Storymania - The Laughing by Zachary Taylor

The Laughing (3)
Zachary Taylor

“Don’t worry,” said the clown. “You’re just going to be one of us now, sucker! Besides, it isn’t all that bad. In fact, you might like it.”
The man released his shoulders, and dropped to the ground. His body shook like he was having a seizure. Alice gasped, and walked towards Fortunato. Garibaldi backed away some. The man shook violently, making ungodly strange noises. He then burst into maniacal laughter; he sat up, laughing to the point where his stomach hurt. He hunched forward, pointing to Garibaldi, then Fortunato. His features began to change. His nose turned round and red. His mouth transformed into a gigantic white smile, outlined by reddish human flesh-tones. White patches formed over his eyes, the lashes and lids outlined in black. His black hair grew long and changed its color to red. His feet grew monotonous, his shoes becoming red clown shoes. White gloves covered his hands, and a gray derby popped onto his head. His laughing subsided as his transformation was complete. He donned a spraying pink flower on his coat.
He stood erect, surveying the three onlookers. Fortunato had the strangest feeling of deja-vu; the new clown before him strangely resembled Rainbow’s behavior. Fortunato watched the clown snicker, then erupt in laughter. He saw Garibaldi scratch his head, and Alice look on with shock. Fortunato exhaled his poisoning smoke, and then continued to watch.
“What’s your name?” he asked, pointing to the laughing clown.
The clown looked up. “My name? My name’s Franz!”
“What is so damned funny?” asked Garibaldi, gesturing with his hands. He watched as Franz hunched forward, slapping his knees.
“Funny? Why, the Tramp of course!” replied Franz. He pointed to Fortunato. “Do you see him? He looks so sad and depressed! THAT’S WHAT IS SO DAMNED FUNNY!” He laughs again. Fortunato crosses his arms, and grunts to get Franz’s attention.
“Mind I ask you why I am so funny?” he asked. “Is it my clothing? My speech? My smoking?”
“No,” replied Franz. “It’s....” he erupts in laughter again. “It’s your gullibility! Let me prove my point.”
Franz walked over to Fortunato, smiling evilly, staring at him with crazy green eyes. He placed his index finger on Fortunato’s chest.
“You have something spilled on you, sir,” said Franz.
“I don’t believe you and your pettiness!” boasted Fortunato.
“See for yourself, then!”
Fortunato looked down. The finger flew up, and smacked him in the nose.
Fortunato didn’t like the act; he saw Franz and the other two erupt in laughter. I guess it’s sort of funny. I just hate clowns who try to be funny.
“Hey, Tramp!” called Franz. “How many clowns does it take to change a light bulb?”
Oh good grief! Will he shut up? I have had enough with Rainbow.
“I don’t know. How many?”
“Five,” replied Franz. “One to hold the bulb in the socket, and the other four to spin him!” Everyone laughed except Fortunato.
Fortunato then began to grow infatuated with Alice. She was truly beautiful. She was young and elegant. Her laugh was golden and soft. Her smile sweet like candy corns, her voice soft like gummy bears. She laughed at him, but she also caught his gazing eye. She smiled at him; he smiled back. Soon, all sounds were blocked off, and it was just them. And while they stared lovingly at each other, their faces grew closer together, their lips pursed. He then kissed her tenderly, long and deep. It was a gorgeous feeling, but he retracted, and felt ashamed of his behavior. He walked towards the stairwell, grabbing Garibaldi (who was laughing hysterically) as he ascended the stairs.

