Welcome to The Infographic’s Horrorpiece Theater!
Today we’re taking a look at another of the internet’s most famous urban legends-
Laughing Jack, the Demonic Killer- and exploring his origins to discover, was this hideous
monster real?
Could he be out there right now, probably behind you or under your bed this very second,
waiting to claim his next victim?
Stay tuned and find out!
It was Christmas Eve in the late 1800s.
In a small wooden home in the poor outskirts of London, Isaac, a seven year old boy, looks
wistfully out the window into the dark night.
He can still see families celebrating together through the grimy windows of the apartments
and homes around him, joyfully singing as they wait together in anticipation for the
Christmas morning to come.
In young Isaac's home though, there is no singing, no warmth, and no celebrating.
There is only the silence that normally pervades, silence that is only occasionally broken by
his mother's shrill voice calling for him to come and do some chore, or to attend his
daily homeschooling lessons.
That is, until inevitably, Isaac's father comes home.
He can always tell it's him by the heavy boot steps that follow the front door opening,
shuffling and erratic, his father wavering and stumbling as he throws off his heavy overcoat
and lurches towards a chair or straight to bed.
Sometimes he can hear his mother yelling at him, blaming him for spending their meager
income on alcohol and other vices.
He'll hear his father's thunderous response, and then the fighting really starts.
In the morning, Isaac would exit his room to join his mother for breakfast and discover
her with a black eye or some other fresh bruise.
Staring out at the happy homes and saying goodbye to the warm singing of Christmas tunes
from the families inside, Isaac retreated to his bed, covering himself with a threadbare
blanket and surrendering to sleep.
Shortly after sunrise, Isaac was awoken by a strange feeling.
His nose twitched at a pleasant fragrance in his room, almost like a perfumed lady had
walked by him on the street.
It was a comforting, pleasant smell, and familiar too.
He thought he'd even felt the soft brush of lips on his cheek, as if some flowered stranger
had kissed him good morning before disappearing into the ether.
Rubbing his eyes awake, Isaac found a large, garishly colored box sitting on his bedroom
floor.
This wasn't like any gift Isaac had ever received.
His possessions were all worn and battered, hand me downs from local churches and poor
shops, his toy’s paint faded from long, sad years of neglect.
No, this box was covered in fresh, bright paint and adorned with silly clown faces.
The wood was perfectly sanded and expertly joined together, only a very thin seam revealing
the lid on top with a small metal crank on one side.
Attached to the lid was a simple paper tag on which was written Isaac's name.
As he examined the box he noticed a small metal panel underneath: Laughing-Jack-In-A-Box.
Isaac was confused, he'd heard of Jack-in-the-boxes, but he'd never heard of a Laughing-Jack-In-A-Box.
Curious, Jack began to turn the metal crank and heard the turning of gears from within.
As the gears turned, a slow melody began to build, taking shape as Isaac sped up his cranking.
Isaac recognized this tune, it was “Pop Goes The Weasel”, and giddily, Isaac began
to sing along.
“Half a pound of tupenny rice, half a pound of treacle.
That's the way the money goes.
Pop!
Goes the weasel!”
Isaac was laughing along to his singing and winced as he finished the final verse, tensing
his body for the expected jack inside the box to come springing out!... but as the song
ended and Isaac stopped cranking, nothing happened.
Sighing, Isaac put the box back down on the floor.
It was wonderfully decorated, but broken.
As he changed out of his sleep clothes, Isaac was suddenly startled by a rattling noise
coming from within the box.
Eyes wide in surprise, Isaac stared as the box began violently shaking.
Then, suddenly the box top burst open with a puff of colorful smoke and an explosion
of confetti!
From the smoke, a figure hopped out, and bent at the waist into an exaggerated bow in front
of Isaac.
Dressed in colorful, and ill-fitting clothes, with bright red hair, and a swirly, rainbow-colored
nose, the foppish clown held his exaggerated bow before Isaac, before snapping back up
and spreading his arms wide.
“Come one, come all!
Whether big or small!
To see the best clown of them all!
The one, the only, Laughing Jack-in-a-box!”
Isaac's eyes went wide with delight, “Who- who are you?!”
“Why I'm your new best friend, Isaac!
I'm Laughing Jack, the bestest clown of all the bestest clowns that's ever clowned!
And you and I are going to be best pals for the rest of your life!”
“We can... play together?”
Isaac asked.
He'd never had a friend, and barely left his room out of fear of his abusive mother and
father.
“Play?!
Why, we can do more than play!
I know every game in the world, even the ones that haven't been invented yet!
And to boot, I'm a whiz at the accordion and know every song that's ever been sung!”
With a magical puff of smoke an oversized accordion appeared in the clown's arms and
he began to play the instrument, albeit very, very poorly.
His singing voice wasn't much better, but Isaac was delighted and fell over in laughter.
But then though, the fun and games came to an end as Isaac's mother called out for him.
Isaac told his new best friend that he wouldn't be able to play this morning.
There was homeschooling and endless chores to be done.
Maybe though, he could see him again tonight?, Isaac asked.
Laughing Jack smiled at Isaac, pinching him on the cheek.
