Moonshine Wizard

by Phillip Drayer Duncan

  “Okay, but how tough can it be? I mean, can we just cut it into pieces?”

  “You can try, but it will put them back together.”

  “So, what are we supposed to do?”

  “I already told you. Run, stupid.”

  The blood ghoul grinned, showcasing its sharp teeth. Then it raised its hands and claws extended from each of its fingers. It must’ve seen the look on Bert’s face, because the damn thing started laughing.

  “Okay, so, I wasn’t expecting that,” Bert said. “Those look sharp.”

  “Yet for some reason, you still aren’t running away.”

  “I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that thing is faster than me.”

  “Seriously, do more cardio.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Bert said. “Get ready, this is a good one.”

  The blood ghoul charged again. He was still impressed by the creature’s speed, but he held his position until the last possible moment before diving out of the way. As he did, he swung Sharp out wide, slicing the blood ghoul through the mid-section and cutting it in two.

  As Bert rolled to his feet, the two pieces were already attempting to reconnect. The bottom half kicked itself back up on its feet and walked toward the torso, which was dragging itself with its arms.

  “Well, that’s different,” Bert said.

  Before the two pieces could connect, Bert fired a burst of power at the torso, knocking it into the pool. Then he ran over to the legs, pausing for a moment to observe the strange way the innards sat inside, like they were in a cereal bowl.

  Gagging, he grabbed one of the legs and, spinning like a discus thrower, hurled the legs toward the back door of the house. It ended up being less of a throw and more of a sliding roll, but whatever got the job done. Who knew a waistline and pair of legs were so heavy?

  He jogged toward the legs and took hold of one again, trying to ignore the sight of spilling innards. With a free hand, he checked the back door of the house and was pleased to find it unlocked. He shoved the legs inside and shut it behind him.

  Blood entrails were scattered around the yard. He ignored the mess and headed back toward the pool where the upper half of the blood ghoul was attempting to drag itself out. Behind him, the legs were banging against the door, and he had a suspicion it wouldn’t hold for long.

  He scanned the yard for something he could use and spotted a dog chain in the corner. Not wanting to ponder the implications of the missing dog, he yanked the chain free and headed back toward the pool.

  The blood ghoul was almost clear of the pool, so he charged toward it and punted its head with everything he had. The ghoul’s neck snapped and it fell back into the water. At the same time, Bert’s other foot slipped and he landed on his ass, only then realizing it may have been smarter just to hit it with another force spell.

  Ignoring the pain in his tailbone, he got back to his feet and clambered toward the nearby barbecue grill. Glad to find it had wheels, he pushed it to the edge of the pool. Once again, the ghoul was trying to climb out.

  Holding his staff in one hand and the chain in the other, Bert approached it. He slung the chain over the creature’s back, then with his staff used magic to pull the end of the chain around its chest and up over its shoulders, crisscrossing the chain around the ghoul’s torso.

  The blood ghoul howled, swiping its long claws as Bert’s feet. Despite having to dance to avoid getting his legs ripped off, each attempt caused the creature to sink back in the water for a second or two, buying him the time he needed.

  When the chain was secured around the torso, he used his staff to call the end back to him. Pulling out the slack, he secured the two loose ends around the legs of the grill and clipped them together. With a heave, he shoved the grill into the pool, toppling it over the monster’s head. It stared at him with hungry, hate-filled eyes for a moment longer, then the weight of the grill pulled it underwater.

  “Ha! I told you it was a great idea,” Bert said, staring down at the thrashing figure, its claws not quite able to reach the surface of the water. “Wait, they can’t breathe underwater, right?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” Sharp replied. “Who said they breathe at all?”

  Bert became uncomfortably aware of the rhythmic thump from the back door. One glance told him it wouldn’t be long before the legs kicked it right off the hinges. And the torso half didn’t seem interested in drowning. In fact, it looked like it was still trying to howl at him from below the surface.

  “Well,” Sharp said, “I suppose you could just take the legs with us.”

  “What? Just sling them over my shoulder and drive them to another state.”

  “Or you could mail them somewhere. I suggest Florida. They can get a nice tan before they make it back to their owner.”

  “You’re a weird sword, Sharp.”

  “You’re a weird human, Bert.”

  “I have another idea. Start drawing power. I’m going to need your help for this.”

  Gripping his staff, Bert began drawing in magical energy. Sharp did the same. He worked the spell over in his head, preparing it, and ensuring he’d be ready at just the right moment. Behind him was the sound of splintering wood, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. Still, he drew more energy to his control.

  “Sharp, you’ll have to tell me when.”

  “I got it,” Sharp replied. “But you can’t take on much more energy. Your head will pop.”

  The sword was right. He could only draw so much energy safely. Already he was nearing his limits, but he’d need everything he could get for this.

  There was a final crash from the door, and before Sharp even said it, he knew the legs were free.

  Ignoring the pitter patter of running feet, he focused on the spell and unleashed a blast of freezing cold air from his staff. It hit the cold water in the pool and immediately started sinking the temperature further. He pushed on, forcing every bit of energy he had into it. In a few seconds, the whole pool was a solid sheet of ice.

