Author's Notes: This was written for "The Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon of 2017" on Dreamwidth. The special prompt monster this year was Clown, in honor of the remake "IT" that just came out. Per canon (Fate's Carnival), the Master Detective does not like clowns. I thought this was a perfect opportunity to explore why. As for the title, it was originally "Jokers Weird" to play on "jokers wild", but "wyrd" is a double-play - besides being pronounced the same and in fact where the modern word "weird" originates from, it is an old Anglo-Saxon word referring to fate or personal destiny. And considering the career path that the Master Detective winds up taking as an adult, wellp…
Canonically, the Master Detective's gender is not known for sure, though general fandom seems to have set him/her as being female. For myself, however, I have always viewed the POV character as male, and it is from that perspective that I write.
Disclaimer - "Mystery Case Files" and all related characters, events, and concepts belong to Big Fish Games, Elephant Games, and Eipix Entertainment. I get no monetary benefit from this. My benefit is the enjoyment of dealing with beloved characters. Original characters, however, are mine - please contact for permission before using. This includes Darnell as a defined, fleshed-out character in his own right.
Jokers Wyrd
by DragonDancer5150
Chapter 1 - Child's Play
"I should be back in about an hour, Baby Bro."
Darnell grimaced as he climbed out of the car. "Cat, don't call me that. I'm fifteen, for crying out loud!" He shook his head at his sister Catherine's laugh as she drove off, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glancing to see if anyone had overheard. This was a street full of shops and, on a pleasant Saturday afternoon, plenty of shoppers, but if anyone had heard anything, they didn't show it.
Huffing softly to let it go, he let his gaze wander over the names of the stores crammed side-by-side in the suites of the long buildings on either side of the road. His last summer job had finally paid him and, even though it was only August yet, he wanted to get a jump on Christmas gifts. He already knew what he was getting his mother and step-dad, and Catherine was easy – money for make-up. A Target gift card would do. It was his middle sister, Linda, who was always so hard to shop for. She had eclectic tastes that ran more or less in a Gothic direction. She liked skulls and Halloween and dark or unusual things, none of which the teen was going to find easily for at least another month. But he could try.
He finally spotted the shop he was looking for, Angela's Antiques. 'Antique' – if it truly was – usually meant expensive, but his buddy in art class had assured him this was more of a low-brow thrift store that just hoped to be an antique shop when it grew up. Even if he couldn't afford anything in there, Darnell aimed to get some ideas. At worst, maybe he could do a painting for her based on something he spotted.
A chime sounded when he pushed the door open. It was a common enough convention that he hardly should have noticed it, but it made him flinch all the same, somehow sounding too loud in the stillness. Outside was sunny and warm, but that stopped at the doorframe as if kept out by an unseen barrier. The shop itself was dimly-lit, chill, and crowded with a riot of random miscellany in much the same way that attics always seemed to be portrayed in movies.
"Hello?" Darnell's voice sounded soft and tentative even in his own ears. He swallowed and tried again, forcing his voice louder to cut into the silence. "Hello?" He looked at the door, double-checking that the 'OPEN' side of the sign was indeed facing the window. "Huh . . . maybe they're just in the back somewhere, in a storage room or the bathroom or something." He had a bad habit of talking to himself when he was alone. He hesitated another moment, then deliberately stepped over the threshold and let the door close behind him. The place felt creepy as all-get-out, but he knew it was just his imagination and that he was being childish for letting it get to him. Besides, if the very store felt dark and ominous for no real reason he could explain, then surely he'd find something here that his sister would love.
He wandered between the cluttered displays and shelving units, finding the usual aged detritus that he would have expected – carved end tables, lamps with painted glass shades, porcelain figurines by Hummel and LLadro, commemorative plates from events he'd never heard of.
He found himself in the kids' section, gaze wandering over old board games, tangled marionettes, and off-brand plush animals with matted fur. What the heck he was doing back there, he couldn't have said. Linda had just joined the Army. There was no way she'd want a toy for Christmas, even a creepy one. Just as he was about to pull himself away from that whole corner of the store, however, something tucked back on a chest-level shelf caught his eye.
It was a jack-in-the-box, old enough that the box was metal instead of plastic. 'HOWL-O-SCREAM' read the crimson words on the front within a border of harlequinade diamonds in festive forest and mint greens. "Right, that's going to make some kid want to play with it," Darnell muttered. Leaning closer, however, he frowned at a line of bright red that ran down from the hole in the side where the crank arm protruded from within. A thick fluid trailed and pooled on the shelf along the bottom edge of the box. "I-is that . . . ? No, it can't be." It was just paint. It had to be, though the consistency was somehow wrong. There was no denying one thing, however – whatever the fluid was, it had spilled out from inside the jack-in-the-box.
Darnell gulped and tried to back away, but instead his hands reached for the toy almost of their own accord, grasping and sliding it forward. His eyes went wide as the crank arm started turning by itself. 'All Around the Mulberry Bush' played from within but so slowly and so badly out of tune that the teen almost didn't recognize it. Dread mounted as the tune jangled, echoing in the musty stillness as it marched inexorably toward the climax. Darnell's heart thudded in his chest, and he desperately wanted to back away, to run, but his limbs had frozen, hands wrapped around the box as if glued there.
POP goes the weasel!
The thing that jumped out at Darnell when the lid finally clicked open looked like a cross between a court jester and a shark. The eyes gleamed, brows pulled down in a threatening leer. The grin was impossibly wide and full of dagger-sharp teeth. The white gloves sported red blotches that looked undeniably like blood stains. Darnell caught his breath only to yelp a delayed reaction and jump back, tripping on his own feet and crumpling to the floor. He'd let go of the toy finally, but his movements still must have knocked it off the shelf – or did it jump down after him of its own accord? Either way, the terrible thing landed in his lap. Darnell's heart stopped when the head turned to look up at him, a deep, throaty sound – laughter – burbling up from somewhere within.
"N-no . . . nonononono!" Darnell tried to scramble back from the thing, or pick it up and throw it, but none of his muscles would work right.
The grotesque jack hissed a low snicker, latched onto Darnell's shirt with both bloody hands, and yanked back. Darnell felt his whole world tilt sideways and spiral out of control. He lost consciousness to an overwhelming sense of vertigo.