The Clown With the Golden Mask

The Clown With the Golden Mask

Mark A Davis

276

Grandpa Anarchy's 1964 Aston Martin DB5 sped down the streets of Frosthaven, NJ.  "What is it with clowns an villains?" Grandpa Anarchy demanded.  "Why does every villain in the world have to be a clown?  Why are clowns evil?"

The people of the city had gone mad.  White-faced men and women ran through the streets like scared rabbits in squeaky shoes.  They charged into the path of Grandpa's car with no regard for safety or crosswalks.  The car swerved to avoid them.  They attacked each other with pies, and hurled pies at the passing Aston Martin.

"Those are untrue statements," replied Professor Emily Wilfreda Wolcott.  "I can name any number of villains who are not clowns -- Doctor Zero Hour, for example, or the Malevolent Marketeer or Double Donkey Motel.  I can also name quite a few clowns who are in no way evil.  Surely you would not argue that Gene Kelley was a malicious man?"

"No, but the point remains," Grandpa replied.  "Carnival Act.  Double Jester.  John Wayne Gacy.  Hop-Frog.  Pennywise the Dancing Clown from It.  Chucky.  The Insane Clown Posse...."

"The Insane Clown Posse is a musical rap group, and Chucky was a doll -- not to mention a fictional character, as was Pennywise and Hop-Frog, who I believe comes from an Edgar Allen Poe short story of the same name...."

Grandpa raised an eyebrow.  "You're good at this, Professor," he said.  "Still, why can't there be a clown hero...."

Grandpa cursed as he swerved again, narrowly missing another insane citizen in the middle of the street, wielding a creme-filled confection as a weapon.  Grandpa got a good look at the white face, the multi-colored hair, the round red nose, and the wild eyes as they flew past.  "It's those cursed pies," Grandpa Anarchy exclaimed.  "They're Insanity Pies.  There's some kind of virus hidden in the creme, I reckon.  It turns people into insane, pie-tossing clowns!  I've never seen anything like it!"

"Never?" asked the professor.  It was rare that Grandpa encountered anything truly new.

"Well, there was of course the Great Mime Outbreak of '31," Grandpa replied.  "But clowns are different.  There's rubber noses and sqeaky shoes, for starters!"

Grandpa slammed on the brakes.  "There he is!" he exclaimed.

Standing before city hall was a tall clown in a golden mask.  He sported oversized red sandals and a white robe trimmed with gold which had red puffballs lined up in a row down the front.  Silver lined the surface of the mask to suggest a whiteface look.  The nose was round and bright red.  He carried two pies.

Grandpa jumped out of the car.  "Bofforma!" he exclaimed.  "Drop the pies, or things are going to get ugly!"

The clown laughed, long and deep, his belly shaking with mirth.  "Foolish old man!" he called out.  "Are you truly the best champion of your people?  I am Bofforma the Third!  Bofforma the Great, Seventh Emperor of the Kalownian Dynasty!  I fear not one frail fool!"

"You're the fool!" Grandpa snarled, launching himself at the villain.  A creme pie caromed off his forehead, and his fist connected with the clown's gold-covered chin.

The professor had also stepped out of the car.  The second pie hit her square in the face.  She stumbled back, wiping away the gooey mess.  "Hmm.  Coconut Creme!" she exclaimed.

"Do you know who I am, old man?" Bofforma asked.  "While your Indo-European ancestors fought with stone weapons and lived in primitive huts, subsisting on what they could hunt or gather, I built a mighty empire between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea.  It was among the earliest empires on earth!  Naram-Sin of Akkad would not face me!  The worshipers of Lady Atana and Ariadne of the Labyrinths paid tribute to me!  Even Pharaoh Neferkare Pepi II of Egypt knew of my fame!"

"Nobody remembers who any of those people are!" Grandpa exclaimed.

"Actually, Grandpa," said the professor, "we know very well who Naram-Sin and Neferkare Pepi II were...."