  The legs hit the ice at a dead sprint, slipped, and fell into a bloody slide, trailing entrails and sailing right over their upper half, which was stuck in the frozen water below. As soon as the legs came to a stop, they hopped up and tried again, with much the same result. Undeterred, they tried for a third time, and a fourth, and so on.

  “You know,” Bert said, “I can’t decide if I’m disgusted or amused.”

  “I’m going with both,” Sharp said, cackling. “Look, here it goes again. And…he’s down! That’s the funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Bert couldn’t help but to laugh as well. But only until his eyes moved back toward the gate. He sighed. “I suppose I should get this over with.”

  “You could still try to run,” Sharp said.

  “I’m too tired to run,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. The adrenaline was wearing off and his whole body throbbed. It had been a long day. Limping toward the gate, he knew it was going to be a bit longer.

  Beyond the gate was the darkness. This time, though, he didn’t run. He continued forward, limping at a slow pace. He wasn’t going to get into a hurry for anyone.

  He continued this way, limping along, until he ran into a wall.

  “Ouch,” he said, first touching his forehead, then reaching up to touch the wall. The surface was smooth. Smoother than a wall. Like glass. A window, perhaps? He gave it a gentle push, but nothing happened. He pushed again, and the lights came on.

  He jumped back, tripping and falling on his sore tailbone. There was someone on the other side of the glass. A disheveled figure, covered in blood and carrying a wizard staff… Oh, he thought, looking up into his reflection. I look like shit.

  Glancing around, he realized he was surrounded by mirrors. In fact, he couldn’t even locate the door he’d come through. The whole room seemed to be comprised of mirrors. But how had he gotten here? And what was this place?

  A rather odd, and disturbing, thought struck him. “Uh, Sharp, are we in a fun house?”<
br />
  Chapter 12

  “No,” Sharp said. “I think we’ve entered the Twilight Zone. I mean, I’ve seen some shit, but this... This is just weird.”

  The disturbing cackle sounded once more. Whoever this was, they were really enjoying themselves.

  Bert shook his head. “I’m really getting sick of that laugh.”

  “Agreed. I’m not sure what you’ve gotten us into this time, but it’s really not good.”

  Bert checked his surroundings. The entire room was mirrors from end to end. A small light dangled above him, showering the room in dim light. Bert stood in front of the mirrors, turned in a circle, and took in the various distortions of himself in each. One made him look fat, another made him look skinny, another tall, short, upside down, and every other way he could imagine. Then he noticed one where he didn’t have a head.

  “Where’s my head?” he asked, watching blood squirt from the stump of his neck.

  “Normal mirrors don’t do that,” Sharp replied. “Just an FYI.”

  Another of the reflections had him clutching a stomach wound, holding in his guts as they attempted to squirm free. His face was ghost white, offset by crimson tears running down his cheeks.

  The next mirror seemed to hold his true reflection, tattered and beat, but just him, staring at himself. He grinned at his reflection, which grinned back. He said, “I’m thoroughly unimpressed.”

  The blood ghoul appeared behind him, reaching toward him with a bloody hand. Bert dove to the side and came up with his sword and staff ready. But there was no sign of the blood ghoul.

  Looking back in the mirror, the blood ghoul stood beside his reflection, one arm draped lovingly over his shoulder. When it noticed Bert’s gaze, it offered him a friendly little wave.

  The laughter rang through his head again.

  “Okay, that was impressive,” he said, shrugging. “But I’ve seen better.”

  He regretted the statement the moment it left his mouth. At once, all his reflections began pounding against the glass, like caged animals trying to break free. He spun in a slow circle, watching the distorted images of himself as they attempted to smash through. Faces contorted in a mixture of anguish and rage. In harmony, each of the faces, his faces, started to scream. And it was his scream.

  There was a splintering crack and he turned to see a fat version of himself had cracked the glass. It was really breaking. Would it actually come through? Then what? Would he be ripped to pieces by his own doppelgangers?

  The chorus of screams rose, along with the steady thump of fists pounding against glass. He put his hands to his ears, trying to drown out the sound. It was no use. His only reprieve was the occasional cracking of glass, but that did little to comfort him.

  “Stay calm,” Sharp said, his voice overpowering the noise. “It’s just a magic trick.”

  “I’m trying,” Bert replied. “This is worse than pop music or new country.”

  “Want me to sing you some Waylon?”

  “This isn’t torture enough?” Bert replied, putting on his best poker face and fighting down his panic. It was hard to think over the noise, but he did his best to look nonchalant. He didn’t want them to know they were getting to him, but when he looked up at one of his reflections, he couldn’t tell if he was looking at a reflection, or if he was the reflection. I’m losing it, he thought, I can’t take much more. Then the room started to spin.

  Or was he spinning? He couldn’t be sure. The reflections spun by like a slideshow, frame after frame. He was tall. He was short. He was fat. He was thin. He had long hair. He had short hair.

  And in each frame, he was doing something different. He watched as he tore out one of his eyes with a fork and shoved it in his mouth. In another, his own hands were wrapped around his throat, choking himself until his eyes popped out. Then he was bashing himself over the head with his wizard staff, smacking and smacking, until his skull caved in, and still he swung it down again.

