasn’t sure why, but he never really noticed that section before. “How nice,” he said to himself. “Newgrounds is dedicating a whole section of the portal to letting everyone know that Strawberry Clock is the king of the portal.”

Suddenly Rupee shot up in his chair, blinked, and brought his clock closer to the computer screen. Why? Because that section of Newgrounds did NOT say that Strawberry Clock was the king of the portal. Instead, it claimed that a “rilstix” was king of the portal.

Except that couldn’t be! Everyone knew that Strawberry Clock was king of the portal!

The only logical explanation was that someone hacked Newgrounds and put their name in that section! How cruel and disrespectful of them to slander Newgrounds like that! He immediately started an email to inform Tom Fulp. He would make things right.

---

Dear glorious and merciful creator of the portal, otherwise known as Tom,

It has recently come to my attention that some filthy hacker has broken in to Newgrounds and is trying to deny Strawberry Clock his rightful place as “king of the portal”. I trust you will ban this heathen, and use his IP address to subpoena his ISP, find his address, then go to his house, douse his computer with gasoline, light it, throw the kid into the flames, hold him in the flames until he stops flailing about (you may want to invest in a flame-resistant suit before heading to his house), and then chop his head off and put it on a pike, and use that pike as a mallet to play croquet with, and take pictures of the event and put it on Newgrounds to warn any other future troublemakers what will happen to them if they ever THINK of pulling such a stunt in the future.

Thanks in advance, Your friendly neighborhood clock, Rupee.

---

Send! Rupee Clock laid back in his chair, feeling like he just did a good deed for clockkind.

Bing! He had a new message. A reply from Tom already, perhaps, apologizing profusely for this injustice and promising to make amends immediately and with extreme malice?

Alas, no. It was a staff announcement.

---

Hey!

This is just to let you know that Strawberry has decided to host a press conference in the town square at noon, and he wants to make certain everyone comes. If you don’t come, he’s claimed he’ll revoke your “Official Clock” status (if you’re not an “Official Clock”, you’ll be be banished from Clocktopia), and he’ll ban you from the Forums for at least three days (Oh Noez!). Personally, I wouldn’t worry about this too much, since he’ll have no idea who isn’t there since there’s no way in hell all of us in the staff are going to keep track of each and every clock at the meeting and follow through with the 100+ bans that would require … well, Absinthe might be willing to, but the rest of us sure as hell aren’t.

Regardless, he claims he has an important and exciting announcement, which probably means he wants to show off his new haircut or something, but he desperately urges everyone to come. It probably won’t take very long anyway, so if you can, please make an appearance. Thanks!

Leek Clock, Clock Crew Staff

---

Meh. Another stupid announcement by Strawberry. He gave about six every week ever since Golden Clock asserted in an editorial that Strawberry was “in his own little world” and “didn’t relate with the common clock.” So, in the process of trying to reverse that perception, he now held press conferences over every stupid thing that happened to him. Last week he had announcements regarding one of his dolls’ heads breaking off, how far he could throw a football, why he couldn’t stand black olives on his pizza, an appeal to stop DoctorClock from “maliciously causing clocks discomfort with his ice cold stethoscopes”, and to warn us all of an impending volcanic eruption that would happen on the other side of the planet, and gave us tips on how to keep from being burned alive by the molten lava that would never get anywhere near us.

However, he DID need to be told about this terrible mistake at Newgrounds, in case Tom gets too busy to respond in a timely manner and Strawberry has to send all the Newgrounds visitors pamphlets informing them of the mistake and assuring them that they can feel secure in knowing that Strawberry was still the king of the portal.

So Rupee decided to go to what he felt could not possibly be too interesting of a press conference. After he took a much needed nap, that is.

Apparently everyone else was starting to get tired of these announcements also, since only about 150 clocks were in attendance by the time Rupee got there, a few minutes before the presentation. Up on the stage, Renegade Clock and Pineapple were busy trying to set up the firework launchers on either side of the podium. Wow. The last time they brought those out were for the annoucement that Bit’s reign had finally ended. Maybe this was an important annoucement after all.

“Rupee!” said Tropicana Clock, as he hopped over to him. “How’d your movie go?”

“Um…,” said Rupee, “well, I got it finished more or less on time. It’s doing pretty good, so far. It had a 3.96 score just before I came here, and had a few positive reviews. Not a whole lot of criticism yet, though.”

“You want some criticism? It sucked. Hard. In fact, I thought it was so terrible, I voted 0 with all THREE of my computers.”

Rupee died a little bit inside. In a tiny voice, he said, “Really?”

Tropicana breaks out into a grin. “No, of course not! I’m just kidding. I haven’t even seen the movie yet. I’ll vote 0 on it later.”

“…”

“Another joke! Anyway, do you have any idea what this announcement could be about?”

“No idea.”

“Looks like this time it might be at least somewhat important, whatever it is. Do you suppose the staff know what it’s about?”

“I don’t… think so. That email Leek sent made it pretty clear he didn’t know.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask them, I guess.”

Rupee looks back up on the stage. Some of the staff were helping set the stage up (why they ever bother taking it down, he had no idea). Strange was busy steadying the supports, Tree was using his height to get the satin curtains that hid what went on backstage to hang properly, and Leek was struggling under the weight of a life-size Strawberry Clock statue made of solid gold Strawberry insisted on being present everywhere Strawberry was, to remind his loyal servants (us) who was boss around here. The non-clock staff (Biggs, Losperman, and Cableshaft) had security detail, since Strawberry never trusts them with anything important since they refused to sign loyalty oaths to Strawberry and voluntarily give up their human bodies and turn into clocks. Since no one bothered to swarm the stage anymore, usually, they were mostly lounging about. Cableshaft had a notebook on him and was probably planning his next clock game he would never finish. Losperman was taking a light nap before the ceremonies. Biggskoo was engaged in conversation with a very nervous looking Nef Clock, probably using his newly acquired position of power to try to impress her and coerce her into going home with him afterwards and letting him fondle her clock.

“Nah, they all look pretty busy right now.”

“Nonesense, come on.”

They headed up to Biggs. Sure enough, he was trying to pick up Nef Clock.

“Well, I always had a thing with tails, that’s why. Especially big, mooi, bushy ones like yours. You don’t see too many tails on humans. In fact, and I probably shouldn’t be admitting to this, but women like honesty, right, so there was this one time when I was babysitting my neighbors cat, and I realized that her tail was absolutely mooi, so I knelt down to it, and petted her for a little while, and then I- Nef interrupts him. ”Great story! Excuse me,“ she started backing away, and as she passed Rupee she leaned up against him and said, ”First day back, and I want to get the hell out of here again. Now you know why I’m never around anymore. Do NOT let him follow me.“ and then she bolted.

”Wait!“ said Biggskoo. Then he turned back to Rupee and Tropicana, and in an extremely hateful voice, said, ”Thanks a lot, assheads. You fucked everything up for me there.“

Tropicana suppressed a giggle. ”Whatever you say, Rico.“

”Oh, and by the way, that story about the cat wasn’t true either. I was just making it up to try and make her feel all warm and sexy in her sexy parts. And if you ever tell anyone otherwise, I’ll fucking kill you.“

”Sure thing, dude,“ says Tropicana. Rupee had a feeling, though, that he’d conveniently let something slip to Golden and it’d be all over the next TIEM issue.

”Um,“ Rupee interjects, ”we were just wondering if you had any idea what this meeting was all about.“

”That’s what you fucked my sex over? Can’t you fucking wait a whole,“ he looks down at his watch, ”one minute and twenty five seconds for the damn meeting to start?“

”Uh, yeah, probably.“

”Uh…yeah…PROBABLY.“ mocked Biggs. ”Get the fuck out of my face before I ban both of you assholes.“

”That went well,“ said Rupee to Tropicana after they got out of earshot. ”It’s not good to be on Biggs’ hate list.“

”He’ll forgive us,“ said Tropicana cheerfully.

”You think?“

”Hell no, dumbass! Just keep a low profile for the next couple weeks, and you should be fine.“

Just then, the air filled with noise as Leek brought a trumpet to his clock and played a triumphant fanfare for Strawberry’s entrance. Most of the crowd became quiet and turned toward the stage. The curtains parted slightly, and Strawberry, complete with regal cape, crown, and scepter, slowly hopped up to the podium. The elder clocks stood in a line on the stage, two on either side of him, and held up signs that said, ”Applaud, damn you!“, ”Cheer a little louder than that, fools!“, ”Smile! It’s not like you were doing anything too important, anyway!“, and ”Vote 5!“ The crowd mostly obliged.

”Thank you for your applause,“ said Strawberry, as the fervor died down. ”I’m so glad you love your king so much to show so much support for him, without being prompted to do so.“ A few snickers in the audience caused him to frown. He darted a look back behind him, but the elders were quicker and hid the signs from his view. Satisfied, Strawberry looked back to his audience, and assumed a couple people in the audience were just playing tricks.

”As Leek no doubt said in his email to you guys, I have an important annoucement I think you guys will all be excited about. This announcement is bigger than all other announcements in the past. Even bigger than the time I thought there was a terrorist threat on Clock Headquarters, but it turned out to be one of Dwarfinator’s peggeys who left a little soft, moist, steamy delight on my throne. No, friends, this one is big. This one, will change your lives, and my life, forever.“

That got everyone’s attention.

”Today, my friends, I am resigning my position as king of the portal.“ Immediately that caused a rumble in the crowd. Several clocks gasped, one quite audibly broke into tears, and several others began whispering amongst themselves. Rupee didn’t want to believe it, but the Newgrounds Portal DID say otherwise.

”I know, I know, it’s extremely difficult to believe. So for those of you who think their ears are misleading them, I’ll say it again. Today, I, Strawberry Clock, you know, the one with the shiny crown on my head, will be resigning my post as king of the portal. Oh, don’t cry for me, Argentina Clock! I will still be around, giving everyone amazingly useful advice, showing up at your childrens’ Bar Mitzfas, and stealing the last chicken breast at your birthday parties. It’s just that someone else will be making all the rules, and, as my last action of king of the portal, I will announce who will become my heir now.“

Some random non-clock named Rilstix, Rupee finished for him. Some no-name who will come in and screw up everything, with his stupid rules. Why couldn’t it be Tree Clock or Leek? Everyone loved those guys. Any of the elders would be fine also. No one’s going to like this upcoming annoucement. Rupee braced for it.

”And that person is…. ki1o! Everybody give him a hand everybody!“ Rupee gawked. One of the most avid clock haters of all time, one who used to vote 0 and leave a negative review for every clock movie ever released, had just been named the new leader? Impossible! He had to be putting everybody on. Besides, hadn’t ki1o disappeared like, years ago? The crowd went dead silent. Rupee waited for the punchline.

But the punchline didn’t come. Instead, the curtains parted again, the fireworks launchers shot huge, loud boomers into the air, Leek started blaring the trumpet again, and in hopped a very red, very real looking ki1o. Strawberry stepped down from the podium, bowed to his successor, and offered his crown and scepter to ki1o. ki1o eagerly snatched them both and threw the crown on his head, then turned and addressed the crowd. The elders held up their signs demanding applause again, but no one offered it.