X

There are two sides to every story, as there are two sides to every town’s history. And that is the facts in the case of Smile Town.
Smile Town was a series of big, square lots, surrounded by intersecting dirt roads. The lots were covered with fresh, green grass. Each lot also had many tents. The tents were striped, usually white and another color. The citizens of Smile Town lived in these tents; each tent housed usually four inhabitants. The tents were lined in vertical rows. The tents were in a lot all by themselves. There were children and their parents running about; there were gigantic elephants, tigers, and lions roaming around the grass; there were several kiosks selling cotton candy, lollipops, and lemonade. This lot was usually undisturbed, typically the “living quarters.”
The center lot housed a humongous red tent. The red tent was where the daily circus was performed. Children and their parents ran in and out of the flaps, day-in, and day-out. Here is where the chaos starts. Circus performances were highly regarded, but violent and scary. Clowns lit themselves of fire; some allowed themselves to be mauled by tigers and lions, or stomped to death by an angry elephant; there were acrobats who performed enormous feats, and pie-throwing competitions. The circus was a sanctuary to some, a nightmare to others. However, it was the “abode of the clowns,” the symbol of eternal humor and entertainment.
The other lots housed cars and some other tents. Besides the circus, there was a carnival. The carnival wasn’t as popular, mainly a sanctuary for the children. The carnival had Ferris-wheels, bumper cars, tilt a-whirls, roller-coasters, and concession stands. It was everything a child could imagine: everything they wanted, including games and hundreds of sugary snacks! The carnival was the typical hang-out for the Augustes (the circus was for the Pierotts). It was here that the sun never died; the constant clamor of annoying circus music rang on for hours. The fun never ceased or ran dry.
The Smile Town theater was situated in the back, a brick building with an auditorium. There was also another brick building, titled Smile Town University—clowns college, more or less. It was here that the arts of pie-throwing, slapstick, standup, and circus performances were practiced. It was mandatory that every clown living in Smile Town attend the university. If they refused, they were pied, and ejected from the town forever, and thus permitted to roam the roads in search of paradise. Railroad tracks ran on both sides. Summit Station was to the north. Each of the six platforms contained unicycles, which visitors used to travel to the town proper.
And while it seems like a fun place to be, in reality, it isn’t. Drive-by shootings occur occasionally. Large vans, rainbow-colored, drove on the dirt roads constantly. Six clowns would occupy each van, shooting at each other with shotguns and rifles as they skid and spun out of control. Then there were the “trumpet inspections”: a trumpet call would sound, and each tent was inspected, the animals cleaned. If inspection failed, the circus and carnival were cancelled. It was something dreaded, but mandatory and important.
Then there was the sickness and its victims.
The two jester brothers and Silenus stood by the exit to Platform Two. They stood by the unicycle, surveying the town. It was quiet, and by all means, a perfect time to strike!
“Ah, isn’t it beautiful?” said Feste, sniffing the air. “This is truly a majestic piece of art! Please, do enjoy the scenery! Now, where shall we begin?” He cupped his hand over his chin, raising a brow as he began to think.
“Shall we infiltrate the circus, brother?” suggested Montresor. “That would really fire them up! Yes! Let’s destroy the circus!” His eyes grew bright, and he too smelled the air.
“Sure, but I have a better idea!” Feste pointed his finger toward the orange and purple sky, and he smiled, looking sinisterly at Silenus. “He will do what we did to him! Understand?”
“I comply, brother! A brilliant plan!”
“He’ll turn this whole town into a massive silent movie! Then we’ll go after our adversary!”
Silenus smiled evilly also, and rubbed his hands together. He saw the jester brothers snicker, then they hopped onto the unicycle; Silenus was the driver, and the jesters sat on top of his shoulders. They headed toward the town, laughing in the distance.

