AN:It's October! It is now officially Halloween-season! I'm so excited!

I'm also trying an experiment on AO3 because it's October, so we'll see how that turns out!

Heads up and trigger warning; things get dicey in the middle of this chapter, but I want to emphasize; no trigger warning for death or blood.

I reiterate; Laughing Jack is canonically not a nice character.

-Crow


"Good morning, class," Mr. Lancer greeted as he walked in that morning. Out of the corner of his eye, the students began settling into their seats.

Stifling a yawn and an ache to crack morning-stiffness in his joints, he picked up the roster and glanced about, "Let's see... Baxter, Gray, Sanchez, Weston... Manson, Foley... Thompson, Ishiyama... Sanderson..."

He paused, looking up and zeroing in on the single, vacant desk. He sighed, "Mr. Fenton?"

The class looked at each other, as if the student in question were going to phase through a wall like one of the town's ghosts. "Mr. Fenton... Mr. Fenton...?"

"Bueller... Bueller?" One of the jocks muttered to another, snickering.

The teacher rolled his eyes, then focused on the resident goth and phone-addict, "Ms. Manson, Mr. Foley, have either of you seen Mr. Fenton today?"

"No," Miss Manson shook her head.

"Sorry, we haven't seen him since last night," Mr. Foley shrugged.

The underpaid teacher sighed, "I'm afraid he's already accrued too many excused absences last week," (the pair shared an odd look with the other) "I'll have to call his parents and-"

"Wait!" Mr. Foley exclaimed, "U-uh, there was... a, uh, family emergency, I think. I'm pretty sure Danny's parents are out of town and, uh, don't have their phones. Science and cell-phone interference, y'know?"

Mr. Lancer raised an eyebrow grimly, "Are you saying they left their son alone in the house?"

The boy flinched, but Ms. Manson quickly interjected, "No, he has an older sister. College-age, so she's keeping an eye on things."

Mr. Foley nodded, "Y-yeah, we can take the message to him, Mr. L, no sweat."

"Very well," the educator sighed, checking off a little box beside "I'll just mark him absent for now. But be sure to tell him that if he misses any more school without a valid excuse, he will be punished on truancy charges. Even if it's a 'family emergency'."

"Got it, man," Mr. Foley grinned.

"We'll be sure to tell him," Ms. Manson agreed.

Mr. Lancer sighed to himself, pinching his sinuses and beginning a passionate oration on the symbolic meaning of Shakespeare's flower choices in some of his most famous scenes. It was really quite fascinating and added a depth to the humanity of the characters and scene... if anyone ever bothered to pay attention.

It seemed the entire time, Mr. Foley and Ms. Manson couldn't quite stop glancing at each other in an unspoken conversation.

Perhaps on Mr. Fenton?

Either way, this absence was troublesome. Partially because Mr. Fenton missed so much class last week, he was in danger of failing this class by the school's absence policy. Partially because it was disappointing if Mr. Fenton had decided to 'play hooky' today.

Whatever his excuse, it had better be good.

Perhaps he suffered a relapse of whatever hit him last week? Perhaps he's become embroiled in a fantastical journey in a wardrobe fashioned from an apple tree grown atop two magic rings? Perhaps abduction by UFOs?

His mouth quirked at his own inner musings.

Perhaps, knowing the town these days, he was abducted by ghosts.

'But what are the odds of that,' He reassured himself.


Freakshow rubbed his cane anxiously.

Laughing Jack had popped in that morning almost immediately after heading out. He appeared in a comically ill-fitting 'ragamuffin, little-orphan-Annie paper-boy' outfit, but with a messenger bag and an old-timey New York accent, announcing the boy had been successfully grabbed and delivered to the intended location (intact).

The clown didn't stick around, preferring to vanish in his usual flurry of confetti, leaving Freakshow to await the employer's phone call.

It was a surprise when the man, himself, appeared.

But what was more surprising... he had approached the Ringmaster almost 10 years ago...

He hadn't aged a day.