”Thanks for your appreciation, you ungrateful bastards,“ said ki1o. ”Doesn’t matter anyway, now that I’m king.“ He gripped the sides of the podium and glared at all his new subjects. ”And all of you are devoutly loyal to your king, no matter who it is. You followed this last idiot-,“ Strawberry glared back at ki1o, hopefully regretting his decision, ”-even when he told you to submit a bunch of spam flash to the Portal, making people like me hate you, and you fulfill any ridiculous wish he asks of you. Well, let me just say, I don’t intend on breaking with tradition. I’ve got a list of new rules I’m just sure you’ll love.“

”Rule 1, and the most important: Everyone in the Clock Crew must vote 0 on all Clock flash movies, including their own, and they must leave an all zero review that consists of nothing but the ‘Thanks for voting! By voting 0 on this submission..’ etc, just like I used to do.“

What the hell? Impossible! No one was going to go for that! And a quick scan of the crowd revealed that, indeed, no one seemed willing to do that either. A good 10-20 clocks started hopping up towards the stage, probably intending on going up there and beating the crap out of their new leader. But Biggs, Cableshaft, and Losperman were quicker, whipping out their ban-sticks and dishing out bans and chill pills to anyone who got close. How dare they!

”Rule 2: All the female clocks are to take turns accompanying me to bed each night, and, when I’m in the mood, even two or three at a time. Considering there are only ten female clocks in the entire Crew, you will be required to move in to my private villa and you are forbidden from engaging in, or even talking to any male clocks or nonclocks in Clocktopia.“ This last part even got Biggskoo to frown, and look questionably at ki1o.

”I’ll have more rules later, but in the meantime, I want you all to - “ He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence, because suddenly a black blur materialized above him and a katana sliced clean through his body. ki1o sparked and sputtered, gadgets underneath his skin exposed, and fell in halves to the ground. Behind him, the black blur, which turned out to be Munglai dressed in a ninja outfit, got back on his feet, and slid the katana back into his belt.

The crowd erupted into a large cheer. Better that than have some asshole lead the clocks, thought Rupee. Granted, Strawberry could be a bit of an asshole at times, but he never did that on purpose. Although, why was ki1o made of a bunch of circuits? He was a robot this whole time?

Strawberry jumped up and down and clapped his hands together in glee. Then he hopped back up to the podium, and addressed the audience again. ”Marvelous! That was fantastic! Thanks a lot there Munglai, for such a good show. And the rest of you, you all had the most priceless expressions on your faces. I haven’t had so much fun since Orange bought five tickets for free pony rides for my birthday!“

Once again, the crowd quieted down, except for Atomic Clock, who yelled out, ”Hey, wait a minute. You mean this was all a big joke.“

”Yep!“ said Strawberry Clock, a huge smile on his clockface. ”And with that, I just want to say…. APRIL FOOLS, EVERYBODY!“

Huh? It wasn’t April. Was it?

Atomic apparently felt the same way. ”Strawberry, it’s not April. It’s June. You missed it.“

”Wait, what? It’s June?“ He looked back at Orange. ”Why didn’t you tell me?“ Orange hesitated for a moment, then said, ”Well, we decided not to say anything, since you looked so happy planning this thing, and we wanted to avoid the possibility of a tantrum-er, I mean, a disagreement from you if we told you.“

”Oh. Well, anyway, I’m still king of the portal, everythings happy, you all got PUNKED BY YOUR MOST AWESOME KING, and you can all go home now.“

”Wait!“ Rupee heard himself cry out. Everyone turned towards him, probably pissed that he was interfering with their ability to go home. ”Um… Strawberry?“

”Yes? Make it quick, I have to go home and run my empire. And play with my trains. But mostly the empire thing.“

”Yeah, um. I went to Newgrounds today to submit my movie, and I saw on the portal, and it said you weren’t king of the portal anymore. It said some guy named Rilstix was.“

”Oh. Um. Yeah, we knew about that.“

”What? You knew about that? How? Why?“

”Um. Well, um. How should I explain this? Um. Orange, help me out, could ya?“

Orange hops up to the podium. ”For a couple of years, now, Tom Fulp has had the ‘king of the portal’ displayed on the Newgrounds Portal. Now, from the start he didn’t list Strawberry Clock as king of the portal. Instead, he uses a program to determine the person who has submitted the most and best flash movies for the month. It changes every month.“

”Now, you’re probably asking yourself, why would he do such a thing? Isn’t such an action sacrilegious, and possibly, an act of war by Tom himself? Well, to be certain, it puzzled us at first as well. It was so obvious that Strawberry Clock has and always will be king of the portal, for Tom to want to claim otherwise, even with a program, is ludicrous. I mean, who wears the crown? Strawberry. Who does everyone say is the king of the portal? Strawberry. And it was with that very logic that he managed to convince us that this was a good thing.“

”You see, everyone with an ounce of intellect knows intrinsically that Strawberry Clock is the king of the portal. And so, when they see that Newgrounds claims that somebody else is king of the portal, that statement conflicts with and challenges the knowledge that exists within their head. And they will say to themselves, ‘That can’t possibly be right. B is the best film ever made! What could this guy have possibly made that deposes Strawberry Clock as king?’ So they’ll go through this guy’s profile, who is a good artist himself, but possibly underappreciated, and they will see these guys’ movies, and they’ll see and be exposed to some great new movies. But after seeing them, they will breathe a sigh of great relief, for none of this artist’s flash movies are better than Strawberry Clock’s numerous masterpieces. And they’ll know that Tom was pulling a fast one on him. And their faith will once again be renewed that Strawberry Clock is king of the portal, in which without this challenge to their intellect, they might have started to think that maybe Strawberry Clock was no longer king of the portal. And so, by doing this, the flash artists win, because the truly good artists get a little more exposure, and Strawberry Clock wins, because the common Newgrounders’ faith in him is renewed and strengthened.“

”So you see, Strawberry Clock is, was, and always will be king of the portal. You don’t have to worry about that. And nothing that claims otherwise, even on the holy Newgrounds, will ever change that fact. You satisfied?“

Rupee was, indeed, satisfied. He beamed up at his king. ”Yes, thank you.“

Strawberry speaks up again. ”Good, and with that, the meeting is over. Enjoy the rest of your day, everyone.“

As the crowd disperses, and Strawberry and the elders retreat backstage, Strawberry said to Orange, ”Phew, that was close. Why does Tom list people other than ME as king of the portal, anyway?"

Orange just shook his head and shrugged.

INFORMATION CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE.

Merry Clockmas, Indeed
By Biggskoo

Am I so crazy to have never had any real ambition in my life? That was the first thought that raced through my mind as I came about my senses in the back of some dank alleyway. For the moment, I had a hard time remembering how I got here in the first place. I glanced upward and saw the words “ATOMIC BAR” plastered across the side of a red brick wall in bright neon lettering, and I glanced down at my clock face and noticed that the glass had shattered just a little bit. My label had been stained with the grime running down the side of some festering dumpster. I picked myself up off the frigid ground, peeled the old newspapers off my head, and began walking towards what I was pretty sure to be the nearest bus stop.

I’d grown up sheltered my entire life, home schooled away from the other clocks. I always vividly remembered what little contact I had with my peers growing up. They all had hopes, they all had dreams; Orange wanted to make famous movies, Banana wanted to become a millionaire entrepreneur. Hell, even Pineapple wanted to be a big mathematician. And as for myself? Well, I never really gave it much thought. Whenever the prospect of my future popped into my head, I always suppressed it nigh immediately. Maybe I was afraid of what the future held for me, or maybe I was too apathetic to want to do anything besides play video games and poker the rest of my life. Man, how great would that be? Playing games for a living. Sure, that would be pretty fucking cool, I thought. Be that as it may, I never realistically thought it to be an option for myself. Then again, I never really considered anything to be an option for myself, and putting off my studies at home sure as hell wasn’t the way to get anywhere in life.

Fast forward to December. The month of Clockmas, festivities abound. Except for myself, of course. You see, a month or so earlier, seemingly as a result of how my studies were coming along, or weren’t coming along, I was ordered by a judge to attend public school for the first time in my life. The decision was somewhat of a shock for me, and I immediately began worrying not about school itself, but about how everyone would receive me and how I would fit in. I remember walking through those smudged glass double doors the first morning I was scheduled to attend. It became clear to me then, as my eyes readjusted from the searing morning sunlight, that I was in for quite the trip. It was easy to see that the other clocks were very trivial and territorial, and it seemed that all the stereotypes I’d heard about high school were true. I walked through the halls and saw all the different cliques looming around their respective areas, loudly conversing about whatever it is that they converse about. I passed the fruits, the veggies, I even passed the weird clocks. However, when I passed the beverages, I stopped for a moment and looked up. I saw someone looking right back at me, eyes wide open. I looked back for a couple seconds, then proceeded to look back down toward the floor and keep walking.

“Hey, wait!” he yelled down the hallway. I stopped again for a moment and resumed our staring match. “What’s your name, man?” he inquired.

I hesitated for a moment. “Snapple,” I shot tersely shot back.

“Haven’t seen ya around before? You new?”

“Yeah, today’s my first day.”

“Well, hey. My name’s Pepsi. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Maybe I was wrong about high schoolers being a bit vicious after all.

My first day wasn’t too eventful, honestly. It can mostly be described as a chorus of people repeatedly asking me my name and where I came from. Over the next few weeks, I made quite a few friends, mostly the other beverage clocks, and adjusted quite nicely to the flow of things.

When December rolled around, however, I hit an emotional funk. Usually I got excited for Clockmas and December was my favorite month of the year. This year I just wasn’t feeling it, though. It might be because as I grow ever older, my parents don’t get me much for Clockmas anymore. Maybe that’s it in its own right, that is, my parents. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit it, but having been home schooled my entire life, I had still believed in Strawberry Claus until some of my friends told me otherwise in the weeks leading up to December. The dwindling amount of presents kind of made sense then, and in a lot of ways it took the fun of the holidays for me. Either way, my grades started slipping a bit and I kept to myself for the most part. When the day was done, I went home and remained there, isolating myself and playing games or practicing my poker skills.

A week before Clockmas Sunday, a shady character approached me in the hallway as I stood in front of my first class awaiting the teacher’s arrival. He told me his name was Battery, a senior, and he immediately starting talking to me about poker.

“Hey, kid, I’ve seen you around before,” he said to me. “You’re always walking around here with a deck of cards in your hand, shuffling them around, practicing your techniques.”

“Well, yeah, cards are kind of a pastime for me. I play poker, but I don’t rea-“

“Yeah, man, I kind of fucking figured,” he interjected. “Let me get to the point. I know about this underground game going on downtown. It’s nothing too big, but the guys running it are. Just a little Clockmas Eve party for themselves. If you want I could try and squeeze you into the door.”

“I don’t know. It sounds kind of iffy. Besides, I’m not even old enou-“

“C’mon! Iffy? What are you, some kind of pussy? The prize is a copy Flash 8! You can’t pass that up.”

