The Chucko Files

Being a journalist, there are many things that I have witnessed in this world. To every mystery I have come across, an answer has eventually present itself. To every crime a criminal, to every fire a spark. However there is one story that has plagued my mind for as many years as I have known it. A tale of a creature that is so purely evil that the mind struggles to classify it within known boundaries. The following case files are neither for the weak of heart, nor the delicate of faith. Read on only if you dare, for the tale may haunt your memories as it has mine. That being said, I submit to you:

The Chucko Files

In my younger days as an aspiring journalist, I found myself traveling through the wooded Northwest state of Oregon. I made myself some friends and I made myself some enemies. I rubbed shoulders with the rich, the eccentric and the lewd. Nothing, I thought, could shock me. Oh, how wrong I was.

It was a quiet evening as I arrived at a small hippie commune known to the locals as Eugene. The rain drizzled lightly as I carried my luggage to my temporary place of residence, a building called McAllister Hall. Within these walls there were people from all walks of life, a potpourri of faces, opinions and ambitions. Surely, I thought, I would be able to find my first big scoop, the story that would get me noticed in the world. If I knew then what I know now, I would have turned my inexperienced mind around and sent it right back out the door. Alas, what's done is done.

Of those residing within the dormitory, many were good people. Their hearts were in the right place and their minds were open to gather what the world had to offer them. One individual struck me in particular, a young student of architecture named Mike.

Mike was a clever young man, who was both highly innovative and affable. Consider the following case points, all of which refer to inventions he created to benefit himself and those around him:

Example 1: Beer Holder - By combining a jacket hood with some fishing string, hands must no longer be kept busy holding beverages, allowing one to intoxicate oneself while going about daily activities.


Example 2: Cigar Bong - With the simple addition of eight water bottles and a milk jug, a six inch cigar becomes a ten foot smokestack.

Example 3: Chair of Hilarity - By combining a common household lawnchair with a nearby ocean, Mike was able to demonstrate that the properties of physics are both hilarious and destructive.

Such an interesting individual, I thought. While his inventions were intriguing, he seemed in no way out of the ordinary. That is, until later that day.

While out on my nightly stroll, I came across a scene of infamy. In a nearby ally, two seedy looking fellows were partaking in some shady doings. I watched in horror as illicit items were exchanged for money. However, this fear could not compare to what I felt moments later, when I realized that the man purchasing the items was none other than my new pal Mike.

Worried that he would see me, I slipped away back to my room, where I reviewed in my mind what I had seen. Later that evening, I decided to confront Mike about the incident. To my surprise, he seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. He told me that he had been out drinking earlier, but he returned home without having taken part in any such incident. He was very convincing, however something seemed off. My journalistic sense was tingling. There's more to the story than he is letting on, I thought to myself, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

Several days passed and my mind began to drift away from the subject. I had begun to believe that perhaps I mistook him for another, thus leaving me to explore other options for my story. I felt bad for the false accusation and invited Mike to join me at the river for a beer, as the sun was shining well that day.

Mike, I found, was a very intelligent and well spoken young man. He was open to discussing a wide range of ideologies and beliefs, all of which he had informed opinions on. At one point in our afternoon outing, he picked a selection of flowers and explained the contribution each color made to the collective bunch.

Following this analysis, Mike began to chug at his beer in a way that I had thought only to be possible in movies. Within moments, the 40 ounces of malted beverage were gone, and everything suddenly became chaotic.

"Mike, what are you doing?" I inquired as he consumed his bouquet.
In a deep, guttural voice, he responded, "There is no Mike, only Chucko!"
Following this, Mike... or Chucko... jumped to his feet and yelled something along the lines of "Enjoy your birthday, bitch!" This seemed odd, as it was not my birthday. With that, he took off running into the woods.

I returned to the dormitory and, later that day, found that Mike had no recollection of meeting with me at the river. I could tell I was dealing with a strange force, one with powers I did not understand. Mike appeared to be suffering from some sort of a personality disorder... but maybe it was something more. My quest for answers led me to the University of Oregon Library.