"My dear, dear friend." Mayor Masters simpered, smiling widely.

"Masters," Freakshow nodded in return, eyes guarded at the mysterious man waltzing around his circus like he owned the place. "I take it you received the... ah, delivery?"

"Yes, and in fantastic shape," Vlad nodded appreciatively. "Do give my compliments to your delivery boy."

"Heh, you just missed him, I'm afraid," The Ringmaster smirked. "He's off doing who-knows-what right now. That was part of my little deal with him."

Vlad frowned, "You know, you really shouldn't let your... hmmm, little performers run about like that. Ought to keep a good leash on them."

Freakshow's teeth grit together, "Well, perhaps it would be easier if I, say, still had an ancient artifact of that exact power."

"Hmm, perhaps," The small-town mayor acknowledged airily. "But that's not the main point... well, I suppose it's not the main point, but it could be brought up..."

The pale-faced performer raised a suspicious eyebrow as the charismatic sponsor continued, "I have a little... proposition-"

"No." Freakshow vehemently interrupted. "You gave me this order for this town and that was it. I'm already risking my neck to snatch the one kid for you."

"Oh?" The man's grin widened, "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear..."

Freakshow took shallow, shuddering breaths and stumbled backwards as the man's eyes blazed like hellfire staring him down.

"You will do this for me."

No room for argument.

No option to refuse.

And an unspoken understanding that either option would not end… quietly.

Then, like it had begun, the miasma of darkness vanished and the businessman/mayor stood resolutely and innocently in front of him, smiling serenely.

"I need time and distractions. However, I also need to cast a certain spectral hero in a darker light. I figured what better way than to use ghosts to our advantage and cause a little chaos? Hmm?" He smiled toothily at the pale-faced Ringmaster.

"I-I can't do that. Not now," Freakshow objected hesitantly. "T-the cops, and the town. If I let my performers run amok in town and let them be seen, then... it'll all trace back to me. I'll be ruined. You can't do this to me!" He pleaded.

Vlad raised a finger to his chin in thought, humming, "Oh, I suppose that would be a hindrance. You're rather useless if you're in jail, after all. Well, I'm glad I'd already thought of that."

He snapped his fingers and a crowd of ghosts appeared in the tent. Several wore balaclavas over their faces and stereotyped, dark 'bank robber' clothing, several more in spiked leather 'biker jackets', a handful in trenchcoats and fedoras, and a few in prisoner's uniforms.

All of them had bright, red, vacant eyes.

"Each of these ghosts has a specialization in looting, robbing, etcetera," He waved to them dismissively. "I will loan them all to you to help cause chaos. Take as much or as little as you want in your little 'shopping spree'; I just need to stir up a distraction in town. Use your own 'posse' as well, however you see fit, but know that when I, as the 'good mayor' am tasked to clean up the town, any ghosts I find will be… confiscated. Do you understand?"

"B-but I can't control this many!" The Ringmaster exclaimed, spinning to see the sheer number of ghosts surrounding him right now.

"That's where an extra, personal incentive comes into play." Vlad grinned. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and emerged with three, small, glittering objects. Freakshow's eyes greedily drank in the sight.

A pair of cuff links. Silver, ornate, and delicate.

A black, silk-ribbon bolo tie with a formal, silver sliding clasp.

Each with a bright, red, shard of a certain gem glowing the same color as the ghosts' eyes embedded in the center.

"Now, then, do we have a deal?"


"... Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen! Ready or not, here I come!" The boy eagerly whipped around from his spot against the tree to survey the back yard.

Where could they be? Hmm...

He peeked under the 'turtle-shell' cover to the sandbox.

He ducked into the playhouse.

He looked behind the fence to make sure he wasn't cheating and left the yard.

Where did he-?

"BOO!"

"AIEE!" He shrieked in surprise, falling backwards into a pile of giggles as he looked at the upside-down form of his new imaginary friend, Jack.

The clown smiled from where he dangled upside down on a tree limb! No hands, no ankles! He was standing upside down!