Now, one thing to understand about me is that I’m only sixteen years old, and I look even older than that. Some people have told me I look twenty-three on occasion. When I was forced to come to this school, I was placed in the freshman class because I’d never been in public school before. This led to a lot of problems and complications for me, and this appeared to be one of them.

“No, I’m not a pussy. I’ve actually been looking to get into some real games for a while, just not something like this. I think I’d be in over my head a little. Besides, I’m not even old enough to gamble.”

“Not old enough. Sheesh, you are a wimp. Listen, don’t worry about that. I can take care of that. You need to play in this tournament. I’ve seen you, man. You can’t pass this up.”

His sudden appearance and eagerness to get me into this poker tournament surprised me a little, but he was right. I had asked for Flash 8 for Clockmas, but it’s quite the expensive program and I highly doubt my parents had actually gotten it for me. If I won this tournament, it would solve all my problems.

“Ehhh, it still sounds a bit iffy to me,” I replied. “You’re sure that you could get me in and my age wouldn’t be an issue?”

“I’m fucking positive, man. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll go. I really want that program. What’s the buy-in?”

“That’s what I like to hear!” he exclaimed. “Buy-in’s 200 CC’s. It’s being held down on 21 O’clock Street on the 24th. Just show up that night and I’ll get you in, alright?”

“Okay, fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“You needn’t worry about what I’m doing. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

His last statement made me feel a little uneasy as he quickly turned and walked away. The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly as I waited for the final bell to ring so I could go home and see if I could even cover the entry fee.

When I got home, I clambered up to my room as fast as I could and smashed open the proverbial piggy bank to see where I stood. By the time I finished counting everything I had to my name, I ended up with 164 CC’s, thirty or so short of the buy-in. I really wanted to play in this game, so I spent the rest of the week pestering my parents and neighbors to let me do odd jobs for them. It took me five days, but I finally amassed enough to play in the tournament.

When December 24th rolled around, I was ready. By this time, school was out for Clockmas break, and I’d spent a considerable amount of my spare time practicing my poker techniques. I was ready for this. Night came around and I donned my jacket and set out for 21 O’Clock Street. I opted to walk instead of take the bus. As I moved throughout the labyrinth of intersections that is Clocktopia, I saw Clockmas everywhere. Commercials on televisions shining through store windows, clockfriends rustling about in the snow, elders passing by pressed warmly with their Strawberry Claus hats. Still, I didn’t feel the Clockmas spirit any more than I had all month, and my mind remained on the poker game that lie a few roads down.

I arrived at my destination and saw Battery standing near the door as I approached. He looked around for a few seconds then led me inside down a long, winding stairwell into a dimly lit room with a poker table and several people sitting around it.

“This is that guy I was telling you all about.” Battery said. “Snapple, you know, that guy I was telling you about?”

“Yeah, Battery, we heard you the first fucking time,” one of them shot back. “So, kid, you came here to play cards?”

I continued to look around the room, picking up what I could about my surroundings. “Yeah, I came to play with you guys. Battery here tol-“

“Alright, kid, the buy-in’s 200 CC’s. You in?”

I said nothing as I reached into my pocket. This action seemed to startle have some of the people around the table a little, but then I pulled out my hand and presented the money. I made a quick count and threw it into the center of the table. “Yeah, I’m in,” I proudly stated.

“Alright, everything seems to be in order. We were just about to start. Take a seat.”

I grabbed the chair nearest me and took a seat around the table with the others. I introduced myself and they did likewise. Immediately to my left was a black guy who looked rather menacing on the outside, but turned out to be quite a nice guy once he started talking. He said his name was Trae, and he went around the table telling me everyone’s names.

“Well, that’s Zipstyke, but we call him Zippy for short,” he told me. “That’s Clear, and the guy right across from you that, uh, greeted you when you walked in is Carrot. We’re playin’ hold ‘em, no limit. Battery here tells me you’re quite the card player, so I’ll assume you know how to play. Let’s get started, gentlemen.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Clear said.

“Oh, sorry,” Trae mumbled. “Ladies and gentlemen.”

The first couple hours were just a sort of feeling out session of play. No one made any really big moves and the chip count remained relatively steady for everyone. I spent the time playing tight and trying to pick up as much as I could on the other players. I didn’t want to make any big moves lest they figure out that I wasn’t supposed to be here if something drastic happened.

The first big swing was when Trae trapped Zipstyke into going all-in against him with a pair of queens, which happened to be top pair on the board. Once the chips were in, Trae turned over pocket kings and knocked Zipstyke out. He mumbled something to himself and walked away to grab a drink from the bar that wasn’t too far away.

Not too soon after that, Clear got eliminated by Carrot with a spade flush. For a lady, she sure didn’t act graceful in defeat, and for a second I thought there might’ve been a fistfight between the two of them. In the end, cool heads prevailed and Clear stumbled off to join Zippy at the bar. Carrot arrogantly raked in his chips and the game continued.

After another hour or so, Trae’s stack was dwindling and he decided to go all-in pre-flop with a pair of kings. Carrot called him with queen-jack, and when Trae turned over his cards he reared back in disgust. Trae leaned back in his chair and smiled at the pot that was soon to come his way, but his excited grin quickly disappeared when the flop came Q-J-9. Carrot hit his two pair and they held up the rest of the way. Trae got up from his chair and said his goodbyes. He wished me luck and me and Carrot continued to play heads up for the remainder of the game.

About another hour later, I held a slight lead over Carrot. I looked down at my cards and saw J-6 of hearts. Already in the big blind, and Carrot having only called it, I checked and played for free. The next three cards came Q-6-6. This was it! I got anxious for a second as I reached for some chips, but then I checked, deciding to lay a trap instead. Carrot bet, and I called. The next card was a 9, and Carrot seemed intent on calling any bet I would push forward. Little did he know that I was in the driver’s seat.

“I’m all-in,” I declared.

“I call,” Carrot shot back without pause. “Queens full.”

He turned over his pocket queens and my heart sank to the floor. It seemed that my Clockmas wouldn’t turn out like I had planned.

“You played a good game, kid, but you were just overmatched.”

The only thing that could save me now was the last 6 in the deck. I thought about it for the second, and only part of me wanted that 6 to fall. Carrot didn’t seem like the kind of person to take a bad beat lightly.

The dealer slid the river card over onto the table and there were exactly six diamonds printed on the surface of it.

“Holy shit!” I shouted as I jumped into the air. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry Carrot.”

I presented my hand toward him so he could shake it, but he swatted it away angrily.

“You think that’s fuckin’ funny, don’t you, kid?”

“What? I mean, Carrot, I know that was a terrible beat, but dingen like that happens. I just wanted to congratu-“

I was interrupted by a left hook to my jawline as I was sent reeling toward the ground.

“You give Carrot a bad beat, and Carrot gives you a bad beating, you little twerp.”

“C’mon, Carrot,” Zipstyke said. “If you don’t knock that shit off, I’ll have to jump in and stop you.”

“Oh, fuck you, Zippy! You didn’t notice something weird about this kid when he walked through the door? Look at this, shitstain.” He reached into my pocket and pulled my license out of my wallet. “This guy’s only sixteen fucking years old! He’s not even supposed to be here.”

Apparently this fact enraged Clear, as well, as she jumped up and joined Carrot in the shouting match. Eventually Zipstyke got tired of arguing with them and left, me still lying in a heap on the cold bar floor.

“This’ll teach you to barge in here and pull shit like that, you little punk,” Carrot said to me.

That’s the last thing I remember hearing before I woke up in that alleyway. As I walked toward the bus stop, I saw all the same reminders of Clockmas that I had seen on the way to the game. Suffice it to say I still wasn’t feeling the spirit at all. I was growing more tired with every step that I took, and after a while, I just gave up on getting to the bus stop entirely, collapsing to the ground content on beginning my Clockmas sleeping on a frozen Clocktopia sidewalk. Just at that moment, I saw someone approach me.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold out here for a nap?” the man said.

“Just leave me alone, please,” I replied. “I’ve had a long night.”

“I’m just trying to help out a little, Snapple,” the strange figure murmured.

“Wait, how the hell do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I know everyone’s name.”

I looked up and the old man removed his hood, revealing a few green leaves upon a crimson cranium.

“Holy crap! Str-“

“Yes, I know, Strawberry Claus. Snapple, I know you’ve been feeling a bit down this Clockmas. What’s wrong?”

“Well, Strawberry, it all just got to be a little much for me to handle, so I got a little depressed and kept to myself. When people told me you weren’t real, it didn’t help much, either. I don’t even know what to think now. How am I even supposed to know you’re who you say you are?”

“Well, Snapple, that’s the thing. You can’t really know, can you? Sure, I suppose I could try and prove it to you, but would you believe me?”

“I probably wouldn’t. Not right now, anyway, not anymore.”

“Well, in that case, let me help you up. Just dust yourself off and get home. I think you’ll be surprised.”

He helped me up and to the bus stop, which had turned out to be right around the corner all this time. He left me when the bus arrived and I boarded and went home. As I walked through the door, I noticed everyone in the house had already fallen asleep. I glanced at the clock on the wall as the hour and minute hands met on the twelve.

“Merry Clockmas…” I thought to myself.

Just out of curiosity, I stumbled over to the tree and looked under it. Obviously my parents had gotten impatient and just decided to put the gifts under the tree before they fell asleep. I rummaged through them and found only one marked to me. I decided whether or not I should wait until morning to open it, but opted not to. I’d already been through enough tonight, and I needed a pick-me-up, if ever so slight of one. As I tore open one corner of the wrapping paper, I could see the word “Macromedia” emblazoned across a red box. I immediately realized what it was and hurriedly tore the rest of the paper off. It turns out I had gotten what I really wanted for Clockmas after all!

I grasped the box in my hands and walked toward the window. I looked upward toward the full moon and I saw the silhouette of reindeer and a sleigh against the moonlight.

“Merry Clockmas, indeed.”

Mary and Joe, A Love Story
By Losperman

“No fucking way. How could you even think that she’s hotter?”

“Her lips are too big. It looks like two boa constrictors having sex on her face.”

“And Jennifer Aniston’s giant, truffle detecting nose is any better?”

“Whatever, it’s not even that big. You just like Angelina Jolie because she played Lara Croft.”

“And you only like Jennifer Aniston because she was on that gay ass Friends show.”

“Ok, guys, shut the fuck up about which one of Brad Pitt’s bitches is hotter already. I hear enough of it from my sister and her friends.”

There was pause in the conversation as the three boys walked alongside the long country road. It was dark, and the flashlights they held cast bright beams that bounced on the dirt shoulder. The low hum of crickets offset the occasional shuffle of their feet through dirt and rock. It was Jim, the oldest of the three at fifteen, who had decided he had enough of the others conversation. Ron was second oldest, behind Jim only by seven months, and Wade was the youngest by nearly four years at eleven. His age and grade level didn’t seem to matter much to Jim and Ron, though. They all watched the same movies, played the same video games, and grew up on the same block in their small Midwestern suburb.

A minute had not yet passed when Wade decided to break the silence.