Hours passed as I scoured the archives for any reference of a Chucko or some sort of related disorder. My search led me to no conclusive answers. As I worked through the list of sources, I eventually came to the last entry, a children's book located in the back of the library. I figured it was a longshot, but decided to take a look nonetheless. What I found nearly blew my mind.

The book was old, much older than any I had come across before. It was bound in flaking leather and contained pages that had yellowed with age. I took it back to my desk and opened it to find that it had been written in the early 1960's, an era long since past. Flipping through it, an image suddenly caught my attention. There was a picture of a man who radiated pure evil. A man who's very existence shook the foundations of my understanding of humanity. As I gazed into the picture, I recognized his eyes. I had seen them before... that day at the river, and again in the back ally. Eyes of a man with no conscience, no fear or remorse. Eyes of a monster.

Chucko was his name. Chucko the Birthday Clown. There was little info to accompany the photograph, other than that Chucko was featured on a television show during the 1950s. So what was Mike's connection to this twisted clown? And why was it that the young college student seemed to assume his identity after having consumed massive quantities of alcohol? Further research was necessary. To find answers, I would have to delve into a world of darkness. A world where laws of morality, of decency and integrity, no longer apply. Yes, I would have to turn to the World Wide Web if I was to discover the truth behind Chucko the Birthday Clown.

A google searched proved to be fruitful, as many websites dedicated to the madness of Chucko quickly arose. Very few of them were useful, however, as they did little else than mention his ill-fated television show. The more that I read, the harder it was for me to draw a connection between Chucko and the man that lived down the hall from me. That is, until I came across the following:

(from http://www.tvparty.com/lostlachucko.html)

Grants Pass, I thought, was not too far from my current location. It appeared as if Chucko had found a way to return to the living and propagate his message of evil around the state of Oregon. Somehow, he had made his way into the mind of my friend Mike. But what exactly was it that he was doing back on Earth? And how was it that he could posses Mike's body? This was a mystery that I was going to get to the bottom of, no matter the consequence. I ran to a local market for supplies, then returned to the dormitory.

I found Mike at his desk attending to his student responsibilities. From my tote bag I retrieved a bottle of wine I had obtained from a local vendor. I offered him a drink, suggesting that it was some non-secular holiday, and he snatched it from my hands and immediately went to work.

As he consumed the fermented beverage, I snuck out the door of his room to await the transformation. Upon my return, I saw a sight that froze me in my tracks:

Pure, unaduterated chaos. It was clear that Chucko had re-emerged and, wielding a manikin head on a stick, had begun some sort of clownish ritual. He would only speak to me in gibberish, although whatever he was saying was said in a very confident tone. He pointed an accusatory finger as he said these things, then threw down the empty wine bottle and ran from the room.

Following this bizarre episode, Mike did not return for a week. He had scrapes and bruises all over his body, and he had no recollection of where he had vanished to.

In the years to follow, Chucko would make an occasional appearance when Mike would enjoy a few too many alcoholic beverages. Perhaps the alcohol loosened his mind enough to allow something like the spirit of a dead clown to enter and inhabit it. However, this is only one of many theories that I have developed over the years, as no clear answer has presented itself. Despite my lack of answers, I have recognized several traits that seem to remain constant with each of Chucko's appearances:

Example 1: Alcohol Causes Chucko to Emerge:



Example 2- The Accusatory Point and Stare Means Trouble is Coming:





Example 3: The Emergence of Chucko Guarantees Chaos:

All of my encounters with Chucko have been similar to the ones described above, however his evil agenda has never become clear. It seems that the creation of general chaos is his only goal during any of his appearances, but perhaps there is a grander picture that is eluding me.

I have since left Eugene, partially because I had feared that my crusade for answers would eventually consume me. Perhaps one day I shall return to the town, in which Mike still resides, however I fear what may result from further investigations. If you, daring reader, ever find yourself in the Northwest, beware. Stay inside after dark and avoid local bars and speak-easys, for I hear that on a moonless night, following a football game or some such event, Chucko the Birthday Clown can still be seen roaming the streets of Eugene propagating his message of chaos.