"No fair!" the boy protested, still smiling. "That's not how you play!"

Jack shrugged, "All's fair in love, war, and hide-and-shriek." The clown cackled as he swung up and around the tree limb, launching himself into the air and landing in a crouch just in front of the boy.

"Anything else you wanna play?" The boy asked, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Hmm," Jack's mouth quirked in thought. "Well, let's see... how about... juggling? Oh, I just love to juggle things!" He exclaimed gleefully, popping up to his tippy-toes spinning in a delighted circle in one, fluid movement.

"Really?" The boy asked, eyes wide.

"But of course! It's a staple in clown college." Jack boasted, spinning around in a quick blur of black and white and reappearing in a long, black gown and a little square hat with a black-and-white tassel. "I graduated with honors in juggling, jokes, toxicology, and underwater basket weaving."

The boy giggled, not knowing a couple of the words. Jack's outfit vanished in a poof of smoke, and he put a thoughtful finger to his chin, "Now if only we had something to juggle with..."

"What about fruit?"

"No, too boring."

"Baseballs?"

"See previous."

"Rocks?"

Jack sighed explosively, his painted lips pulled in an exaggerated frown. "Oh, boo-hoo. A clown with nothing to juggle with."

"Oh, don't cry, Jack," The boy pleaded. "We'll find something!"

Then, Jack's entire being perked up with a sudden idea and a wide, toothy smile. "I know! Let's look in there!"

The boy's gaze followed Jack's pointed arm.

...

"Uh, Jack... dad says I'm not allowed to go in there," He whispered.

The shed was locked up tight. His dad showed him inside once to work on a project for mom. It had all sorts of stuff inside.

Gas tanks for the cookout grill and lawnmower.

Bags of stuff his dad put down on the lawn to kill weeds.

Bags of more stuff his dad used to kill those rats under the porch.

His power tools.

His garden tools.

"Oh, pish-posh!" Jack dismissed, still grinning. "What he won't know won't hurt him. And besides, as long as we put it all right back where it came from, they won't be angry."

The boy thought a little. It made sense, as long as everything went right back where it was supposed to go, mom and dad wouldn't know the difference!

Jack waltzed up to the padlock on the door and cast a conspiratorial wink to the boy before holding up his pointer finger. In a flick, a long, black nail grew and he deftly wiggled it in the keyhole.

The boy watched wide-eyed. That only worked in cartoons! But Jack...

*click*

The boy clapped, amazed, to see Jack succeed and the padlock dropped unharmed to the ground. The imaginary friend swung the doors open and peered around inside. Loud clattering resounded from the dark interior for a moment before he triumphantly shouted.

"Ah-ha! Feast your eyes, on a grand spectacle!" Laughing Jack announced waltzing out.

His arms were full.

Of hatchets, and saw blades, and screwdrivers.

The boy gasped when Jack's hands deftly blurred and all of the objects flew in a circle around his head. He clapped excitedly as Jack danced around, sometimes raising a leg high to toss an object under his knee in a feat of dexterity before continuing.

"Wow, Jack! That's so cool!" The boy exclaimed, applauding.

"Well, I've had over 150 years to practice," Jack giggled.

"A h-hundred and fifty!" The boy gasped, barely able to comprehend that much time.

"That's right!" Jack's hands blurred and the objects launched into the air... and kept going... and going...

The boy squinted to try and spot where the juggling stuff went, distant pinpricks in the sky, before he realized Jack was right in his face, sharp smile bared and legs crossed on the ground.

"You know," The clown began, idly looking into the distance, "I've had a lot of owners over the years. All of them remind me so much of my first kid." He sighed wistfully. "I was his only friend in the world. We played everything together. Every day, ever since he first opened my box from the toy store and let me out to play. I knew he was special."

The imaginary friend's eyes darkened, "Then, he grew up... decided toys weren't much use. Left me and my box to rot in the attic... alone... forgotten... for years.

"Like an abandoned toy..."

A grim silence stretched.

...

"A box?" The boy asked, breaking the moment.