“You said Brad Pitt had ‘bitches’.”

The two older boys took their eyes off the bobbing beams of light and looked at him in a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. Wade kept his eyes forward and added:

“You went all gangsta on us and shit. Like you finna pop some caps off in our asses. Nigga please!”

They all busted into hysterical laughter at this sudden insight. They stopped at the side of the road, clutching their stomachs and making further jokes about Jim’s use of the English language. At this point they also made use of the forest that lined this section of the road to relieve themselves.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about these boys. They got B’s and C’s on their report cards, played Halo with their friends, hung out at the mall when they were bored, and even got sent to the principal’s office for the occasional practical joke. There was also nothing out of the ordinary about their small Midwestern suburb. It had its shopping mall to attract outside income, the neighborhood that even the cops avoided after dark, the salon where all the gossip was spread, and its very own town myth.

This town myth wasn’t from a time long ago, however. It was still in the making. It started, however, before even Jim was born. Eighteen years ago this small suburb was only a rural town, surrounded by farms and the occasional lone house amidst the fields. At this time, an old man, rumored to be very wealthy, had moved into one of these remote houses. No one saw much of him, and he rarely came into town. He would drive in for the occasional hair cut or repair to his old Ford pickup truck, but even then he seemed as if he were in a world of his own.

He spoke to no one, and many people said they caught him staring at them from afar. The rumors began to fly before he had lived there for even a year. He was a former Nazi who had come to their town to hide. He was a serial killer that moved from town to town, killing dozens and leaving before he could get caught. He was a mad scientist that collects human specimens to test his wild experiments on. Some of the more devout religious townsfolk even suggested he was a demon, plotting to begin the apocalypse in their quiet Midwestern town.

But the years went by, and he quietly became a part of the town. While nearly everyone in town referred to him as “Creepy old Joe,” the rumors which were once passed by adults were now passed by children instead. His made-up tales were told around the camp fire, not around the office. So Creepy old Joe slowly began to be included as a town member and was no longer looked at as an outsider. That’s when Mary came into the picture.

It was nearly five years since Joe had moved to town, and another newcomer was now moving in. Her name was Mary, and she, according to the word on the street, apparently had family ties to the town that dated back to its origin. No one had ever heard her family name, and there was no evidence of them in the town records, but many townspeople came to believe it just the same.

She was a fairly young woman at thirty, and came to town to work as a records keeper in the town hall. She, like Joe, was very quiet and kept mostly to herself. She could be caught in the occasional conversation about her previous life in the big city, her deceased family, or anything regarding town history, but even at these times she would usually cut the discussion short and opt to continue her filing work.

Outside of her occupation, there was little interest in Mary. She hardly drew attention from any of the town men, as she was severely cross-eyed and did not keep her hair very clean or straight. Most in the town looked down on her with an air of distrust, and this impression only intensified when she was reportedly seen with Creepy old Joe one evening. The two were doing nothing to arouse suspicion besides talking, but the shock of seeing Joe converse with anyone, let alone this strange newcomer, was seemingly cause for alarm.

So the gossip networks began to flare back up, and there were fresh rumors of Joe’s Aryan bride, his new serial killing accomplice, his latest test subject, and, yes, his minion from the depths of hell that’s come to serve him in the apocalypse. The talk continued throughout the town behind closed doors, but after the two had been seen together on several occasions over the course of a half year, it became another part of their mysterious image. Although the gossip had subsided, many still wondered what exactly Mary and Joe talked about in those sparse and brief meetings. Most of the speculation was that the two were dating, but many found that hard to believe. Mary, as unattractive to the townsmen as she was, was still fairly young. So, many began to talk of Joe using her for her youth, and Mary using him for his money.

These whispers continued, on and off, for close to four years until they became nearly deafening chatter when a town proclamation was made of the joining of Joe and Mary in holy matrimony. This act settled the idea in most people’s minds: Joe, now in his mid-seventies, would soon pass away and leave his entire estate to Mary. Then Mary would leave their small town to move back to the big city and reclaim her former life.

The marriage wasn’t exactly public, although no one had expected it to be. After the standard town announcement, no one saw much of a difference in either of them for the first year. Joe still came into town to get his haircuts and have his truck worked on, and Mary still held her position at town hall. They could still be seen together at their occasional lunch meetings, and sometimes even at the grocery store.

After the first year, however, Joe had stopped coming into town for his haircuts and vehicle repairs. Mary still worked at town hall, but there were no more lunch meetings or grocery trips together. When inquired about him, which was rare in spite of all the town mumblings, she merely said that he was doing fine and was in high spirits. Six months later, Mary resigned her position at town hall.

The townspeople largely agreed that Joe was dying, and Mary was tending to him in his final hours, although none of the town doctors had seen Joe in the past year. A little over a month later, the official town notice was issued for Joe’s death. While many in the town had once feared Joe and held a heavy suspicion of him, they were now shocked to find themselves with feelings of sadness for him. They began to think that maybe he was just lonely and had a hard time making friends. This, in turn, fueled their suspicion of Mary and the devious deeds they knew she must have been up to. They shook their heads at a woman who would take advantage of a poor old man like she had. She hadn’t even had a public funeral, which further angered the townspeople and furthered suspicions as to her motives for not letting anyone see the body. The very people who had named him “Creepy old Joe” wanted to mourn their supposed loss.

After the initial shock and anger, the town turned their back on Mary. Not that she was around to be seen, though. She had not fled the town as many had expected, but merely closed herself off in the large house that she had shared with Joe in his final years. She never came into town, even to shop for groceries. Her bills were sent in the mail, and anything else was delivered to her front porch, where she left the payment in an envelope along with a large tip for the delivery man.

After a time, the town eventually forgave Mary as they had forgiven Joe. The thought of an evil and manipulative woman gave way to one of a now aging woman in heavy mourning for her lost husband. Many had decided that they had misjudged the situation, and that Joe and Mary must have merely found each other at very different times in their lives. “Not even old age can stop the heart from loving,” would become the phrase spoken when mentioning Joe and Mary. Five years after Joe’s death the adults had all put their fears and suspicions to rest, but their children were now passing on the myths and legends of Creepy old Joe and Cross-Eyed Mary.

Jim, Ron, and Wade had grown up hearing these stories from siblings, babysitters, and friends at school. It was now eighteen years since Creepy old Joe’s death, and the small town was now a suburb, thanks to the building of a two story shopping mall and an ink pen factory, which both created jobs and brought the town much needed income. While the town limits and housing areas had expanded, Mary’s house was still three miles away, passed the forest and corn fields that still remained.

The three boys had heard increasingly twisted stories about Mary and her big house. One story tells of how she has kept Joe’s body and continues to act as if he is still alive, feeding him, bathing him, and keeping his embalming fluids up so that he keeps a semi-animated appearance. Another tale was of Mary taking over Joe’s secret laboratory and using his corpse to further carry out the experiments they had started before his death. A popular story was also told which circled around the fact that Mary only ever left the house around 7pm every Friday, and didn’t return until Saturday morning. The story goes that Joe is actually still alive in the house, and Mary sneaks out to meet her secret lover behind Joe’s back. No one has ever actually followed Mary when she leaves town, but someone once reported seeing her driving with a short man when she returned from one of her trips.

The boys didn’t necessarily believe in one story over another, but they believed without a doubt that Cross-Eyed Mary had a secret to hide. And whether it was her dead husband or a secret lover, they were going to find it out and bring back evidence to show to their friends and family, who they knew would be thrilled.

So, this brisk night in October, they began their journey. They had arranged a sleepover at Ron’s house, and prepared everything that evening. They scrounged up two flashlights, Jim’s digital camera, extra batteries, Pop-Tarts, a bag of Swedish Fish, a canteen of water, one bottle of Dr. Pepper for each of them, and Ron’s brother’s cell phone which they “borrowed” for the night.

They dingened most of it into a backpack which Wade carried, and snuck out of Ron’s house an hour before midnight. They would walk the long road, which turned into dirt halfway to the house and sneak in while she was gone. There were no other houses for miles, so they weren’t afraid of getting caught. But, while they told each other they weren’t frightened of what they might find in the house, they all had a fear of the mysterious house. So they had all secretly planned on speeding the process of taking pictures of the inside of the house up once they departed. If everything went as planned, they’d be back before sunrise.

Ron scratched a long stick beside him in the dirt road on his right as they walked, creating a long and zigzagging line behind them. Wade, walking between the two others, took his soda out of the backpack and took a long drink before returning it. Jim made passes through the woods on his left with his flashlight, looking for nothing in particular. They had walked in silence for nearly ten minutes before the air was broken with words.

Ron threw his stick into the road and turned to Wade. “Let me see the backpack.”

“Why?”

“I want the Swedish Fish and my soda.”

“I can give them to you, you don’t need the backpack.”

“Ok, whatever. Don’t get so defensive, it’s just a backpack, I’m not going to steal it.”

“I’m not getting defensive, I’m just-“

“Ok, ok, just give me the damn Swedish Fish and soda.”

Wade angrily swung the backpack off his shoulders and unzipped it. He dug around inside until he felt the bag of candy and pulled it out. He handed it to Ron and then retrieved the soft drink as well. He closed the zipper and flung the backpack around his arm and back onto his shoulder with a flustered huff.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? I just wanted a snack and you’re getting all pissy about it.” Ron said as he clicked off his flashlight and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“I’m not pissy. You didn’t need to be so pushy, though, I can give you the dingen. You don’t need to take the backpack, that’s why I’m carrying it.”

“I didn’t know you were the dictator of the backpack, sorry. I’ll have to remember to bow next time I ask for something.”

“Shut up, asshole, I wasn’t saying-“

“Is that all you guys can do is fight?” Jim said, abruptly interrupting Wade. “You can do that any other night. We’re getting ready to add an important chapter in our town’s history and you guys are fighting over a backpack? Lay off each other for one night and concentrate on what we came to do.”

Again they walked in silence. Ron and Wade both hurt and stewing over being scolded by Jim for a second time and Jim growing irritated over the lack of interest in the task at hand. Well, the second time since they had begun the night’s journey, as Ron and Wade didn’t get along too well most of the time. They were friends, sure, but Wade looked up to Jim, not Ron. He wanted to be like him, and Ron grew increasingly tired of his idolization, which caused some friction between the two. Tonight, however, there seemed to be something else fueling the fire between them.

The boys continued walking along the dark tree-lined dirt road, as the breeze began to pick up and the temperature dropped. Ron zipped up his jacket and continued to eat his Swedish Fish, occasionally offering them to Jim and Wade. As the forest on their left changed into corn fields, Ron began thinking of what may actually be inside Mary’s house. Probably nothing but a couple dozen cats. Or a house full of old, creepy dolls. Either way, there’s probably nothing in there. They’re nothing but myths. Right? Yeah. But what if they are true? What if there are weird lab experiments in the basement that escape and these mutant Frankensteins attack us? Or a portal to hell opens up or some shit? God damn it, I’m starting to scare myself. I bet Jim and Wade are scared. I just bet.

