Time let me play and be

The Fuddler

The Fuddler

Wonder Woman pressed the button to ring the door bell. From inside came the strains of heavy, thumping music and the decorative windows in the door flickered in changing colours with the lights from inside. It seemed the party was in full swing already.

Then the door opened and the noise of music and chatter swept over Wonder like a wave. The flushed face of Batgirl peered out at her.

“Oh, Wonder - you made it after all.” The words came breathlessly, as though Batgirl was fresh from her keep-fit exercises. The dancing had become strenuous, it seemed.

“Black Widow’s covering for me,” replied Wonder. “She was never a great one for parties.”

Batgirl nodded in understanding. “But come in, come in. The party’s really getting hot and you’ll need a drink.”

Wonder stepped through the door and was led down a short passage decorated with balloons and streamers. The noise reached a crescendo as they passed through a door into a large hall. It was pulsing with the beat and flashing lights from a DJ’s set-up at one end and the floor was filled with superheroes engaged in energetic dance. A few chatted on the outskirts of the heaving mob, obviously those who were less inclined to such aggressively social pursuits.

Batgirl took Wonder’s hand and dragged her to one side where there was a table laden with various drinks. Then a hand reached out from the dancers and dragged Batgirl into the melee. “Help yourself to a drink,” came her shout as she disappeared among the writhing forms.

Wonder poured some punch into a plastic mug and then leaned back against the table to survey the action. The pounding music made it hard to think and the constant movement became a mass of confusing shape and colour as the lights blinked on and off.

Just a few paces from the table, and drawn back against the wall, Batman and Robin stared gloomily at the crowd. Wonder wondered, not for the first time, what sort of relationship bound those two together. Vixen provided some sort of answer as she appeared from the crush and pulled Batman into the fray. Wonder turned to look the other way along the wall.

A most unusual figure was advancing towards her. In that scene of garishly coloured and costumed characters, this person seemed as out of place as it was possible to be. She was short, a little old lady, so different from the statuesque young heroes that dominated the dance floor. Dressed in black weeds like a widow, shod in solid, sensible shoes, and crowned with a Spanish lace headdress, she gave a fair impression of the evil witch fairy at the princess’ birthday party.

Wonder watched as the figure drew closer to her and stopped within a distance that allowed conversation in the midst of the racket. The wrinkled face cracked open and she shouted an opening line.

“You must be Wonder Woman.”

In contrast to the wizened figure that produced it, the voice was strong and unwavering, in complete contrast to Wonder’s expectations.

“I suppose I must be,” answered Wonder. “And who might you be?”

The woman laughed, a light, attractive sound, so surprising in its ease and confidence that Wonder glanced around to see if it came from someone else.

“They call me The Fuddler,” said the woman.

“Funny name. Are you a superhero?”

“Oh yes,” came the answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, your costume isn’t exactly the kind of thing superheroes usually choose. What’s your superpower?”

The Fuddler struck a pensive pose, finger pointing upwards to touch her ancient lips. “You’d be amazed how often I’m asked that,” she said. “I do have superstrength but I’ve never had occasion to use it. My talents are in, err, other directions.”

Wonder was fascinated by the contradictions the old woman presented. “So why the costume?” she asked.

The Fuddler spread her arms with hands open upwards, as though the answer was obvious. “"A person should always choose a costume which is in direct contrast to her own personality.”

Wonder Woman humphed. “Never heard that one,” she said. “Who said it?”

“Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon. You’d surely not argue with the wisdom of Charlie Schulz?” The Fuddler winked and the room seemed to brighten with the power of her smile.

Wonder shook her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” She paused and then added, "But you, Fuddler, have me completely befuddled.”

The Fuddler laughed. "There you are, you see? It’s working already.”


Word count: 752
For “13,” 10.22.24
Prompt: "A person should always choose a costume which is in direct contrast to her own personality.” —Lucy, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.