The Tattered Cape, The Sixth Thread
Featuring: Clyde Fox   Date: 02/20/11   Event: WorldWide 146
A round table meeting to end all round table meeting...

Over a rather large, long, rectangular table.

The grain of the oak table isn’t as smooth as it’s supposed to be. Though, the stain-dipped wood does boast an impressive array of Gothic carvings along the trimmings. The room it sits in is less than presentable. Years of caked on dust corrode an otherwise potent space. It’s as if this dining room had been sectioned off from the rest of a creepy old mansion, just so it could have that musky historical museum feel to it. Yum.

Blunt silver accessories clutter the fuck out of the room. From the silverware to the gigantic mirror stapled to the wall, everything screams tacky. Suddenly, the tall wooden door creaks open. A child that couldn’t be any older than about nine hops on in.

"Tee hee hee," The boy chatters as he skips about.

The nighttime backdrop casts large shadows throughout the dimly lit room. Shadows that a nine-year-old boy shouldn’t find so delightful to play around. The door fiercely slams shut behind him!

"Huh!?" The boy turns around, startled.

He notices the door handle continually turning, yet the door is static in its closed position. The young lad motions to grab the handle just as a thin substance coats the dull brass. The boy pulls his hand away before touching the mystery liquid.

"Hehe," He chuckles, almost pleased.

The boy continues to jump around the empty dining room without fear. That same door creaks back open as a bright eyed and brightly dressed Clyde Fox walks in. He’s decked out in a bright yellow t-shirt, white jean shorts and a pair of flip-flops, reminiscent of his former fun loving self.

"Whoa," He states as he walks into the room, head skyward.

The baby faced Clyde Fox does nothing more than politely find a seat at the table. The door slams shut, grabbing both occupants attention. After looking at the door for a moment, the boy shifts his head towards Clyde. He drags his feet slowly, on his over to Clyde.

He stops.

"Hi," The boy introduces.

Clyde takes a moment, swallows and then replies.

"Hi," Clyde replies.

Awkward silence.

"Hi," The boy repeats himself.

Clyde doesn’t reply as he stares back at the young child. With their eyes locked, the young boy slants his head. The edges of his lips begin to curl into a smile. His eyelids shift downward, leaving his eyes about half open.

"My name is Clyde," The boy says.

"I can see that," Bright eyed Clyde replies immediately, eclipsing the end of the boy’s sentence.

Just then, the door swings wide open. Yellow shirted Clyde can’t help but look over as a rugged, dark, and omnipresent figure steps in. His thick leather heels seemingly shatter the wooden floor planks with each step he takes. The clanging of silver chains echo throughout the room. This sends the child into an uncontrollable frenzy of chuckles. He celebrates by jumping around the room.

"Hehehehehe! FUCKING BLOODY DEER GUTS! FUCKING BLOODY DEER GUTS!" The kid rallies, skipping around the room.

The high pitch voice of a nine-year-old should definitely never chant something of that nature. Nonetheless, the third figure, tattered cape and all, steps in. A quadrant of moonlight catches his face and reveals to the room that it is Clyde Fox. A much bolder, volatile, and ruthless version. Heck, this one is even sprouting what could be easily mistaken as a five o’clock shadow.

"You take it and shove it up their anal sphincters! It can rain blood over the entire town!" The twisted child rambles on as he goes to a corner of the room.

The yellow shirted Clyde presses his spine against the back of his chair as hard as he can. His eyes are especially wide now. They were wide before, but they contained joy and happiness. Now, they are filled with fear and disbelief. The door slams shut behind Clyde. He takes his sweet time before pulling out a chair from across the way of his nicer self. He is seated.

"I’ll fucking cut you up!" The boy threatens as he starts to rock back and forth in the dark corner, "I will hunt a deer down. I will sever its jaw from its live body and I will chew your leg off with it. Then I will shower my pale skin in your blood and pour your bodily fluids into my eyelids!"

Clyde remains seated at the table... saying nothing. The Clyde Fox directly across from him refuses to flinch even though his spine is in a great deal of pain. Finally, the door opens one last time. A timid, shy brown haired boy steps in. With his legs almost trembling in fear, the boy’s soft blue eyes scan the desolate dining room.