Wade shoved his hands deep in his pockets and drew his arms close to his body to warm himself. The only one without a flashlight to wave around, he quickly grew bored and decided to eat something. He dropped the backpack halfway off one shoulder and took out a package of Pop-Tarts. He jerked the bag back onto his shoulder and began nibbling on his snack when thinking of what lay ahead.

She probably has him frozen somewhere in there. Like a big ice cube. I bet she uses dead people to experiment on, trying to find some way to bring him back. Maybe like Night of the Living Dead or something. That’s why she goes out every week, to dig up a new body. God, I hope she doesn’t have any booby traps set up to catch us. I’m not going first when we go in, that’s for sure. I hope Ron goes first and gets caught, jerk. I bet he’s even more scared than I am. Not Jim, though. I don’t think he’s scared of much at all, let alone a few booby traps and a frozen dead guy.

Jim continued to aim his flashlight into the thick, dark rows of corn to his left. The space between stalks seemed endless, swallowing the light from his flashlight with every pass. He felt his heart suddenly jump when his light fell on a pair of bright red eyes. The eyes belonged to a raccoon, which scuttled quickly away as Jim felt his face flush with bright color. Fucking raccoon. Scared the shit out of me. I don’t think the guys saw, though, which is good. I’m the oldest; I’m not supposed to be scared. They might know, though. If I keep snapping at them I’ll give it away. I better cool down a bit. But what if something happens to us? I’ll be the one to blame. They’ll say I should have known, I should have been more of an adult. But this needs to be done. The town deserves to know what’s in there, and I’m going to be the one to discover it. Whatever it is. Vampires, Nazis, experiments… I’ll be the one to uncover the truth. I just hope it’s not a portal to Hell. I can’t handle that. I can handle dead Nazi vampires, but keep Satan away from me. I’ve seen the Exorcist; I know what happens when you get possessed. Fuck, I have to stop staring at this corn; it’s freaking the shit out of me.

Jim swung the flashlight forward again. “So what do you guys think’s in there?”

Ron and Wade continued to chew their snacks as they looked back and forth from each other to Jim, waiting for someone to answer. After a few awkward moments, Ron swallowed a mouthful of Swedish Fish and answered.

“I don’t think there’s anything, really. I just think it’s one of those myths that need to be uncovered so people in the town can sleep better.” He popped another fish in his mouth as Wade chimed in.

“Yeah, like, maybe she has some kind of creepy shrine to Joe, but nothing crazy like everyone says. I don’t think there’s any dead people in there.” Ron nodded along in silent agreement as Wade finished the last bite of Pop-Tart and tucked the crumpled wrapper in a side pocket of the backpack.

“So you guys aren’t afraid or anything?” Jim questioned.

“Nope.”

“Nuh-uh. What about you?” Wade retorted, trying to hide his intense curiosity. Jim answered back quickly. “Nah. Nothing to be afraid of in there. I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore, so why should I believe in undead Nazis or any of that BS?”

“True.”

“Yep.”

The corn rows finally fell away beside them, and the house was in full view. They had reached their destination, none of them having realized it until it was upon them. It was as if the house had been hiding in wait to pounce on them and draw them into its hungry stomach like a giant bear. They stopped in their tracks and stared at it, amazed that they had missed the large house. Even in the dark, it was easy enough to see from the edge of the woods a mile back.

The house stood a harsh gray against the woods behind it and the dark night sky above. The gray may have once even been white, surrendering its color to dirt and weather. Streaks of a darker gray ran down where the water trickled from the roof, and there were cracks and chips in the paint along the walls. The three floors seem to be buckling toward the center, although not in plain sight. You could feel it, as if it were trying to collapse on itself, burying its dark secrets never to be found. All of the windows were intact, but they had mostly been hazed over with a grimy green color, making them hard to see through. All of the bushes around the base were dead, although the boys were unsure if this was caused by the natural order of autumn, or by the poison aura that surrounds the house.

Their eyes shifted to the window on the third floor, where people were said to have seen Creepy old Joe staring out at them. There was a dim light on, but no figure in the window. One or two other windows were dimly illuminated, but the rest of the house was dark. Dark and inviting. The boys could all feel the curious draw of the house, yet none of them spoke of it. They just stood and stared at the rotting wood, the rusted porch rails, and the steep, dagger-looking rooftop. Again, Jim was the first to break the silence.

“It’s bigger than I remember. A lot bigger.”

“Yeah. And I don’t remember it looking so old and decrepit.” Ron added. “It’s only been a couple of months since I drove by it with my dad.”

“You guys don’t want to go back, do you?” Wade asked, hoping to hear a unanimous yes.

“No way.”

“Not now.”

“Yeah, me neither. I was just asking.” Wade said, secretly disappointed. Why do I have to be the chicken? I don’t care if I’m the youngest, I shouldn’t be afraid. They don’t seem to be. I should just go home, but I don’t want to go alone. Great, now we’re going to have our bodies sucked dry and used as shells for Joe’s soul.

As they stood there, Ron slowly folded the now half empty bag of Swedish Fish, thinking to himself as he worked. God damn it, I knew we shouldn’t have come. I should have said something. Now we’re going to be pulled limb from limb by some freak experiment. I don’t want to die like that. First sight of anything remotely freaky, I’m out of there.

Jim’s flashlight now hung at his side, reflecting off of the ground and casting a soft light around the boys. His eyes wandered around the house, taking in all of the drab details. He found himself lost in thought. We have to do this. It’ll be easy. Go inside; snap some pictures and we’re out. No vampires, no stairways to Hell, just smooth sailing. God, there better not be a stairway to Hell. Please, I know I don’t go to church or pray to you, but please don’t let there be a portal to Hell in this house.

“So… where do we start?” This time it was Wade that broke the silence. Jim continued to stare at the house and let out a deep breath. He lifted the flashlight and aimed it at the house, sweeping back and forth a few times before answering. “Let’s check around back for an easy entry point.”

Ron gave his soda and candy back to Wade to put in the backpack and pulled out his flashlight again. They followed Jim around the house, and look for a suitable place to make their entrance. After checking all the windows and doors only to find them locked, they decided they would have to break in. They chose a basement window, with the assumption that they are smaller and less noticeable. They crouched around one of the windows, trying to peer in through the dirt and grime. They couldn’t see much, even with both flashlights aimed inside. They decided to give it a try anyway, so after looking around them for no apparent reason, they quickly shattered the glass with one of the heavy flashlight butts. They cleared away the shards of broken glass and gazed inside.

There were no coffins. No laboratory or dead bodies lying around. There wasn’t even a freezer to hold the dead bodies. There was, however, plenty of old, dry boxes and shelves filled with books and papers that looked decades old. Massive amounts of dust particles could be seen in the beam from their flashlights as they roamed around the giant basement.

“Wow. For some reason I didn’t expect it to be this normal.” Ron said. “I mean, not that I was expecting zombies or anything, but-““Yeah, I know what you mean.” Jim interrupted. He aimed his light down and saw that there was only about four feet between the window and the floor. “Wade, take off the backpack.”

“Why?”

“So you can fit through the window.”

“Why do I have to go first, I don’t even have a flashlight? Ron should go first.”

“What? Why me? What about Jim?”

“Fine, whatever. If you guys are scared, I’ll go first.” Jim said as he handed the flashlight to Wade and lay on his stomach with his feet toward the window.

“I’m not scared. It’s just boxes. I was just wondering why me.” Wade said sadly, almost as a child who had just gotten scolded would. He aimed the flashlight toward Jim as he pushed himself backward and lowered himself onto the basement floor. He brushed the dirt and leaves from his sweater and took the flashlight back from Wade through the window. Without asking, Ron came through next. He took his flashlight back from Wade as well, and held the backpack for him as he slid through window behind them. Jim again inspected the basement as Ron and Wade brushed themselves off, coughing from the dust.

“Shhh. We’re going to have to be quiet from here on out.” Jim said, slowly walking to one of the old bookcases. He picked up one of the books, blew the dust off, and sneezed.

“Yeah, real quiet there, fearless leader. Why do we have to whisper when we just broke out a window?” Ron asked.

“Better safe than sorry. If there really is someone living here, I’d rather them not know that we’re here. It’d be easier to just run from them than the cops, if they hear us and call them.” He put the book back on the shelf and aimed the flashlight around the floor, looking for anything interesting. “Wade, get the camera out.”

Wade slid the backpack around to his front and pulled out the digital camera. “What should I take pictures of?” “Anything. The shelves, the boxes. Just to show there’s nothing down here.” Jim said.

“This shit is really old. The paper just falls apart when you try and touch it.” Ron said as he demonstrated on a thick, old book, letting dozens of pages crumble in his fingers. “You can hardly even read the title through the dust.” He wiped away some of the dust, covered his face to blow on it, and then look at the title. “Oh shit.” He put the book back down and stepped away.

“What?” Wade asked. “It’s the fucking Bible.” Ron replied. “Nice going, assface.” Wade said as he snapped a picture of the shelf. “I didn’t know, man. Sheesh.” Ron said as he continued to look at the book from afar.

Wade continued to snap pictures until Jim said “Alright, let’s move upstairs.” They made their way through the maze of shelves and books until they found the wooden staircase leading up to the first floor. They stood at the bottom, with both of the flashlights probing the stairs for signs of weakness.

“It doesn’t look very strong.” Wade remarked, flashing a picture of them.

“Tell me about it.” Ron said, stepping onto the first step and pressing down to test its strength. It was fairly sturdy. They looked at one another, and then Ron slowly began to climb the stairs, while Jim and Wade waited at the bottom, not wanting to add their weight to the strained boards. The wood creaked and moaned in displeasure as Ron ascended to the door at the top, where he stopped and looked back at Jim and Wade. Jim motioned for him to open the door, and Ron hesitated before reaching for the doorknob. It squeaked a little as he turned it, but the door silently popped open, letting a low light creep in through the opening. Ron peeked through the crack and gave his friends thumbs up.

He slowly opened it the rest of the way and stepped through. Wade came cautiously next, followed by Jim. They stood in a small hallway with what looked to be a den and living room to the left, and a kitchen and bedroom to the right. Ron looked at Jim and shrugged his shoulders. Jim pointed left, toward the den and living room. They began creeping that way, upsetting the occasional floorboard that would seemingly growl in protest of their footsteps. The yellow wallpaper that lined the hall seemed to be reaching for them with its peeling corners and medieval looking pattern.

They turned the corner into the den, and were greeted by an old room lit by a dim lamp, covered in dust under its once-white lampshade. The room was filled with bird cages of all shapes and sizes. Some were rusted wire or metal, while others were what looked to be wood, covered in scratched paint from a time long ago. None of them appeared to have been used, and merely served as decorations. Jim and Ron dragged their flashlights around the room looking for anything of particular interest, and Wade clicked the camera a couple of times, documenting the room of weathered cages. They slowly backed out of the den and crept into the living room.

This room was dark, but you could make out most of the furniture. The flashlights fell on an old looking couch; white with gold stitching that had two indents in the cushions.

“Holy shit.” Ron whispered. Jim looked at him and asked “What?”