XI

They stood at the entrance of the circus tent, and conversed.
“Shall we go inside?” asked Feste. “This will be the perfect place to infiltrate this town. What’s more fun than destroying a clown’s favorite abode?” Feste jumped for joy. He smiled vaguely, and then began to think again. “On second thought, shall we find our adversary?”
“We’ll find Pagliaccio after we cause destruction,” replied Montresor. He looked around, surveying the empty lots, to be sure there were no onlookers. Silenus sat on the unicycle, resting his head on the palms of his hands, frowning and bored. “There is no soul in sight! How diabolical!”
The sounds of circus music intensified in the crisp, cool air. They were the sounds of a merry-go-round far off in the distance. The orange clouds grew more purplish, and the moon began to shine. The smell of peanuts, funnel cake, cotton candy, and pancake syrup eroded the air. Feste thumped his foot repeatedly in impatience. Silenus sighed, still bored and frowning.
“I still say we shall enter the circus,” said Feste. “That’s where they’ll be if there is any chance of life lurking here.”
“Alright,” agreed Montresor. “Do we have an act?”
“Of course, brother,” offered Feste. “Don’t we always put on a good show? We are jesters.” His brows lowered, his smile curled. It was a look that was spooky and mockingly sinister. He whispered in his enigmatic brother’s ears. Both jesters snickered, and jumped up and down, clapping their hands. “Alright, Silenus,” called Feste. “Are you ready, dear mime?”
Silenus nodded yes. He jumped off the unicycle, his countenance distorting to madness. His smile grew wide, his eyes grew dark. Here was once a happy clown, full of life and joy, a clone of a child; and now, he’s a cold-blooded killing mime! Oh how revenge smells so sweet! He no longer thought of sweet, sugary candy or cigar smoke; he wanted blood and revenge. His heart was now a dark pool of evil, committed to destroying an entire town. And while the sickness did ensue, he was now an antibiotic, hell-bent on destroying its host.
The two jesters and the mime entered the parading circus. It was a nuance between life and death; a clown’s heaven and a clown’s hell.
They entered into a ring of chaos. There were thousands of happy, joyous clowns sitting on metallic benches, encircling a sandy pit. The clowns were laughing hysterically at the show’s performance. The lighting was dim, but golden, casting an eerie shadow throughout. They saw two elephants rearing up on their hind legs. The giant beats came crashing down, causing a miniature earthquake. Then came three fire trucks, equipped with three Augustes in firemen outfits. They sprayed both elephants with water, then gestured to the thrilled audience. Thousands of tomatoes and pies came flying forward, smashing into the gray behemoths. Then, the firemen sprayed them again. The whole process lasted for several minutes.
Then came the voice of the ringleader. He was dressed in a black overcoat, and a top hat; a Pierott with a mischievous smile and laugh.
“Let’s give it up for Janus and Lucie the elephants!” he boasted. The entire stadium erupted in applause and whistling. The ringleader silenced the crowd. “Now, for all of our wondrous clowns out there, have we a treat for you!” The ringleader walked toward the center of the pit, microphone in hand. He raised his hands toward the canopy of tent flaps and wires. “Everyone, please remain seated until further notice.” Murmurs ensued. The jesters and the mime had their eyes glued to the stage. The ringleader spoke. “Are we ready? Roar loud if you are!”
They did.
The entire audience erupted in applause and laughter. And, in several seconds, each member of the elliptic audience was hit in the face with coconut-cream pies and various vegetables. The jesters managed to evade the attack, but the mime was hit. A loud bang roared for miles, and hundreds of boxes containing animal crackers came crashing down to the bleachers. The jesters spoke among themselves:
“Now is the time to strike!” suggested Feste. “Shall we?”
“After you, brother,” replied Montresor. “Let’s accomplish our task. This will be great, I promise!”
They looked back at the mime. He was licking his face clean. He smiled when he saw them, and gave chase when they descended the steep stairs.
The lights went out. Screams roared aloud! Horrendous, blood-curling screams of fright! Women screaming, then men. Darkness engulfed everything. They were blind from the pie attack. They could see nothing. That is, until the lights popped back on.
The jesters stood in the center of the cruel pit, bowing and fancying their usual curtsey. Silenus bowed as well, then smiled, pressing his eyes closed hard. The audience gasped—not only at the sight of the mime, but at the ringleader, who was crushed beneath the footfalls of Janus the elephant. Some screams occurred, but then there was silence.
Feste spoke. “Greetings, clowns of yore!” He clapped his hands together in joy. “How are we all tonight?” He smiled, showing his bright, white teeth.
Crickets and toads sounded.
“Alright! It seems that we are shy,” he continued. “We will finish for you, the grand finale!” He pointed to the canopy of wires. His voice boomed in the microphone. “Silenus? Will you demonstrate?”
The mime stepped forward. His smile grew wider, curling perfectly. He rubbed his hands together one final time as he surveyed his victims. The ear-piercing scream of the microphone sounded; it was time to strike! Silenus raised his hands to the air, like a magician. His smile turned into a frown. He stretched his hands outward, and wiggled his fingers. Black strands burst from his fingertips, followed by a curtain of piercing white. Screams sounded a call for alarm; but everything: every sound, every atom of color, every scream and cry, virtually disappeared without a trace!