Ignoring her, Grandpa shouted, "They've all been dead for more than four millennia, just like you!  You're nothing more than a ghost in a mask, borrowing the body of my sidekick to do your dirty work!  Soon as I  take off that mask...."

Once again Grandpa launched himself at the villain, but the oversized clown dodged him easily.  He produced another pie and hurled it, striking Grandpa in the side of the head.

By now people were gathering around them to watch the fight -- but these were those who had been driven mad by the villain's magic.  Their eyes were crazed, their faces white, and their noses red.  They all carried pies as weapons.  "Where in Hades are all these danged pies coming from?" Grandpa exclaimed in exasperation.

"Much as I'm loathe to admit it, they seem to appear as if by magic," said the professor.

Grandpa and the massive clown circled each other.  "Foolish old man!" the clown exclaimed, "I did not awaken from four thousand years of slumber only to one senile fool thwart me in my goals of conquest.  Soon the people of this town will form a new army under my command, and I will march across your country, making it my own!"

"If you think a few clowns can conquer America then you got a lot to learn about modern warfare," Grandpa snarled.  He swung again at the clown, who dodged.

"This world will be a much better place with me in control!" Bofforma exclaimed.

"Every dictator says that," Grandpa replied.  "Come to think of it, so does every presidential candidate, and we know how most of them turn out."

Another pie struck Grandpa in the face.  He clawed the creme and pastry away and lunged again.

"Why won't you submit?" the clown exclaimed, exasperated.  "Why are you immune to my powers?"

"That's obvious," Grandpa replied.  "We're the heroes!  It'd be a poor story if the heroes fell victim to the virus.  There'd be nobody left to save the day!"

"Rrrrrgh!" the clown screamed incoherently.  He produced a wooden chicken and swung it like a club.  Grandpa ducked beneath the fowl weapon and managed to lay a hand on the clown's face.  He ripped away the golden mask.

The clown stumbled back, a stunned look on his face.  His skin rippled like the surface of a pool once disturbed.  Like a slowly-deflating balloon, he began to morph and shrink.  In moments, he became a short, portly young boy in jean shorts, boots, and a white tee shirt with the phrase "I doubt skeptics exist" on the front.

The boy blinked.  "Grandpa?" he asked, then collapsed.

"We need to get him to the hospital...." Grandpa said, then paused.  He stared around them.  The people of the city had not changed with Bofforma.  They were still wild-eyed clowns wielding pies that were presumably still filled with the clown villain's virus.

"Check that," said Grandpa.  "Probably all the doctors and nurses are infected.  How do we cure the populace?"

"The question," said the professor, "is why are you and I immune?  I do not believe it is just because we are the heroes.  Grandpa, do you remember what we both ate for breakfast?"

"Same thing I always eat," Grandpa said.  "Strawberry pancakes."

"Right," said Professor Wolcott.  "And where did you get those pancakes?"

Grandpa stared down at a small silver lapel pin on his jacket, in the shape of a stack of pancakes.

***

"Order up, Grandpa!" exclaimed Professor Emily Wilfreda Wolcott.  "Four more plates of pancakes, pronto!"

The professor was dressed as a waitress.  The restaurant behind her was packed.  Grandpa Anarchy stood in the kitchen, wearing a chef's hat, and wielding a spatula -- but the stove was cold, and there were no strawberries present, no pancake mix, and no whipped creme.

He rubbed the silver lapel pin, and a plate of strawberry pancakes appeared.  They were hot and ready to eat.  He produced three more in the same manner.

"You know," Grandpa said, as the professor balanced two plates in each hand, "when that alien entity known as the Reality Bender gave me this magical lapel pin, I don't think it was so I could open up a Grandpa's Free Strawberry Pancakes restaurant.  In fact, I remember him saying that the pin would make me no more powerful than before...."

"But we know that the antidote properties of the pancakes were put there by the alien," said the professor.  "Of course he meant for us to use them, Grandpa!  The experts say most of the city has recovered thanks to us, and have you seen our Yelp reviews?  People love us!"

FINI