“You can see me tonight and every day from now on, we'll be best pals forever.”
Smiling, Isaac hurried out of his room as his mother's voice again rang out, this time
louder and angrier.
That night Laughing Jack was true to his word, waiting for Isaac as he returned.
Isaac and Jack played together every chance they could, and no matter how loud they got,
Jack's magic kept Isaac's parents from hearing.
One day, unable to hold it in any longer, Isaac finally told his mother about his new
magical friend, but she just shushed him.
“Such things are fantasies, child, and you ought to keep such nonsense to yourself!”
Isaac was crestfallen, but as the afternoon neared he couldn't help himself, and pleaded
with his mother to come meet Jack.
Relenting, she followed Isaac to his room.
She opened the door and discovered... nothing!
No Jack, and no wonderfully colored wooden box either.
Isaac's mother gave him a swift smack across the face.
“I am tired of this childish silliness, now you're to stay in your room without supper
for the evening!”
The door slammed behind her leaving a dejected Isaac alone in his room.
“...I'm sorry, kiddo.”
Isaac turned to see Jack there.
“I'm not supposed to let anyone else see me, just you.
I'm sorry I didn't mean for you-” But Jack's words were cut off as Isaac threw himself
on the clown, wrapping his arms around him.
A giant smile spreading across his clown face, Jack hugged his best friend back, holding
him tightly as hot tears streamed down Isaac's cheeks.
Playing with Jack everyday, Isaac's loneliness and home troubles were soon forgotten.
One day though, as the two played pirates in the back garden, Isaac spotted the neighbor's
cat prowling across the grass.
“Ahoy, matey, we got ourselves an enemy spy off the starboard bow!
Snatch 'em up, First Mate Jack, or I'll make ye walk the plank!”, Isaac called out.
“Aye, aye, Capn', I'll pluck yonder bilge rat right outta tha' water!”
Jack's arms began to extend, reaching out and snatching up the terrified cat.
As the two laughed and giggled, going back and forth in their best pirate speech, Jack
became caught up in the game.
His arms continued to coil around the helpless cat, tighter and tighter until finally- snap!
The small, sharp sound stunned Isaac, and Jack quickly returned his arms to normal,
dropping the dead cat on the floor, its neck clearly broken.
Horrified, Jack gaped at the dead creature.
“...why, I...
I didn't mean to...”
But Jack's words were cut off by an uproarious laughter.
Isaac's cheeks flushed red as he laughed at the dead cat.
“Looks like cats really don't have nine lives!”
Nervously, Jack began to chuckle as well.
Isaac grabbed the cat and flung it over their fence and into the neighbor's yard.
That evening however, Isaac's father's thunderous voice summoned him from his room.
Jack pressed his ear to the door and listened but couldn't make anything save for Isaac’s
crying.
After what seemed an eternity, Isaac shuffled back into the room, closing the door behind
him.
The cat had been discovered and Isaac was blamed.
He was now to be sent off to a boarding school for unruly children where he would stay until
he finished his education.
His drunk father claimed it was to discipline Isaac, but he knew the truth- his father hated
him and had always wanted him gone.
If his mother had had objections, she hadn't voiced them.
Tearfully, Isaac bid his best friend goodbye, telling him that he would be unable to take
any of his personal belongings with him.
Jack returned to his box, promising to still be there when Isaac returned one day.
The weeks soon turned to months, and into years.
From within his box, Jack was still aware of the outside world, and despite the long,
disappointing wait for his best friend, couldn't help but perk up every time he heard the front
door open, hopeful it was Isaac.
But it never was.
It was Isaac's father coming home night after night, each it seemed drunker than the last.
As the years passed, Jack's colored makeup and clothing faded, along with his hopes.
The once colorful clown turned into a sad monochrome version of his old self, the memories
of his happy times with Isaac seeming more dream than reality now.
One night, there was the usual drunken sound of boots stumbling into the house, followed
by yelling and fighting.
This time though, Jack heard a scream, cut short by a swift, heavy thump- and Jack heard
Isaac's mother's voice no more.
The next morning the constable arrived with a squad of armed men, taking Isaac's father
away for the murder of his wife.
He too would be dead within the week.
The home lay empty and forgotten for what seemed an eternity after that, Jack aware
of every passing second in his lonely prison.
Suddenly, one night the sound of the front door opening raised Jack from his dreary vigil.
Expecting to hear the heavy, shuffling sound of drunken footsteps, Jack heard something
different instead.
Lighter footsteps, two of them, and the sound of a young woman's giggle.
Also, the voice of a man, familiar yet unrecognizable to Jack.
The duo entered Isaac's old room, and Jack immediately recognized his old best friend,
now a fully grown man.
Had it really been that long?
Jack couldn't believe it!
Just how much time had he spent in his lonely box?!
Jack called out to Isaac, “I'm here!
I'm right here, just like I said I'd be!”
But his voice echoed off the invisible walls of his prison, stuck as he'd been for years
on the top of a dusty old dresser.
Isaac and his new friend moved towards his old bed, and Jack's eyes narrowed.
Who was this person, taking Isaac's attention away from him?
