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Twins in Death: Chapter Four – Part Five

Twins in Death

A Tale of The Weirdo

By Brett N. Lashuay



Chapter Four: The Red Twin



A place were the days are not counted

Where the clock has no hands


            There had been an explosion, he knew that much. The dynamite had gone up and he thought it had taken him with it. Yet here he was, on his hands and knees, looking at mist roll by. Not morning in Scotland mist but a Roger Corman Presents mist. The sort of mist Vincent Price would come walking through on his way to play in an adaptation of Edgar Allen Poe’s work.


            Of course The Weirdo didn’t know about any of these things yet. He certainly didn’t know about Roger Corman or Vincent Price yet. Their association had not yet even begun. As much as he knew about fighting bad guys in the street, he actually knew almost nothing else. That was why he was here though, that’s why they were beginning.


            “Hello little Weirdo.” The voice said.


            He was looking at the ground below him, because he was still a little unsure about where he was or how he’d got there. The problem was, there wasn’t actually a ground below him, just a bed of mist. When he swiped the mist away there was just more mist below it. It was so thick that he couldn’t actually find any ground below him, and that worried him. He didn’t want to look up, because the idea that someone was talking to him was worrying as well.


            “Look up.” The voice commanded and he could do no else.


            It was a clown, but not just a clown, it was the biggest goddamn clown you or I or anyone else has ever seen. Its hair was like whipping strands of fiber optic cable, and its face seemed to be lit by black light. Not that The Weirdo knew what these were, but he knew he was slightly afraid. The sparkling eyes seemed to be made of two pieces of polished brass and the nose was the shape and color of a casaba melon. The lips, while being clown makeup, also seemed to be bananas.


            “What the hell?” The Weirdo asked.


            “No, not hell.” The voice said, as the brassy eyes viewed him. The fruit seemed to have passed for the moment tough. “Though you may end up there yet, even if you arrive through the back door and act as a liberator.”


            “What?” The Weirdo asked.


            The massive clown put his hands on his hips and walked around in his black clown suit, which was a one piece out fit that had ruffles around the neck, hands and feet. It was a traditional clown, save for the coloring. The black was all wrong, the orange and green around the ruffled the spots on the black material of red and yellow. The tips of his hair shone light as they whipped around his head, and the glow of his face made him seem to be light from inside. None of it worked, it was all wrong and bizarre.


            “I suppose your wondering why I’ve called you all here today.” The clown said.


            “There’s just me here.” The Weirdo said.


            “Is there?” The Clown asked.


            The Weirdo looked around to see that there was just himself, the clown and a massive Broadway like sign behind the Clown. The sign wasn’t lit though and he couldn’t make out what it was meant to say with the mist obscuring the view. He tried making out how big the clown actually was, but he couldn’t. Something about the perspective felt wrong, like trying to guess distance and size of a far off object with one eye closed. He was finding it difficult to look at the great clown, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away.


            “How many do you see?” The Weirdo asked.


            “Well I’ll talk to you for now.” The clown answered.


            “What the fuck is going on?” The Weirdo asked.


            “AH!” The great clown said pointing and The Weirdo realized that the clown must have been shorter than he was because he found that he was looking down on the sparkling hair and the finger was pointed up at him. “Finally the boy asks the right question.”


            “Which question?” He asked. “I’ve asked so many I’ve lost track.”


            “You asked what is going on.” The clown said, and The Weirdo could see that actually the clown had to be at least several hundred feet high, or possibly seven inches. The clown wasn’t in black anymore either, but white. It was like he had been looking at a color negative and was now seeing the printed picture.


            He could feel all the blood rushing up in an attempt to burst as many veins as possible so he might have a proper aneurysm and die a horribly quick and painful death. He put his hand to his head and looked into the brass eyes. The eyes at least hadn’t changed, remaining the same brass orbs they had been before.


            “I asked what the fuck is going on actually.”


            “I thought you couldn’t remember?” The clown asked.


            “You reminded me.” He said and felt his head wanting to pop.


            “So I did.” The clown nodded. “I am not a clown, despite my appearance.”