"Of course," Jack smiled widely. "What's a Jack without his box? Whoever has my box is my owner!"

"Do you have it now?"

Jack sighed forlornly, "No. Sorry, kiddo, but right now someone else has my box. That's why I can't stay and play all day with you... I have to go back to him... and he's a bully and a big meanie." The clown pouted, arms crossed and back hunched in exaggerated grumpiness.

The boy's heart went out to his new friend's predicament. He sat in thought for a moment before brightening, "But if I had your box, then would you be able to stay forever?"

"Oh yes!" Jack exclaimed brightly, hands clasped together and gaze staring into the distance longingly. "That's all I ever want! To be free to laugh and play all day long and find someone to be best friends with forever!"

"I'll be your friend!" The boy volunteered, with a big smile.

Laughing Jack's cold, gray eyes slid to him.

"Forever... and ever?"

The boy opened his mouth to agree-

"Mikey!"

He turned to see his mother step out of the back door and wave him over, "Come inside, dinner's ready!"

The boy turned back to Jack... only he was gone...

Sad his friend left, he pushed it away to focus on the delicious smell coming from the kitchen.

Mac 'n' cheese night! Yay!

The door slid shut behind him as the family settled inside to eat.

...

...

*fwip-thwip-thwap-thunk*

In the spot the child had just vacated; hatchets, sawblades, and screwdrivers fell from the sky and embedded themselves deep into the backyard's sod.


Instead of his typical flurry of phantasmal paper shreds, Jack appeared with an almost-sullen expression from a cloud of black wisps. He quickly zeroed in on the Ringmaster, lounging on an elephant-stand prop with one leg dangling. He idly fiddled with Jack's box crank in his hands.

"Really? You have horrible timing," The strange clown whined, comically dragging his feet as he walked up to the man. "You call me and spoil my fun at the worst of times."

"Well, my friend, I'm afraid that's not really up to you to decide, is it?" Freakshow simpered, eyes not leaving the box he slowly twirled the crank of.

Jack gave a long, reluctant groan, eyes rolling back like a petulant child, "Hnnng, fine! What's the last request you want? And make it quick."

Freakshow coolly smiled. "Actually, I have a... small change to our proposal..."

The clown's demeanor changed in an instant; it's smile pulled into a wide, gnashing scowl. The teeth and gums turned gray and black, with a black-and-white striped tongue hissing out. Arms extended to a disproportionate length, ending in sickle-like black nails as it took several steps right into the Ringmaster's face.

"YOU CAN'T DECIDE THAT NOW!" The entity screeched, hate searing from its all-black eyes. "We made a deal. I fulfilled our little bargain; one show, one kidnapped brat, and one task. Three requests! Three! In exchange, I'm free as a bird for the rest of time from your family's damned box!"

Freakshow, undeterred, jabbed his cane in Jack's face, "Yes, well... thing's change."

A crimson glow emanated from the head of the cane. A glow mirrored alongside a new set of cufflinks on the man's wrists and a gem centered in his black bowtie.

The red haze became all-consuming.

"I've acquired some new accessories, you see. Do you like them?" Freakshow's voice echoed into the red fog enveloping Jack's world.

The entity thrashed against the mental prison closing in around him. As this new box of red began sealing itself around his mind, he cast one more baleful glare at the foolish human.

"This isn't the end."

As with any box to contain him, it was only a matter of time until he was let out.

And boy, oh, boy.

He couldn't wait.


AN: I decided Jack should be an Entity-type of enemy. Not a once-was-human like The Producer or a 'manufactured' Entity like BEN, but something that just... came to be and is probably older than that, but isn't bound by the same rules. If any apply to him.

The scene with the kid had such a disquieting 'You'll float too' sort of feel. Just imagine Mikey wearing a little, yellow raincoat the entire time for no reason.


Danny's eyes blinked harshly as they opened to the bright, white light.

A shadow grew over it. Ominous, black, save for two crimson eyes.

"Hello, my boy." Light glinted from a sharp smile, "May we chat?"