XII

All around the mulberry bush...
Fortunato stood by the exit to the station terminal, watching the orange sky turn dark and gloomy. The station had quieted some since his visitation, but he still dreaded the place. He stood by the lone unicycle, looking out toward the expanse of the quiet town. Lights flashed before his eyes as he spotted the circus tent; he saw the Ferris-wheel in the distance, circling forever in an elusive circle.
The monkey chased the weasel...
He sighed. Garibaldi was silent, sitting on the hot dirt of the road ahead. He was smoking on one of Fortunato’s cigars. He tried to keep from laughing about the episode of earlier, but he held it deep within his throat. He puffed black smoke into the air, and looked coolly at Fortunato.
“What’s the matter? Don’t like jokes?”
“No,” replied Fortunato. “It isn’t that. It’s just a game of cat and mouse; of monkey and of weasel.”
Garibaldi raised a brow to him.
Fortunato lit a cigar of his own, leaning on the unicycle. “I have been dreaming for years of adventure,” he continued. “And miraculously, my wish has come true. But why? I was chasing things all my life, looking for answers. I was the monkey. I was looking for a playmate or a friend. Strangely, I have found both. And now, I’m chasing an elusive weasel.”
Garibaldi inhaled smoke from his cigar. “Who’s the weasel?”
“An Auguste by the name of Rainbow,” he replied. “He tricked me into finding you. And now, I’m trapped in a parallel universe! He was the reason for my troubles of yore! And, while we only met briefly, there was something really strange about him.”
“And that is?” asked Garibaldi, curiously.
“His laugh,” replied Fortunato. “I have heard it somewhere before, but the origin is unknown.”
The monkey thought ’twas all in fun...
Fortunato never, in truth, heard the childish clown laugh. It was a bold-face lie. There was just something strange about his intruder, like he had seen him before; like he had felt his unnerving presence! It was a game. That’s all it was. A game. A game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Fortunato was on the receiving end—the donkey. He had to face the clown, and unmask the mystery of his sorrows.
Pop! goes the weasel.
Then, it hit him. It hit him like a hammer and a nail.
“The theater!” ejaculated Fortunato. “Where is it?”
“Out yonder,” replied Garibaldi. He pointed out to the expanse of the town, away from the circus tent.
“By the three-ring circus?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go! We must go there!” Fortunato hopped onto the unicycle.
“Why?” asked Garibaldi. He lifted himself up from the dirt, brushed himself off. He dropped his cigar, which fell to the dirt. “Why is that damned place bothering you?”
“It is where the shadows lie,” he replied.