            “Aren’t you?”


            “I am Weirdness!” He said and struck a dramatic pose. To accentuate this revelation, the sign behind him light up and the word ‘Weirdness’ sparkled at The Weirdo in bright letters.


            “Huh?” our hero asked with a tone that denoted confusion bordering on fear.


            This was clearly not the reaction the clown was looking for. He stood in his dramatic pose for a moment before breaking it. The color of his hair, and the make up started to flip through different combonations, even though the face remainded white and the eyes brass. He waved his hand and the sign shut off, which was a bit of a relief because The Weirdo thought the extra input might make his nose bleed.


            “The immortal spirit of Weirdness?” The clown asked.


            “Okay.” The Weirdo said.


            “I’m the one who gave you the title of The Weirdo?”


            “Okay.” The Weirdo said and this time he nodded.


            “I suppose your wondering why I brought you here?”


            “Yes.” He said, trying to keep his head from pounding.


            “You don’t know anything.” He said.


            “Oh don’t I?” The Weirdo asked.


            “No.” Weirdness said. “That’s why you are here.”


            “What don’t I know exactly?”


            “Everything.” Weirdness said. “By comparison, you know nothing.”


            “So you brought me here to insult me?”


            “No.” Weirdness said. “You are here to learn.”




            “Learn.” Weirdness said. “I’ve been watching you, and I can tell what you’re going to become. I know what you want to do and I’ll help you do it. You have an important job ahead of you, and you’re too young and uneducated to do it right now. You aren’t even working at a single percentile of your potential. You’re going to have to learn and gain some life experience.”


            “You’re going to teach me?” The Weirdo asked. “You’re going to show me how to destroy the mob?”


            “No!” Weirdness snapped and slapped himself in the side of the head with a hand that looked three times too large… or was it three times too small? The colors cycled around again. “You want to do a bigger thing than that! I’m going to send you to the greatest masters of any given trade and you will learn from them.”


            “What am I going to learn?”


            “Everything you can. When you are done with one master, you will be sent to another.”


            “How long is that going to take?”


            “Not less than seventy years.”


            “Seventy years?” The Weirdo shouted. “I’ll be an old man by the time you’re done!”


            “Nonsense.” Weirdness admonished and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture so broad he nearly fell over. “I am going to keep you young, and then send you back when you’re done. It might take a little longer than that, but certainly no more than six or seven hundred years.”



            “I should explain.” Weirdness smiled and suddenly the clown make up seemed to be gone and The Weirdo thought he was looking into a brass eyed mirror reflection.
“You don’t actually have a choice.”








            “Exactly.” Weirdness then slid his right sleeve up and a flash of light engulfed our hero. “When you get back, you’ll know what to do. This is merely our way of helping someone with a compatiable goal.”


            The Weirdo vanished, on his way to learning about the world.


            “You’ve sent him then?” A man said emerging from the mist.


            He looked like a man who had once lived comfortably, but had suffered a great sickness. His eyes had deep circles under them and he kept wiping at his nose with a hankerchief. The great clown turned his head and looked at the man who was slightly overweight and limping.


            “Yes I’ve sent him.” Weirdness said. “You are going to look after him?”


            “More or less.” The man said. “He won’t have much freedom of movement while you do this?”

            “None really. If he strays I can pick him up and put his back down.”


            “Okay.” The man said. “I’ll have someone follow him then, at least through the first few stages.”


            “Are you sure about this?” Weirdness asked. “Selecting someone like this, it smacks of choosen one syndrome.”


            “It’s not because we’re not telling him what to do.” The man said reaching into his gray over coat and fixing his gray eyes on Weirdness’s brass eyes. “A plan is not a prophecy, and training someone isn’t predeterming his postion. We’re just helping him along with something he wants to do anyway. No one, not even those bastards can object to picking a person more or less at random and helping them do what they want.”


            “You’re sure you picked him at random?”


            “Trust me.” The man smiled and tipped his gray hat at the immortal spirit.


 © 2012 Autumn Knight Productions

September 20, 2012 Posted by | Fiction | , | Leave a comment