“There’s two indents and they look new.”

“So what? It’s not like she has to sit in the same spot all the time. Stop being paranoid.” Jim replied in a hushed tone.

Ron held his flashlight on the couch a bit longer as Jim’s beam wandered around the room, discovering an old television set with a large wire antenna on top, a dusty coffee table with several circular cup markings, and other ancient furnishings. Wade snapped a few pictures, being sure to get a close up of the indents in case they did turn out to be significant.

On the other side of the room was another hallway, which the boys headed towards. This hallway had a coat closet and the front door to the left, and to the right were the stairs leading to the second floor and a bedroom past the staircase. Jim pointed them toward the bedroom and they slowly made their way for the door. It was unlocked, and it squeaked slightly as it swung open to reveal a modestly furnished guest bedroom.

They glanced over the small bed which looked untouched, other than by the layers of dust that found rest on it. There was a small dresser next to it with a mirror attached. The mirror itself was also covered in dust, except in one spot. Near the top, a little higher than Jim’s head, was a section of mirror that looked like it had been wiped clear of dust not so long ago. The boys found themselves staring at it, and finally Jim said “Why would she just wipe enough mirror to see herself in?” The other two boys shrugged, and Jim told Wade to hurry up and get pictures so they could move on. He did, and they crept out through a second door on the other side of the room which led back into the hallway where they came out of the basement.

They walked directly across the hall and into the kitchen, which appeared much cleaner than the other rooms. There was a small nightlight plugged in on one of the counters, and the flashlights illuminated the rest of the room. The counter tops were mostly dust free, but were still very old and chipped in many places. The appliances all look to be from the 1970’s, but none of them looked broken. A few dirty dishes sat in the sink, but most were clean and put away in the brown and white cabinets. In the center of the room sat a large cutting table which seemed to demand their attention. Shining the lights on it, they could see dark stains that could have been there for days or ages.

“What… do you think they…?” Wade tried to get out his question, but Ron interjected before he could finish. “It’s a cutting table; they used it to cut meat. That doesn’t mean it was human meat.” “Yeah, the stains are probably from when they used to cut pigs and chickens and dingen on it.” Jim added. But even with this verbal reassurance, they stood staring at it for a few more seconds until Wade finally lifted the camera and filled the room with several bright flashes. There was a door on the opposite end of the room, but it looked to lead to the back yard, so they headed back to the stairs that they had passed up.

They slowly retraced their steps, hearing the same screaming boards that seemed to be calling to a master to tell them of an intruder. Making their way through the living room again, they stood at the foot of the stairs looking up to the second floor. Again, a dim light appeared to be on somewhere up there, and they stood ready to climb the stairs when they heard a noise. A low, buzzing noise coming from somewhere nearby. “Shit, shit, what is that?” Jim hissed. Ron looked around, frantically waving the flashlight, looking for the sound. Wade stood frozen for a second, unable to move, until he began excitedly patting his pants pockets. He reached in and pulled out his brother’s cell phone, switching it off. “Holy fuck. That scared the shit out of me. Why the fuck didn’t you turn it off before we came, you dumbass? You could have given me a god damn heart attack.” Ron scolded between deep breaths. “Sorry, I forgot. You don’t have to talk to me like that, asshole.” Wade said, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “Apparently I do, you-“ Ron began, only to be interrupted by Jim once again. “Will you guys shut up? Let’s get this over with already.”

Jim began to walk slowly up the steps and, after exchanging heated glares, Ron and Wade followed. There was a small table at the top of the stairs with a marble water fountain on it that hadn’t pumped water in a long time. The flashlights flashed across a small inscription on the front that read “Fontana della gioventù.” None of them understood the meaning, so Wade snapped a picture and they looked either way down the hall at the top of the stairs. To the left appeared to be two rooms, and to the right appeared to be a room, a bathroom, and another flight of ascending stairs to the attic. Wade pointed left, Jim nodded, and they began to move.

They tried the first door but it was locked. After exchanging puzzled looks, they shrugged and tried the next door. It opened without a sound, and revealed a dark nursery, completely furnished. There was a large dresser, painted white with pink and blue designs on it, and had a large mirror on the back. This mirror, too, had a section wiped clean at the same height as the one in the guest bedroom.

“You see that?” Ron asked as his light shone on the mirror, reflecting light onto the wall next to them. “It’s just like downstairs.”

“Yeah, and just like downstairs it probably doesn’t mean anything.” Jim whispered. “She has to wipe it to look at herself, right? The real question we should be asking is why they have a nursery.”

The lights continued their journey around the room, bringing to light a heavily dusty crib with a discolored mobile hanging above it. There was a large toy chest with pastel zoo animals painted all over it, and alphabet blocks scattered before it. An old fashioned hand-carved rocking horse sat near the door, also covered in years worth of dust.

“I didn’t know they had a kid.” Wade said in amazement, slowly panning his camera around to capture pictures of everything in the room.

“I don’t think they did.” Jim said. “Maybe they wanted one.”

“Or they lost one.” Ron chimed in. “My aunt had a miscarriage once. Her and my uncle had the same kind of room all ready for when the baby was born. They did have one eventually, but maybe Joe and Mary didn’t.”

Jim and Wade nodded silently, and they slowly backed out of the room.

“Ok, guys we’re almost done. Looks like just the master bedroom and the bathroom.” Ron said softly.

“What about the attic?” Wade asked, curiously.

“Well… we don’t have to-“ “Yes, we do.” Jim said before Ron could finish. “We have to do the whole thing. I don’t want to have to tell everyone we were too scared to take pictures of the attic, where they say they see Joe sometimes. Besides, it might even be locked. One room already was.”

The two other boys dropped their eyes in disappointment, and they all headed for the master bedroom. The door was closed, but unlocked. It swung open with a brief screech and another dim light cast its glow on their faces as they examined the interior of Cross-Eyed Mary’s sleeping quarters. A large canopy bed sat in the center of the room with a sheer canopy hanging down on all sides and handful of pillows arranged near the head. There was a large dresser on the other side of the bed, made of dark wood with ornate carvings throughout. A mirror was attached to this one like the others, but unlike the others this one was completely shattered, struck in two different spots. The flashlights swung over to a tall wardrobe locker with the same dark wood and carvings as the dresser. There was a red and gold chair in the corner next to them, and a small table with the lamp in the other corner. As the beams of lights made their second pass of the room, Jim spoke.

“So this is where she sleeps…”

“Yeah, but is she the only one?” Ron asked quietly. Wade shrugged, and Jim said nothing. Ron looked at Wade and said “Go check the big wooden thing.”

“What? Hell no, I’m not going inside her room, she sleeps here.” Wade hissed, showing an obvious irritation.

“Come on, we need to make sure she’s the only one who sleeps here. Go check for Joe’s clothes.”

“You go, why do you always try to make me do the scary things?”

“Because you’re the youngest, dumbass. And are you admitting you’re scared?”

“No, I’m just not stupid, asshole. Jim, tell him to-“ Jim put his hand behind Wade and started pushing gently.

“Just go, Wade, come on, there’s nothing that can hurt you in there.” Jim said, continuing his push against a protesting Wade.

“But why me? Why not Ron? He’s the one who-“ “Because you have the camera and you have to take the picture. We’ll shine the flashlights on you. Come on, man, we’re right here.” Wade stepped forward and huffed. “Fine.”

He crept toward the towering, dark wardrobe, illuminated by the two circles of bright light. The floorboards creaked lightly below him, urging him to go farther into Mary’s chamber of rest. He stopped halfway and looked over his shoulder at his waiting friends. They waved the lights toward him, motioning for him to keep going. He turned around and cautiously crept forward. He made it to the giant wooden object, slowly looking up to it’s infinitely reaching top. He took a deep breath and focused on the two doors at its front. He reached out for the dark and dirty brass knobs like scorched skulls, resting a second before attempting to pull them open.

He tugged them outward simultaneously and a musty breeze came from inside, brushing past his face. He felt dizzy at the smell of old clothing and aging moth balls. The doors opened fully, allowing the lights to intrude and brighten up the interior. Wade stood staring into the mouth of the cavernous wardrobe, his arms at his side.

“What do you see?” “Are there guy clothes in there?” The boys whispered.

“Um… I don’t think so.” Wade shuffled a few of the old garments around, peeking in between each for some hidden jacket or pair of slacks. “No, I don’t see anything.” He looked back at Ron and Jim, who just shrugged and waved him back. Wade stepped back and took a picture of the wardrobe, then closed the two doors slowly, pressing them until they clicked shut. He walked lightly back to the doorway and turn around to take pictures of the room and the broken mirror. He joined his friends in the hallway, shutting the bedroom door with another quick screech. Wade let out another deep breath and Ron whispered “Why do you think she broke the mirror? She seems to use the other two, why not the one in her room?”

“I dunno. That’s really weird, though.” Jim said contemplatively. “Maybe she hates looking at herself in the morning?” The boys again shrugged, leaving the question for when they were safely out of the house.

Ron pointed up, indicating the attic, and Jim nodded. The boys crept back to the foot of the ascending stairs and looked up them with the flashlights again. The stairs were narrow, with a horizontally shut door at the top. Wade’s camera flashed, and Jim looked at the two boys. “Ron, you go first this time.”

“What? But why can’t-“ Jim knew what he was going to say, but stopped him. “Look, I came in the house first, Wade went into the bedroom, now it’s your turn to go first. I’ll bring up the rear in case someone tries to sneak up on us.”

“Yeah, like someone’s gonna sneak up on us in this empty house.” Ron grumbled as he began to climb the stairs one step at a time. “If there was anyone here they’d be up there. Great, I’m gonna be the first to die. I knew it.”

“Would you just go, no one’s gonna die.” Jim urged. Ron began to move a little faster, slowing down at every loud crack of wood. When he got to the top, he had to hunch over under the door to reach the knob. He twisted it and there was a slight scraping of rust, but it turned all the way. He paused before pushing upwards, listening for any sign of footsteps above. There were none, so he pressed the door up to reveal a void of pitch darkness. Jim’s light tried to angle around him from below, as Ron swung his own light into the blackness.

The dark here seemed much different than what they had encountered outside or in the rest of the house. Much darker, consuming the two beams of light that were invading its untouched space. The light only penetrated where aimed, and did not illuminate the dusty attic at all. Ron’s beam shone on the V-shaped ceiling, supported by tired looking boards that grunted lowly with each gust of the wind outside. He took a few more steps up until his shoulders were floor level and panned the flashlight around to look on the warped wooden floor. The attic seemed fairly large, with boxes tucked into most of the corners created by the sloping ceiling. These boxes, too, seemed to be filled with books and some with old clothing. There were two wooden chairs, one lying on its back and the other sitting upright with a large crack running across the bars that made up the backrest. That was all that Ron could see from where he was standing. He propped the door against a beam behind it and looked back at the two boys who were looking at him with eager curiosity.

“I don’t see much, but it’s pretty big.” He whispered.

“Ok, let’s go in then.” Jim said, taking another step up to motivate his friends to press on. It worked, and Ron stepped up into the attic with Wade and Jim behind him.