Isaac had promised to come back, to set him free so they could dance and sing and play
together again and now here he was, after so many lonely years, but he was ignoring
Jack!
And it was all this woman's fault!
The two giggled together until the woman accidentally knocked a glass onto the floor, breaking it.
Isaac’s face suddenly changed, taking on the look of his dead father.
Isaac went into a rage, yelling and screaming at the woman just as his father had done to
his mother so many nights.
Jack listened to Isaac’s screams becoming louder and angrier until suddenly a THUMP
and then it was quiet.
A bloody candlestick was on the ground next to the woman,m who now lay dead on the floor.
After thirteen long years, a slow, thin smile began to spread across Jack's face.
“My, my, what a wonderful little game...”, Jack mused to himself.
Still forgotten on the shelf, Jack watched as over the next few days Isaac used his learned
skills as an upholsterer to fashion the remains of the young woman into a small leather chair.
Her tanned skin was turned into leather, stretched over a frame made from her own bones.
Everything else that remained of her was dissolved in caustic chemicals and poured into the sewer
to be washed away.
Over the next few weeks, Isaac grew his macabre collection of human furniture.
Sometimes it was rude children who had been nasty to him in public, abducted and dragged
back to Isaac's torture chamber in a large burlap sack.
Other times it was ladies of the night, paid for their services only to end up as another
piece in Isaac's collection.
The pain and loneliness of the little boy he had once been had festered in his heart,
fed by terrible abuse from the adults at his boarding school, and creating a terrible cancer
within him.
This malice slowly infected Laughing Jack as well, and he began to look forward to witnessing
fresh torture sessions, still trapped helplessly inside his box.
But Laughing Jack longed even more to play the wonderful new games Isaac had been teaching
him.
One night, the rough frame with restraints Isaac had fashioned for his victims collapsed
on one side, knocking into the forgotten dresser, now home to not just Jack's prison but an
array of torture implements.
Jack's box teetered for a moment, before finally falling with a crash onto the filthy, bloodied
floor along with some of Isaac's tools.
Curiously, Isaac entered the room, eyeing the collapsed frame with a sigh.
Picking up the ice picks, razors, and other torture instruments, Isaac's hands stopped
upon discovering the box.
How curious, he thought to himself, memories flooding back to him.
His rough, calloused hands worked over the forgotten box, its bright colors faded with
age, wooden panels warped with neglect.
The hand crank was still there though, and Isaac began to turn it for the first time
in over thirteen years.
That familiar song began to play, though distorted, the delicate gears inside rusted and worn.
Isaac couldn't help but sing along though once more, slow, and matching the tortured,
labored melody.
“Half a pound of tuppeny rice... half a pound of treacle... that's the way the money
goes...
Pop!
Goes the weasel...”
Isaac didn't flinch this time, as he had once in his youth.
He looked down at the box as the melody ground to a halt, then simply shrugged his shoulders,
and tossing the box to a dark corner of the room, busied himself with tidying up his torture
tools.
“..Issaaaaaaccccc...”
A low, rasping voice sent a deathly chill up Isaac's spine as he slowly turned to face
it.
Eyes wide in disbelief, Isaac couldn't believe it, there he was, Laughing Jack... or at least
some horribly twisted, shadowy version of himself.
The clown's fiery red hair was pitch black now, the outrageous colors and makeup faded
and monochrome.
His spiral red nose now shaped into a cruel spike, face the same deathly pale of Isaac's
victims.
“You... you can't be real, you were just imaginary!”
Isaac cried out, feeling the same growing terror that many of his victims must have
felt.
“Oh, I'm real, Isaac, I always was.
Remember, best buds, you and I, for the rest of your life.
And I've been waiting to play fun games with my best bud.
Oh, Isaac...
I've waited so long, and now you're back and you've taught me such delicious games to play!”
Jack's arms stretched once more, as they had once years ago to wrap around a helpless,
struggling feline.
As they wrapped around Isaac though, where once it had been just a silly game that had
gotten out of hand, there was now malicious intent, the snake-like arms wrapping tighter
and tighter around Jack's former playmate.
The playmate that had abandoned him.
The best friend that had left him to wither and shrivel up alone for years and years,
then come home only to ignore him!
A series of audible pops rang out as Isaac's ribs snapped one by one under the immense
pressure.
Jack let go and, Isaac's body crumbled to the floor.
Ragged, hoarse breaths came from Isaac, his body broken but still alive.
With a wicked grin spreading across Jack's face, he stepped forward out of the darkness.
Jack had been waiting to play for a long time, and now, there was nobody to interrupt them
anymore.
So glad you’ve survived our horrific tale and at last come to the end, but, was any
of it real?
Is there any truth to the Laughing Jack urban legend?
There exists no historical evidence to support the existence of any of these characters,
but, Laughing Jack’s origins come from before the dawn of modern police investigation and
reporting.
So who knows, perhaps this is another tale mixed in with equal parts truth, and equal
parts lie.
Or perhaps it’s all true, and Laughing Jack is out there right now, probably hidden in
some shadowy corner of your room, waiting for night to fall so he can strike out and
claim one more victim!