A moment before the horror begins.
Imagine two ruthless creatures, each a child’s worst—and often last—nightmare. The first fiend
is a shape-shifting monster. He terrorizes and devours children in the guise of Pennywise, an evil clown. Pennywise gained public attention in a book by a famous American author. The book is purported to be fiction, but this was a ruse to hide the author’s desperate fear of the main character, Pennywise. Alas, the child-eating clown is all too real.
Our second nightmare is the officially sanctioned kidnapper and imprisoner of children, the notorious Child Catcher. This greasy villain from the land of Vulgaria came to notoriety in the documentary film Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang.
An ocean separates these two terrors, and we must be grateful for this small blessing. For if these monsters should ever meet… No! It is too horrible to contemplate!
A forlorn campfire flickers in the darkness of a vacant lot. Beside the fire sits a bony man dressed all in black. Upon his head, a black concertinaed opera hat over greasy black locks that fall to the shoulders of his black frock coat. An enormous black bow at his neck, black vest buttoned tight, black trousers tucked into dusty black riding boots. Black gloves cover his hands. Swathed as he is, only his face remains visible.
Firelight illuminates a cruel countenance: corpse-pale skin, gleaming dark eyes, a narrow mouth twisted into a perpetual sneer. But it is the nose that dominates, a protruding obscenity ending in a bulbous knob. The nose appears to be sniffing, always sniffing, though the dark figure sits still as a statue.
Suddenly, the man mutters to himself, jabs a stick into the fire, and stirs the coals. The flames flare higher, revealing the shadowed bulk of a black Maria. The four-wheeled coach is no more than a rolling cage with a high front bench for the teamster. The cage is empty. A lone horse stands beside the coach, munching oats from its nosebag.
The man in black curses, throws the stick into the fire. As if in answer to his curse, a heavy steel clang resonates just beyond the circle of firelight, followed by a hideous wheezing and heavy footfalls. In an instant, the man beside the fire is on his feet, brandishing a long hook with a club-like wooden handle.
He snarls out a challenge, each word articulated like a barb.
“Who are you? How dare you disturb my camp?”
A towering figure clad in white appears at the edge of the firelight. A frantic, squeaky voice pierces the night.
“Hello-hello-HELLO, kids. It’s me, yer old pal Pennywise.”
Its next words come in a wheezing growl.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my patch?”
The man in black draws himself up, the better to sneer down his elongated nose.
“I, sir, am the Child Catcher, as if it’s any business of yours.”
“Ohhh, La-Dee-Fucking-Dah.”
With that, the thing called Pennywise steps into the light. It, or he, is a fever-dream vision of a clown, a mountain of dirty-white ruffles piled upon more ruffles. Three red blob buttons lead up to a leering mask of white and red face paint. Its forehead is impossibly high and wide, topped with a corona of flame-red hair. Two red streaks of paint bisect its malevolent eyes.
Pennywise raises a white-gloved hand and points at the man in black.
“I asked youze a question, Child Catcher. What are you doing on my patch?”
The Child Catcher rolls his eyes to the stars.
“Firstly, I did not know that this was anyone’s patch, as you so drolly refer to it. Secondly, had I known, I would not have cared. I go where I will.”
Pennywise grins, revealing a mouthful of cruel teeth.
“Is that so, Mister High-and-Mighty? I could bite you in half, but I ain’t hungry at the moment. Where the hell did you come from, talking all posh like that?”
“I come from Vulgaria, if you must know.”
“Where that, then?”
“Far from here, on the other side of the ocean.”
“How’d ya get here?”
“I flew here. In a balloon. Or rather, under it.”
“What, paddy wagon, horse, and all?”
“It was a large balloon.”
Pennywise emits a high-pitched laugh, eeee-eeee-eeee, like air squeaking out of a balloon. Then another growled question.
“So, you catch kids, do ya?”
“Indeed, hence the name. I was the official Child Catcher to Baroness Bomburst. No children were allowed in Vulgaria. I caught the little brats and locked them up.”
Pennywise taps his chin with gloved fingers.
“Interesting. We’re sorta in the same line of work. Did this baroness eat the kids you caught?”
For a moment, the Child Catcher looks surprised.
“Certainly not. She hated children.”
“Seems a waste to me. I eat the little buggers.”
Child Catcher’s sneer breaks into a lurid smile.
“You don’t say? Why don’t you pull up a crate?”
Pennywise shrugs a mountain of ruffs.
“Sure, don’t mind if I do.”
The clown pulls a plastic crate from a pile of rubbish and plops it beside the fire. He waves a hand at Child Catcher’s crate.
“After you.”
Child Catcher hesitates. Pennywise sighs.
“Together, then.”
Eyeing each other like predators, they both sit. An awkward silence lingers until Child Catcher breaks it.
“So, you called this your patch. Am I to understand you live in this town?”
“Yeah, under it.”