XIII

Fortunato knew this place was haunted—he knew it all along.
He saw the town proper and its residents. Everything that he saw was colorless; a big portrait of black and white drawn upon canvas. Every clown that he saw was enjoying life to their fullest; however, their gapes were slow, their strides short. He heard no commotion! He heard absolutely no noise! No noise? How is that possible? What happened to this place? He saw everything as it was normally, just without life, color, and noise. No crying, no screaming, no laughing.
It was suddenly a dramatic paradigm shift. Fortunato hated obnoxious circus music and loud commotion. And now, some how, another wish he conceived mentally was granted. He saw clowns pretending to laugh as their jaws dropped open, their eyes closed, and tears formed; he saw “conversations” taking place. Eerily strange and bizarre it was. Wake up, Fortunato! This isn’t really taking place. But was it? He wasn’t so sure now. Everything seemed to have changed so drastically, ever since he stepped foot in that damned room.
He was standing on the black grass, facing the black circus tent. The flaps danced in the wind. He saw clowns enter the tent, and others exit. He saw children run past him, kicking a black ball. He saw adults feeding white-and-black tigers, and showering gigantic black elephants. Garibaldi stood next to him, his arms crossed, his face in an expression of disappointment and sorrow.
“What we have here is a circus of losers,” he said. “What has happened to all the color and sound? This is friggin’ impossible!” He grabbed tufts of his orange hair in his hands, and gasped. “Has the sickness mutated and gotten worse? It seems as if all the happiness was drained from its existence!”
“I agree,” said Fortunato. “Something strange and bizarre took its toll on this place. And it’s right under our noses. I feel it!”
And strangely, he was right. Right before his very eyes, he saw another transformation occur. All of the clowns in Smile Town ceased their daily activities, and stood lifeless in drunken stupors. They all became dizzy and exuberant. Their bodies lost proportion. They all became jelly-like substances, and liquefied. Fortunato stared long and hard at the scene, and Garibaldi froze in horror. The liquefied chemicals resurfaced, and formed new figures on the grassy earth. They saw mimes appear before their eyes—hundreds of them, all making gestures in the slight breeze of the afternoon!
The mimes stood in their regular positions. They were “making boxes, windows, and improvising objects” in the invisible air. They were dressed in black French berets, black-and-white striped shirts, black pants and shoes, and white gloves. They moved slowly as they gestured. None of them spoke a single word, or directed their attention to Fortunato or Garibaldi. Garibaldi himself was lifeless; he was frozen solid, his arms by his sides. Fortunato grunted, and lit another cigar.
You know, maybe this isn’t so bad. Then again, I am here for a purpose. The mimes are sending me a message. And as I stand here watching them, my anxiousness increases. Something has caused this. I have no idea what it is, but I have a feeling that whoever has done this (albeit that damned, childish clown), has a mission, much like myself. It is coming from the theater. It is there that I must go. However, something is unfinished here first.
For the very last time, Fortunato caught a glimpse of a familiar face.
He saw Silenus standing by the entrance to the circus tent; he realized that he, too, has lost his color. He was standing by the entrance, his arms crossed, his feet squared; he had an evil frown upon his impish face, his foreboding eyes staring long and hard at the Tramp.
“Well, hello,” greeted Fortunato. “We meet again, Rainbow! Where have you been on your travels?”
“Out looking for you; I want you dead, Tramp!” he lipped and gestured. He began to “draw” an object in the air, using his index fingers.
“Excuse me?” asked Fortunato. “I couldn’t understand you. It seems that you have succumbed to this evil. It seems that you have also lost your voice.” He inhaled the smoke from his cigar, and then exhaled. He smiled briefly, but then retracted. He was trying to be sarcastic, but it seems that the clown has lost his anger. He was stamping his feet on the grass, clenching his fists.
Fortunato eagerly watched this brief interval of violence. Silenus stopped, hunched forward, panting like a dog. He looked up at the Tramp, and then grew his sinister smile. He raised his arms above his chest, and mockingly tried to laugh. He wiggled his fingers, and aimed them at Fortunato. The Tramp saw this, and his eyes widened. His cigar dropped from his mouth as his lower jaw dropped open. Silenus stared long and hard into Fortunato’s eyes; he then released his powers. The black strands hit Fortunato. He dropped to his knees, holding his stomach, moaning from pain and agony.
Fortunato felt like he was being electrocuted. The zaps of energy burned his skin, statically charging his clothing. His eyes were closed shut. The pain was searing and painful. He felt like he was on fire. He moaned and groaned in pain and agony. He tried to open his eyes briefly. He thought he saw a silhouette of a Pierott come close, then retracts towards the unwilling clown. He thought he saw Silenus fall, but the pain didn’t cease nor stop.
He fainted.

* * * * *

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