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 6 - Saved by the Shroud
Too frightened to move or cry out, Darnell could do no more than stare, breath sticking in his throat, as the clowns came into view, looking the worse for wear and out for blood. Like gazing through a black, gauzy curtain, he could see the furious trio with little problem and was sure they'd spot him just as easily. The clowns drew close, looking all over in every possible little hiding spot, including the bodyguard clown stepping up right next to Darnell to bend over the counter and look into the stall behind him. The clown even looked right at him for an instant - or so he thought - before looking away. The clowns continued their murderous hunt, moving off and disappearing from sight around a beanbag game stand.
Darnell's breath came in shallow, ragged pants as the Grim Reaper behind him drew back its sleeve. The teen turned to look up. "Uh . . . t-thank you." Shaky as that was, it was sincere. And yes, he did find the irony in having his life saved by Death.
The Grim Reaper inclined its head - or at least the hood that draped where a head should have been - then reached under the counter and drew out an object to offer to Darnell with one skeletal hand. It was a rubber chicken.
Darnell gaped for a moment, but when Death held it closer, obviously insisting, he accepted it tentatively. "Ah . . . thank you. Again." He had no idea what he'd want with a rubber chicken, but if Death itself seemed to think he needed it, who was he to argue?
The Grim Reaper gave another ponderous nod, then stretched out its hand to point off to Darnell's right. Interrupting the tall fence that lined the property stood a shack with a sign above the door. Spray paint over the word 'Enter' changed the sign to read 'Exit At Your Own Risk.' More graffiti work had sprayed the words 'KEEP OUT' across the door itself. Darnell looked up at Death with a nod of acknowledgement and bolted for the shack.
The door was secured with a massive padlock. Hopeful, Darnell slammed the lock with the rubber chicken, but this one didn't shatter like the others had. He didn't have time to look for a pair of bolt cutters. Scaling the fence was out – before making it to the barbed wire along the top, he'd have to contend with the countless needles stuck into every joint of the chain-link fence. The door was his only way. And he was beginning to hear the approaching voices of the clowns again.
Huffing in frustration and fear, Darnell stuck his hands in his pockets as he turned to look around for ideas, but then flinched and pulled his hands back out, one of them closed around the half-dozen Pixie Stix he'd found earlier. The ends were crumpled and bent and reminded him of something, though he couldn't think what. Then it hit him. As a novelty, his sister Linda had taught herself, and then him, to pick locks. He looked between the padlock and the candy tubes. It didn't make sense, but he'd already seen and experienced so many things that didn't make sense. With nothing else to lose, he tucked the rubber chicken under one arm and set to work, plying the Pixie Stix like lockpicks in the large keyhole.
The lock opened with a satisfying click just as the loud, obnoxious buzz of a kazoo blared behind him. He looked over his shoulder and yelped in alarm at the sight of an organ grinder monkey, kazoo in hand and dead eyes fixed on him. It started for him as its brethren appeared from all corners to close in as well. Panicking, Darnell fumbled the lock off the door and the door open, darting in and slamming the door behind him in time to hear and feel the thud of the first monkey hit the other side. The door didn't close all the way, however, caught on the monkey's reaching arm. The monkey struggled, Darnell heard a tearing sound, and the door suddenly closed, the monkey's severed forearm falling to the ground at Darnell's feet. Instead of blood and bone, however, the arm proved to be stuffed with some kind of filler. Taxidermy crossed Darnell's mind once more, and he shuddered, gulping, before dragging his gaze back up to the door in the hopes of finding a deadbolt or some other way to secure it from the inside.
The door was gone.
Gasping, Darnell backpedaled, then turned to take in the room he'd entered. It was perfectly square and completely empty. The walls and floor were covered in harlequinade diamonds in festive forest and mint greens. Darnell's eyes widened in horror as he remembered where he'd seen the pattern before. A deep, throaty sound – laughter – burbled down from somewhere above. Darnell looked up and cried out at the sight of the monstrous jack from the antique shop – now looming over him like King Kong – mounted atop the center of the transparent ceiling. It bobbed side to side, mocking its prisoner.
I've got you, I've got you! Whatcha gonna do about it?
And then the walls started closing in, the whole room shrinking around him.
"No . . . no! Blast it, let me out!" Beyond panic and horror, Darnell had had enough. Grasping the rubber chicken by the legs like a baseball bat, he swung it at one wall in sheer, desperate frustration. He paused to gape in shock as spiderweb cracks spread across the wall, the chicken's beak having struck with the force of a window breaker's point. The jack's laughter turn to snarls of rage as Darnell set into the wall with ferocious determination. Two strikes, three, four, five, and suddenly the whole room burst into shards, as if Darnell had been caught inside a glitter-filled balloon or a confetti popper.
"Oy! You! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"