Pennywise points to the ground.
“In the sewers.”
“Ah, I see. A good lair, is it?”
“Yeah, the best. I can pop out anywhere in town, snatch a kid, and be gone before the screaming starts.”
“The screaming is so lovely, isn’t it?”
“You said it. So, how’d you end up here? Did the baroness give you the sack?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The sack, you know, fired, given the boot.”
“No, nothing like that. There was a revolution, you see. Rabble-rousers incited the peasants. The fools rose up, pitchforks and torches, that sort of thing. The ingrates actually chopped off the baroness’ head, if you can believe that.”
“Let me guess. You figured a change of scenery was good for your health.”
“Indeed I did, and swiftly, too. I purloined the last Vulgarian balloon and made my exit. That is how I ended up here in the New World.”
Pennywise bares his jagged teeth in a grin and offers a white-gloved hand.
“Then let me welcome you, sorta one professional to another.”
A flicker of surprise crosses the Child Catcher’s narrow face. A moment passes, then he shakes the proffered hand, black glove and white glove joined. Handshake complete, another awkward silence ensues. Pennywise appears perplexed. Then he nods to himself and poses another question.
“Say, what do folks call you when you’re off-duty?”
Now it’s the Child Catcher’s turn to be puzzled.
“You know, I really cannot say. It has been so many years; I do not recall any name save for my title.”
“Well, it’s a bit of a mouthful, meaning no offense. Hey, I know! How about Catch? That’s short and sweet without losing nothing.”
“Hmmm… Catch. Yes, I think I rather fancy that. A quick name for a quick new land. That will do nicely. Thank you, Pennywise.”
“Ah well, you’re welcome, Catch. And I gotta say, I love your look. Black top hat, black suit, that’s classic villain right there.”
“You’re too kind. And may I add that the grimacing clown suits you.”
Pennywise shrugs his ruffed shoulders.
“This old thing? Hell, I can change my look whenever I want. Whatever some poor slob is most scared of—Bingo!—that’s what I am. I keep the clown look for the brats. Scares ‘em half to death. A’course, I takes care of that second half myself.”
Pennywise slashes a finger across his throat to make his meaning clear. Both men erupt into jolly laughter. When their merriment finally subsides, Catch leans forward.
“Tell me, when you say you can change your look, do you mean a new costume, or… “
Pennywise waves away the thought.
“Naw, not like that. I mean really change, boom! You want a little demonstration?”
“Oh, yes please, if it’s not too much bother.”
“Right. Never done a foreigner before, but I’ll give it a shot.”
Pennywise spreads his arms wide, tilts his head, and winks. The evil clown dissolves in a blur. A heartbeat later, the blur solidifies into a seven-foot-tall Margaret Thatcher sitting primly atop a plastic milk crate. More than a vision, it is the Iron Lady herself, complete down to her tell-tale smirk, domed forehead, helmet hair, and trademark string of pearls.
Catch recoils in horror, almost toppling off his perch. Several terror-filled heartbeats later, the giant Thatcher blinks, blurs, and the leering face of Pennywise the clown reappears.
“Ta-dah! So, what do you think?”
Recovering himself, Catch reaches up and doffs his opera hat.
“I salute you. That was truly frightening, and I do not frighten easily. Perhaps not the most terrifying thing I could imagine, but very close nonetheless.”
Pennywise mimes an exaggerated shrug.
“Well, like I said, I ain’t never done a foreigner. But you really liked it?”
“Liked it? It was superb! You possess an amazing talent, my friend.”
“Shucks, that means a lot to me, coming from someone like you. You know, changing shape always makes me hungry. I could do with some grub, and you look like you could use a good feed. What say we mosey into town and snatch a few kids?”
“That is a kind offer, but I must admit I have never eaten one of the brats. My job was to capture them, cart them to the castle, and lock them up. But I am curious. How do you prepare the little monsters? What I mean is, do you stew them, or fry them, or perhaps bake them into a pie?”
Pennywise grimaces.
“Naw, none of that. I eats them raw, while they’re still alive and wriggling. Sort of like kid sushi, you might say.”
“Really? Raw and bloody?”
Pennywise nods emphatically and continues.
“It’s the only way, Catch. But there’s a trick. You gotta salt the meat. The real flavor comes from fear, see? That’s the spice. I pick the brat I want, then I stalks them until they’re pure terrified. Pumps ‘em full of adrenaline. They tastes way better that way. Works every time. I’m telling ya, you gotta try it. No sweeter meat on earth.”
“How very interesting. You have sparked my curiosity.”
“Glad to hear it. But share and share alike. I showed you mine. What secret talents you got hidden up your sleeve?”
Catch smirks, raises a black-gloved finger to his face, and taps his jutting honker.