“Wait, did you guys hear that?” Wade said, stopping near the top of the steps. The boys stood frozen, listening intently to any sound the old house offered. The wind blew quietly through the roof above, and the wooden steps on which they stood still settled mutedly below their feet. Otherwise, they were engulfed by silence.

“What was it? I didn’t hear anything.” Jim whispered. “Me neither, up here.” Ron added.

“It was like a click. Like something clicked.” Wade persisted. They stood on the stairs, listening again for footsteps or the sound of the front door. Nothing. “Ah, forget it. We’re almost done, let’s hurry.” Jim said, touching Wade’s backpack to urge him forward. Wade took two more steps, stopping at the top to take a picture. “Ron, move, you’re in the shot.” Ron stepped to the side and looked over to Wade, who was holding the camera up. Jim stood behind him, still in the middle of the stairs, and Ron saw a large figure appear behind him. A tall, brooding, shadow of a man who was lifting his leg high and slow behind Jim. Ron whipped his light toward Jim and tried to scream, but it was too late.

The man slammed his foot into Jim’s back, sending him flying face first into the stairs. Jim’s head smashed into the stairs with a wet crack, and Wade dropped his camera, spinning around to face the man. Jim’s flashlight clunked down the steps and Ron screamed. “Jim! Jim! Fuck!” Jim lay motionless on the steps.

Ron turned and headed into the darkness, frantically aiming his flashlight at the walls looking for a window or some opening to escape through. Wade turned to follow his only source of light and the looming figure on the stairs stepped forward. There was a dull crack when he brought a heavy boot down on Jim’s fingers, breaking two of them as he made his way into the dark attic. Hearing Wade scream behind him, Ron saw a circular opening with a wooden shutter covering it at the far end of the attic. It was close and he knew he could make it.

Wade ran full speed toward Ron’s light, kicking his camera as he started. But it was still dark in front of him and his legs collided with one of the wooden chairs. He tumbled over the chair and sprawled onto the dusty wooden floor, splitting his chin open. A flash of pain shot through his head as he tried to scramble to his feet. He could hear the thumps of the big man’s boots behind him. He got to his feet and started to once again dash to Ron’s flashlight when he felt a violent yank on his backpack, spinning him around on his feet. For a brief second he saw the outline of the man who had kicked Jim, but before he could focus, a sharp pain rang in his ears and his vision was blurred with a white haze. He felt dizzy and deaf, stumbling back before another sharp blow knocked him to the floor. Before he passed out, he heard those heavy boots casually clumping past his head.

Ron grabbed the wooden shutter that was low on the wall and pulled as hard as he could, but it didn’t give. He pushed against it with all his weight. It creaked, but still did not budge from its frame. He heard Wade fall over one of the chairs behind him and knew the man would catch him. He began kicking the shutter with the heel of his foot and he heard cracks. After five solid kicks the wood slats cracked down their centers. He didn’t hear Wade running or falling behind him anymore. Instead, he heard low, deep footsteps growing louder at each heavy thud. He began wildly tearing at the pieces of broken wood, driving splinters into his fingers and palms. He broke four of the five out, which was enough for him to fit through.

He thrust his upper body through the window and looked down. There was a slope of roof on the first story below him. If he fell, he might break an arm or a leg, but he had to chance it. Hearing the footsteps coming upon him from inside the attic, he made a huge thrust with his legs and fell forward through the opening, sure he was going to land on the rough shingles below. Instead, after a brief feeling of his upper body free falling, he felt a harsh tug on his leg and his upper body collided with the side of the house, causing him to drop his flashlight onto the roof below. He watched the lid pop off and the flashlight and batteries roll off the side of the house. He screamed for help into the darkness, knowing no one would hear him. He felt himself being pulled back into the attic, clawing at the wood and paint that made up the side of the house and kicking his legs as hard as he could. It was no use.

He was steadily dragged through the hole and then forcefully flipped over on his back. Still kicking his legs, he swung his arms at the man above him, hitting his legs. One of the legs lifted slowly to reveal a cracked leather boot that was suddenly thrust at Ron’s face. Ron’s limbs fell limp and he fell unconscious, the darkness of the attic fading into an even deeper blackness.

There was a hot pain pulsating from the front of Jim’s face. He could feel blood clotted in his nostrils and tasted it in his mouth. He was sure his nose was broken, but couldn’t bring his hands up to feel it. He tugged at them, feeling the dull ache of his half-numb fingers, but they were tied behind the wooden chair that he was now sitting on. The last thing he remembered was Ron pointing the flashlight at him and now he was tied up with a broken nose and a throbbing headache.

There was some low talking somewhere in front of him. He began to realize the situation that he was in and terror took root in his mind. He didn’t want to look up. Didn’t want to know who the people were talking in front of him. Didn’t want to know what happened to Ron and Wade. But he knew he had to. It was his only chance to get out of this place. Talk to them, make them listen to reason. It was either that or die.

He lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes to a hazy blur. He could see the stairs where they came into the attic on his left, realizing he was in the center of the room. There was a dirty light bulb hanging from the ceiling above him, and he could make out a shape lying on the floor in front of him. Past the body he could see two figures sitting against the wall across from him. He blinked his eyes over and over to try and clear the moisture, and saw a slumped person sitting beside him out of the corner of his eye. His vision cleared and he saw it was Wade in the other wooden chair tied up next to him, blood slowly dripping from his chin.

He swung his heavy head forward again and saw that it was Ron lying before them. Past him, he saw their captors. Mary sat on the floor against the wall with both her legs and arms crossed. What he saw next to her made him question his current sanity. There was a very old man, who Jim guessed as Joe, dressed in a full clown suit. He had a loose, dirty pink shirt on with big, fluffy green buttons, and bright, baggy green pants with pink polka dots on them. His floppy red clown shoes stretched out with his long, lanky legs in front of him, and he had a frilly white collar around his neck. On his head sat a dirty and tangled nest of a green wig. Through his white makeup and oversized red painted lips, you could see wrinkles like canyons on his face. The white paint filling the wrinkles in and then cracking loose when he moved his face. His eyes looked to be sunk deep into his skull, in part due to the black paint that surrounded them. The black extended vertically and horizontally out from the cavernous sockets to form what looked to Jim like a cross over each eye.

Jim still couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he didn’t really care at this point. He was too busy thinking of a way to talk them out of sacrificing him to Satan. In seemingly mid-sentence the ancient clown looked over at Jim.

“Looks like one of them finally decided to wake up.” He said in a phlegmy voice as he slowly stood up, picking up a rusty jack-in-the-box that was sitting next to him. He strode over to where Jim was sitting, stepping over Ron’s body with his big clown shoes. He stopped in front of Jim’s chair and hunched in from of him. Jim held back the tears that were trying to escape. He was face to face with a man who should have been dead long ago. Jim could see the deep, makeup-filled cracks much better this close. He was trying not to focus on them when the clown’s face suddenly lit up in a huge grin.

“Hey, how’s it going there little guy? Do you like clowns?”

Jim stared at him, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the tears. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to last long, but he didn’t want them to see him break, not if he could help it.

“Come on, it’s ok. Look.” The clown lifted the jack-in-the-box up for Jim to see and started cranking it. It squealed and screeched out an out-of-tune Pop Goes the Weasel. Jim could feel his chin quivering and bit down harder on his cheek. The clown sang along with the music under his breath. “The monkey chased the weasel…” The top sprung open and a small clown, similarly dressed like Joe, popped out suddenly. Jim jumped, even though he was expecting it, and a tear ran down his blood-smeared cheek.

“Aw, I don’t think this one likes me, Mary.” The clown said, his wide smile reverting back into a sullen frown. Mary stood up and walked over to stand next to Joe. She bent over and spoke to Jim. “What’s the matter, boy? Don’t you like Tricky Clown?” Jim averted his eyes away from them, his chin still quivering.

“You see, I told you they were too old, Joe. They ain’t little enough for this shit.” Mary stood up and walked toward the staircase before turning around and crossing her arms.

“Yeah, well we gotta try, Mary. Ain’t hurtin’ nothin’ to try.” Joe said, putting the Jack-in-the-box on the ground and standing up again.

Wade’s head began to swing and he let out a soft grunt. Jim forgot about biting his cheek and began to focus on Wade. Don’t wake up, Wade. Just stay knocked out. I’ll find a way out of this and get us all home safely. Just please, please don’t wake up. But Jim’s hopes were in vain. Wade lifted his head, blinking wearily through a swollen black eye. Joe looked down at the boy and the giant grin returned to his face.

“Leave him alone, asshole!” Jim screamed. The clown ignored him and bent over to look Wade in the eyes as Mary took a step closer to watch.

“Hey there, little fella, you wanna see a magic trick by the famous Tricky Clown?”

Wade didn’t reply. His head was still swimming from the blows he took earlier and he wasn’t exactly sure if he was dreaming or not. The clown stood up and took a step backward. “Here we go, boys, watch my hands!” He said in his raspy, loose voice as he started waving them around in front of them. With no particular flash or smoothness, the clown reached over to the wrist of one of his baggy sleeves and began tugging out a series of colorful handkerchiefs that were tied together. “Tah dah!” He said, bearing his yellow and cracked teeth in a wide smile.

Wade began to cry, audibly sobbing and hanging his head to his chest. The clown dropped his arms to his side.

“I said leave him alone, fucker! He’s only a kid, let him go!” Jim screamed again, as Joe still ignored him. Jim looked down and saw a wrinkled penis hanging out of a slit in the front of the polka dot pants. It wasn’t there before, so it must have fallen out and Joe didn’t even seem to realize it.

“You sick fuck! Child molester! You fucking pervert!” Jim’s voice began to go hoarse. He wanted to draw as much attention away from Wade as possible, even if it meant he himself would be hurt more. “Look at yourself, you dirty old piece of shit!”

Mary looked down and saw the saggy, flaccid penis and uncrossed her arms. “Joe, put yourself away and keep it in your pants for once!” Joe looked down.

“If you’d sew up my pants right maybe it would stay in place, woman.” Joe said, tucking his privates back into his pants and stepping toward Jim, who continued to scream profanities at the wrinkly clown. Joe pulled the colorful handkerchiefs tight and wrapped them around Jim’s head twice, tightening it over his mouth and tying it off. “Now you be quiet, boy, we still got work to do.”

Wade continued sobbing loudly next to Jim. Drool ran from his mouth and onto his shirt, which was already stained with his blood. Joe turned his attention to the crying boy and said “Now don’t you worry, little guy. We’re gonna wake your friend up to play with you and make everything better, ok?” Wade didn’t look up as Joe turned to walk into a dark corner behind Ron, and Mary walked over and crouched next to the motionless body lying on the ground in front of the chairs. She used her foot to shake him, pushing progressively harder until he began to stir.

“Come on, get up, boy. We need to talk.” Mary said to Ron, who was having trouble pushing himself up with his bleeding, splinter-ridden hands. She reached under his armpits and helped him into a sitting position. He stared at the old woman crouching before him, his friends tied to chairs behind her. He was frightened, but he dared not try and run. He remembered what happened to him the last time he tried to run, and he didn’t want to risk being killed this time around.