  The next reflection winked at him, then it pulled its head off its shoulders and tossed it off stage. The next him caught the head, then removed his own, and threw both heads. The next Bert caught both heads and started juggling them, adding its own to the mix. All three heads grinned like maniacs, but worse, their eyes never left the eyes of the real Bert. Staring at him, they continued circling up and down, up and down.

  “Wow,” Sharp said. “I didn’t know you were so talented.”

  “Me neither,” Bert replied, and despite the creepiness of the scene, he couldn’t help but agree.

  The three heads were hurled off scene to a fourth Bert who continued juggling them, and of course, added his own head to the mix. This continued, scene after scene, each with a new head until there were too many to count.

  A wave of dizziness swept over Bert, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  Then the heads flew again to a final juggler, who failed to catch all but one. Clearly saddened by his failure as a juggler, he cradled the caught head to his chest like a ball. Then he began to cry. His face dropped toward the ground, as though he were too ashamed to be seen. Then he held the severed head up for Bert to see. It was still grinning. He dropped the head like a football and kicked it toward the glass.

  Every mirror in the room exploded, showering Bert in broken glass. He dropped into a crouch, covering his face.

  Then it was silent. Bert opened his eyes and slowly uncovered his head. The broken glass was all around him, hanging in the air. As if time had stopped mid-explosion. He looked around and brushed a few pieces of glass that hovered in front of his face. They fell harmlessly to the floor.

  Then laughter tore through his head and the explosion continued as if it’d never stopped. Bert closed his eyes and covered his face again. He wasn’t quite quick enough and several pieces of small glass tore into his cheek.

  When it was over he took a deep breath and let his arms down. Broken glass lay all around his feet. Warm blood trickled down his face.

  Directly in front of him was a plain wooden door.

  “Well,” Sharp said, “the good news is if they wanted you dead, I doubt they would’ve put on such a show. Even if you lived several hundred years, I doubt you’d be able to pull off this kind of magic.”

  “You think if I live several hundred years I might be able to juggle like my reflections?” he asked as he started toward the door.

  “I wouldn’t think about it too much. You probably aren’t going to make it to next week.”

  As Bert put his hand on the doorknob he tried to think of a good rebuttal, but it was a fair point, so he shrugged and swung open the door. In front of him was a floating red balloon on a string. Beyond it was total darkness. As he stepped closer he realized there was a small sheet of paper tied to the bottom of the string. Written in what appeared to be blood was a message. ‘Free Balloon.’

  “Aww, for me,” Bert said into the darkness. “Not to be ungrateful, but you could’ve thrown in some Cheetos and beer.”

  As if in response, the balloon tugged at his hand, beckoning him into the darkness. He sighed and started forward, feeling a bit silly. The balloon pulled ahead, navigating him through the darkness until a dim light appeared in the distance. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a sign, which read, ‘Welcome, Waylon.’ Beneath it was a steel door.

  Bert pushed open the door and found himself in a large colorful room. The room wasn’t brightly lit, but had lots of color, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. Swirly designs were painted on just about every object, including the floor and ceiling. It reminded him of a circus tent.

  Ahead were six oversized chairs, each taller than as he was. As his vision returned to normal, he realized there were people sitting in each of the chairs, and several more milling about the room.

  “Uh, Sharp,” he asked, “are they what I think they are?”

  “This is bad,” Sharp said. The seriousness of his tone made Bert shiver. “Really fucking bad.”

  Clowns. Everyone in the room w
as a clown, and there were a lot of them.

  Before this moment, he’d never shared Jim’s phobia. Now, he felt terrible for all the times they’d picked on him about it.

  “Sharp, what the hell is this?” he asked, staring at the sea of white faces.

  “They’re clowns, Bert. Fucking Clowns.”

  Bert cringed at the lack of humor in Sharp’s statement. He’d expected a joke, or at least a sarcastic comment. Instead, Sharp expressed a new emotion, one Bert had never known the sword to show. It was fear.

  “Yeah, Sharp, I see that they’re clowns,” he said. “It’s creepy.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Sharp said, an edge of panic in his voice. “Those aren’t men dressed up as clowns. Those are real clowns.”

  “Real clowns?”

  “All right, Bert,” Sharp said, pausing to gather his thoughts. “I’m going to tell you something, but you have to understand, this is among the biggest secrets hidden by the Hand of Magic. If they found out you knew, they might kill you outright for fear of rumors spreading. Where do you think the idea of clowns came from?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Jesters, maybe?”

  “Wrong. This is one of those ‘forget everything you know’ situations. Clowns are a supernatural species. Like vampires or were-critters. And like you, they can manipulate magical energy. Starting out, they don’t seem much different than any other mage, but as their talents grow they start to change. Their skin begins to pale, turning white and pasty. Worse, they start to lose their sanity. They get all giggly and want to bring chaos to the world.”

  Bert glanced at the clown to his right. It was performing tricks with fire. Noticing it had his attention, it held an open flame out in its hand. Then, smiling at Bert, it closed its hand around the fire. A painful look crossed its face and it burped. Flames jumped from its mouth and shot out several feet in front of it.