“It’s the nose, Pennywise. This nose can sniff out any child within a quarter mile. It matters not whether the brat is hiding behind wood, stone, or even beneath the earth. Not only that, but my nose will also discern between boy or girl, and even give me a good guess as to their age, give or take a year.”
“Damn, that’s impressive. Go on, give it a go. Where’s our nearest snack?”
“Very well, since you honored me with such a vivid demonstration, I will reciprocate.”
Catch stands, tilts back his head, closes his eyes, and sniffs the night air. He swivels in place, left, right. For a long moment he is still, then his eyes pop open. His right arm snaps forward, index finger trembling like a compass needle.
“That direction, three furlongs, a boy, nine or ten years old. No other children around him.”
Pennywise springs to his oversized feet and races around the fire. He is a head taller than Catch and must lean down to sight along the smaller man’s arm.
“I’d say you got the direction right, but I never heard of a furlong. What’s that in regular measures?”
Still pointing, Catch calculates.
“Six hundred yards and a bit more.”
“Ah-ha! Damned if you ain’t spot on. I know that house. Last one on the edge of town. Billy Trebber, horrible little brat. Only child, ten years old. Plump kid. Had my eye on him, but I can’t get close to him.”
Pennywise shakes his head, circles the campfire, and plops down on his crate. His painted mask takes on an expression of despair, which Catch does not fail to notice. He drops his arm, lowers himself to his perch, and peers across the fire at the fearsome clown.
“You’re suddenly glum, Pennywise. What troubles you?”
Pennywise heaves a deep sigh and waves a gloved hand.
“I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”
“I assure you, it is no burden. Tell me. Perhaps I may be of some assistance.”
“Well, shit, it’s like this, Catch. Things are tough these days. It’s all this new-fangled technology. I don’t know how things was back in your country, but here, damn near every one of these brats is packing a smartphone. Anything happens, they call mommy and daddy quick as a wink. And don’t get me started about this new crop of parents. They even got a name for ‘em. Call them helicopter parents, ‘cause they hover over their rug rats every second of the day. I tell ya, it makes it damn hard for a fella to sneak up on one of the little maggots.”
Catch ponders these unfamiliar and ominous concepts. This new world is full of challenges he’s never dreamed of. He will surely need to learn the lay of the land if he is to survive.
As if reading his thoughts, Pennywise jerks upright and smashes a gloved fist into his palm.
“Damn me if I don’t have an idea.”
The clown grins a mouthful of jagged teeth and points across the fire at Catch.
“I gotta tell ya, at first glance, I figured you for a trespasser, but now I reckon I’m seeing an opportunity.”
“What sort of opportunity?”
“Well, I’m just spitballin’ here, but I’m talking about a partnership. You and me, working together. You handle the topside, the streets and such, while I work the sewers. We hit those brats from above and below. Yeah, might work. What do you think, Catch?”
The Child Catcher feels a tingle of hope. Fleeing Vulgaria left him alone and rudderless. Perhaps this is the chance he’s been searching for. And yet, the idea of working with another is difficult to imagine.
Catch chooses his words carefully.
“The idea is intriguing, I must say. My only concern is that I have always worked alone, as I think is true for you.”
Pennywise nods and waves a finger in the air.
“I hear what you’re saying. Truth is, times are tough. We could try it on a trial basis, like a test run sort of thing. If it don’t work out, no hard feelings. How does that sound?”
“Perhaps a trial would be wise, but I must admit that I have hopes we can come to a working agreement. To be perfectly honest, I have not had much luck finding a place for myself here in this new world.”
Pennywise spreads his arms wide and grins.
“I can help you there, Catch. But I’m willin’ to learn any new tricks you can teach me, too. Old dogs, right? Look, I say we split everything right down the middle, fifty-fifty. Whatever kids we don’t eat, we keep ‘em caged up for later. If things get hot, we move on to the next town, take the show on the road, so to speak.”
“Very well, you can count on me. When shall we start?”
Pennywise springs to his feet and points toward the sleeping town.
“No time like the present, partner. I’m ready if you are.”
“Do you know, I have never felt more ready.”
Catch is on his feet and heading for his horse. Pennywise jumps to help, holding the shafts while Catch backs the beast into the traces. When the horse is harnessed, Catch beckons to the high teamster bench.
“We shall ride together, Pennywise. What is our destination?”
“I say we start with that little bastard Billy Trebber. As soon as we get in sight of the house, I’ll drop into the sewer. You lure him out, and I’ll be waiting down below to snatch the brat. An eyeful of you and me will scare the bejesus out of him. Oh, I can taste that sweet meat already.”
The two new compatriots climb aboard the wagon and settle on the narrow bench. Catch snaps the reins. The wagon lurches once, twice, then begins to roll forward. Then they are gone, leaving only an empty circle of firelight.
A long heartbeat later, a high-pitched squeal pierces the stillness.
“Hello-hello-HELLO, kids. Here we come, yer old pal Pennywise, and yer new pal Catch.”