“What’s your name, boy?” Mary asked in a soft and curious voice. “You don’t have to be scared. We wouldn’t have left you untied if we were going to hurt you.”

Ron looked back and forth between Mary and his friends. Jim was staring at him with a stern look, his mouth gagged with some kind of colorful rope, and Wade was just crying to himself.

“Do you know why he’s crying, boy?” Mary asked, looking at Wade, who seems to be oblivious to everything around him. She looked back at Ron and he shook his head. “He’s crying because he feels guilty.” Ron looked at her, puzzled.

“W… why? What did he do?” Ron nearly whispered. Mary moved closer to him and whispered back to him “Him and your other friend there said they would give you up to be let go. Can you just believe that?”

Ron stared at Wade, and Jim realized that Mary must be up to something. He tried yelling at Ron, but the thick bundle of handkerchiefs covering his mouth muffled his pleas. He shook his head violently and Ron looked over at him.

“You see? He didn’t want me to tell you, but I had to. We’re honorable people and we believe that you should never sell a friend out. What they did was wrong and they both know it. That’s why they’re acting this way.” Mary shook her head in disapproval and watched Ron’s eyes closely. She could see the anger building up. She was preying on it.

“I know they wouldn’t do that. They’re my friends.” Tears began to well up in his eyes and his fists pressed into his legs.

“I know, I know, dear. But we told them we had to keep one of you. It’s just the way things go. You boys broke into our house and went through our dingen. Now is that right? Isn’t that against the law?”

Ron nodded his head with tears now running down his cheeks. “But we didn’t mean to steal anything or hurt anyone, we just wanted to take pictures to show our friends.” He was speaking fast, trying to hold back more tears.

“Yes, yes, I know, believe me, I know what it’s like to be curious. But my husband demands that someone pay for this, and it has to be one of you. When we came up to check on you, your friends were both awake and talking. That’s when they told us their decision: we could kill you as long as we let them go.”

Ron let out a sob and sucked it back in. Wade continued to cry dry sobs into his chest and Jim was now thrashing back and forth in his chair, trying to bite through the cloth covering his mouth in any way he could. Ron was staring at Wade with a confused and increasingly angry look. Mary followed his eyes. “It seems you already know which of your friends made the decision.” She said. His stare grew more intent and Jim’s rocking more violent.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked Mary.

“One of you has to pay. I think it should be the one is not a true friend, but it’s really up to you. I can let them go if you want.”

He shook his head and used his jacket sleeve to wipe away his tears. He stood and faced Wade, his fists still pressed against his legs. Jim thrashed in his chair with one final heave, falling over sideways and landing with a loud bang against the wood floor. His muffled cries did not stop Ron from walking behind Wade’s chair. A tear trickled down Ron’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Jim. I know he’s your friend… but I want to get us out of here.” He wrapped one arm around Wade’s neck and placed the other behind his head. He squeezed and began sobbing as he tightened his grip, causing Wade’s crying to become a wet gurgle. Wade’s hands tried to shoot up and claw at Ron’s jacket, but it did no good. His vision faded again as it did when Joe had punched him. Dizziness began setting in and he was suddenly very aware of everything around him. He could feel Ron’s arms squeezing his neck. He could hear Jim’s muted cries from beside him. Mary sat in front of them, smirking at the site. And he could see the shadowy figure in the corner, waiting. That was the last thing Wade saw in this world.

Ron felt Wade go limp, his arms dropping to the sides of the chair and the gurgling noise slowing to a stop. He loosened his grip and dropped to the floor in heavy sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, god I’m sorry Jim…” When Jim heard this his screams became whimpers. Mary stood up and looked toward the corner where Joe was hidden in shadow. He walked out, his clown shoes slapping the wood as he walked toward Ron.

Jim saw him walking and knew what was going to happen. They would kill Ron and then him. His body was aching from rocking the chair and his nose was still throbbing with pain and he didn’t feel like struggling any more. He had already let Wade die, so what was the use of escaping? He didn’t think he could if he wanted to anyway. His hands were tied to the- his finger slid along the wooden beams that made up the back of the chair, where his ropes were tied. After sliding a little more than halfway up, he felt what he was looking for: the break that he had seen when they first came into the attic. If he could slip the ropes through the break he could get away. The single rope around his legs was only tight enough to keep him from standing up if his back was anchored. So if he got his hands free he could pull his legs right out of the ropes. The only problem would be sliding the ropes up high enough to go through the break and getting his arms over the back of the chair without Mary and Joe noticing.

Jim slowly began lifting his arms up the back as Joe walked out of his peripheral vision. Mary followed, and Jim could hear Ron’s sobbing slow and Ron taking quick, deep breaths.

“W-who are you?” Ron asked Joe.

“I’m Tricky Clown, and what’s your name, little boy?”

“Joe, cut it out, I told you they were all too old.” Mary said to him.

“Yeah, forget it. We’ll find one eventually.” Joe replied, sadly.

“W-what are y-you talking about?” Ron managed to stutter. He was paralyzed with fear, knowing now that they were never going to release him or Jim. And knowing that this creepy old clown looming over him was the Joe of town myth only made his terror worse. He was submitting to his fate as, unbeknownst to him, his friend was fighting it only seven feet away.

“A kid, boy. A baby. Joe could never give me one, not that I didn’t love him for trying.” Mary put her arm around Joe’s waist. “So we been looking for one for years now. It ain’t easy with the townsfolk always watching.”

“Yeah, my poor wife has to make secret trips to the big city just to try and convince some of the kids to come out with her. Sometimes it works, sometimes it don’t.” Joe said with a sigh from his painted red mouth.

“W-what do y-you do to th-them?” Ron said shakily. He could feel his limbs shaking and his head beginning to swim.

“Well, we get ‘em here and try and make them like us. You know, like a family. We want a youngin’ though, unlike you and your friends. We don’t want any teenagers ‘round here.” Mary spoke in almost a casual tone, as if speaking with a friend down at the salon. Joe added “And if they’re too old or they pitch a fit when they get here, well… I don’t just stay this young by takin’ my pills.” Joe gave a little chuckle and looked at Mary with a slight smile, putting his arm on the small of her back.

“You mean y-you steal their s-souls?” Ron said, another tear making a trail through the dirt down his cheek. Joe and Mary laughed hard at this, letting go of each other to slap their knees and hold their stomachs.

Jim finally inched his way through the break with the rope and seized the opportunity to move a little faster with the laughter drowning out any sounds he would make. He suddenly felt a sharp pain as he hit his broken fingers against one of the broken beams. He bit his cheek hard, drawing blood, and breathed deeply. He regained his composure and quickly continued. He had nearly gotten to the top of the chair back before they stopped laughing.

“Lord, boy, you a funny one. We ought to keep you just to make us laugh once in awhile.” Joe said, still chuckling to himself between every few words.

“We eat them, son. Ain’t you ever heard that eating young human flesh reenergizes your batteries?” Mary asked as if everyone knew the morbid fact. Ron shook his head in disbelief. Of all the myths he had heard, he would never have believed this one. Sitting in the attic of Creepy old Joe dressed as a clown and Cross-Eyed Mary who kidnapped children to keep as their own or eat for dinner, depending on how well they behaved. His head continued to shake and his eyes stared through Joe and Mary with a glazed look now.

“Well, looks like this one’s about ready to go now. He done drove himself wacky.” Mary said, shaking her head now as well. “Guess we better take care of him. Go ahead.”

Jim felt his shoulders straining to reach his arms over the back of the chair. He was close, he knew it. He just needed to stay quiet and keep sliding- there! His shoulders relaxed as his arms slowly descended in front of the back of the chair this time. Still on his side, he quietly wriggled his feet free of the rope around his ankles. He heard the end of the conversation between his friend and his captors and held his breath. He didn’t know what was happening behind him until he heard Ron fall backward on the floor with a thud and Joe’s foot come crashing down over and over again, making popping and squishing sounds. He knew what was happening and he knew he couldn’t stop it. So he jumped up and ran for the stairs.

Mary had been turning away from her husband when she saw Jim leap for the stairs with his hands still tied behind his back. She screamed for her husband to stop him, and the clown stopped his stomping and headed for the stairs swiftly for his old age. Mary followed behind, screaming profanities at Jim the entire time.

Jim clumsily made it down the steps, nearly falling on his face at the bottom. He regained his balance and headed for the second flight of stairs down to the first floor. Light was pouring in from most of the windows now, so he knew it must be morning hours now. As he began rushing down the second set of stairs he heard the loud flops of clown feet behind him. The clown feet surely slowed Joe down, but having his hands tied behind his back didn’t exactly give Jim an advantage.

Again, he nearly sprawled on his face at the bottom of the stairs, but caught himself on the wall with his shoulder. The clown feet were clopping down the stairs behind him and he could hear Mary’s profanities from upstairs. The front door was only 10 feet in front of him, his passage to freedom. If he could make it outside he was sure he could outrun the old couple long enough for someone driving on the dirt road to see him. The pounding footsteps grew closer and Jim headed for the door at full speed, spinning swiftly around to twist the doorknob when he got to it. His broken finger spiked pain through his arm and into his head, but he ignored it and pulled the unlocked door wide open. He saw Joe reach the bottom of the stairs with a look of insanity and rage on his cracked, white face. The black crosses painted over his eyes were bent crooked with his now angular eyebrows and his teeth were showing in a clenched smile.

“You come back to Tricky Clown, boy!” He screamed in his phlegmy voice.

Jim turned back toward the door and kicked the screen door as hard as he could. It swung open but was flung back by the force of the kick. Jim lunged through, but it slowed him down. His breath was hard through the handkerchiefs, still tight around his mouth, and he could feel moisture building up. He strode onto the porch and headed for the stairs, ready to sprint as soon as he hit the dirt at the bottom. But he wasn’t fast enough. The screen has slowed him down just enough for Joe to get a hand on the rope behind his back. He felt his shoulders snap painfully as Joe jerked him backwards. Jim fell onto his butt and tried again in vain to scream through the cloths. The broad grin came over Creepy old Joe’s face once again.

“I told you, boy. You come back to Tricky Clown. We gonna have ourselves a grand ol’ time now. You’ll love it, I swear.” Joe dragged him back into the house by the ropes and the door shut behind them.

That was the last the world saw of Jim and his friends. Search parties were sent out, but they came up with nothing. They found the boy’s trail that led to Mary’s house, but the search of the house itself came up clean. That’s all the authorities found was an old woman, still in mourning over her long deceased husband. After months of searching and hundreds of unanswered questions, the boys began to slip into the town memory. They became another chapter in the town’s book of myths and mysteries. Mary must have used them in her experiments to bring Joe back from the dead. She sacrificed them to Satan and threw their bodies into a portal to Hell. They were transported to a concentration camp that Joe ran far from the town. The campfire whispers would continue to burn with fresh fuel for years to come, until Mary moved away to another town. She got a job working at the town hall there, and she says she has family ties that date back before anyone can remember…

–Article written by SnakeClock, September 30 2008.