The door crashes shut behind him. The young lad turns back and notices the doorknob continually turning. Instead of reaching out for it, he slowly backs away until...


"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Clyde turns and shouts at the trembling child.

The kid falls to his rear after accidentally backing up into Clyde’s chair. The racket causes the troubled boy in the corner to stop and stare. Bright eyed Clyde looks up, almost shooting spite towards the darker one with eyes.

"Good! I’m glad you fell!" Clyde professes from his seat.

The boy starts to cry.

"Tee hee hee," The creepy child in the corner laughs.

"I am nothing like you. I have to be completely separated from you!" Clyde continues.

Wide-eyed Clyde finally opens his mouth. But nothing comes out. He couldn’t even squeak if he wanted to. The darker, more current Clyde glances over and catches him with his mouth open. Bright eyed Clyde quickly shuts his trap and carries on as if his mouth was never open.

"What?" The particularly emo Clyde questions, "What is it? Do you have something to say? I saw your mouth was open. You must have something to say. Stop being a weak pussy and say what’s on your mind."


Clyde rises from his chair. He turns back to the weak legged boy still on the ground. Clyde viciously grabs him by the neck and holds him up high in the air. The boy struggles to collect air in his lungs as he opens and closes his mouth with haste. He weakly claws at Clyde’s power grip with no resolve.

"If you can’t fucking speak then there is no point to this meeting. Because now... is your chance," Clyde warns.

Silence. Bright eyed Clyde isn’t so bright eyed anymore. His head sinks as he begins to stare at the ground beneath the table.

"Very well then," Clyde finalizes as his grip tightens to its maximum strength.

There are no gasps, no sounds, and no reactions. The boy slowly goes limp. His life has been taken. Clyde gently places the dead body on the ground. The boy lays sprawled out like a ventriloquist dummy that had fallen off a table.

"This is going swimmingly well," Clyde comments.

He turns back to his head-drooped counterpart.

"Oh great. Just great. Perfect," He says, "Now you’re all depressed and shit. At least this is somewhat going in chronological order."

Clyde walks over to the side of the other one’s chair. Clyde bends over, right into the other one’s ear like an arrogant, cocky son of a bitch.

"You know I can’t ever believe we were the same person. And to be honest, I can’t ever believe I changed. I should have been this from the start. You need to realize that the world isn’t all dandy and bright. You need to grow the fuck up and realize that the world is a dark, cold and unforgiving place," Clyde whispers.

The boy in the corner ever so slightly crawls out from the corner a few inches at a time.

"You need to know that I despise you," Clyde strikes...

"That I fucking hate you."

And with that, Clyde gracefully places a bag over the other one’s head. There is no resistance, no struggle at all. It takes less than mere moments before his yellow shirt changes to a red shade. Clyde releases the hold of the bag and stands tall.

"That was hardly a discussion at all. What pushovers," Clyde reviews.

There he stood; in the middle of the creepiest room he’s ever been in. And yet, Clyde isn’t scared. He’s not trembling. He’s not feeling anything at all.

"Tee hee," The boy chuckles from just outside of the corner.

Clyde smiles back at the boy.

"You like that, don’t you, Clyde?" Clyde chuckles back.

The boy nods his head as he rises to his feet. He walks over to Clyde and stares up at his evil eyes. Clyde remains standing for a brief moment before going down to the boys level on one knee.

"You know," Clyde starts, "I have a secret I’m going to share with you. Because... you and I are so very alike."

The boy nods his head in anticipation.

"I’m going to do something so huge... so big... I’m going to become permanently... evil." Clyde rules.

The boy smirks once more. But before he can hop off around the room again, Clyde grabs him by the arm.

"That doesn’t mean you get to get away," Clyde smiles.

Clyde immediately breaks the boys arm by twisting it out of its socket. The boy’s face is overcome with pain just before Clyde picks him up by the waist and rams him head first into the wall, compressing his entire body.

Fox drops the dead weight on the floor like a slinky. He turns and notices the moonlight glaring off of one object in particular.

A sewing machine.

Clyde lowers his head ever so slightly before untying the cape from around his neck.

"It’s time," Clyde whispers, "It’s time to forge my true identity... with another thread."

He walks towards the sewing machine, dragging the dead boy by the arm behind him.

View Clyde Fox's Biography