The air in Lusaka hung heavy with the scent of roasted maize and the rhythmic thrum of kwaito music. It was a humid evening, the kind that makes your clothes stick to you and your hair frizz like a startled porcupine. Yet, here I was, sweating profusely, not from the heat, but from sheer terror. Because in the dimly lit, dusty basement of Professor Clement’s house, something was about to go horribly wrong.
Professor Clement, a man whose grey hair resembled a particularly unruly dandelion, was a legend in our neighbourhood. He was known for his bizarre inventions – a self-cleaning toilet that sang opera, a robotic dog that liked to chew on bicycle tires, and a talking parrot that, to be honest, just screamed obscenities.
Today, however, he had promised to unveil his masterpiece – a device he called the “Emotion-Enhancer 3000”. He claimed it could amplify any human emotion, turning joy into pure bliss and anger into a volcanic eruption of fury.
“My dear Winston,” Professor Clement said, his voice like a crackling radio, “this invention will usher in a new era of human understanding! Imagine, a world where we can truly experience the depths of our emotions!”
His enthusiasm was infectious, but I was less than thrilled. Seeing a man lose control over his emotions, even for a fleeting moment, was never pleasant. Moreover, Professor Clement’s past inventions were notoriously temperamental. There was the time his “Happiness Booster” turned an entire street into a synchronized dance routine of synchronized clapping and forced smiles, and the incident with the 'Truth Serum' that made everyone in the local market confess to every petty theft they'd committed over the past ten years.
“Professor,” I said cautiously, “are you sure this is safe? This whole emotion-amplifying thing sounds a bit…dangerous.”
“Nonsense, my boy,” he waved his hand dismissively. “The Emotion-Enhancer 3000 is perfectly safe! All it requires is a small dose of…emotion.”
He gestured towards a rickety table covered with blinking lights and wires. In the center sat a peculiar device that looked like a cross between a toaster and a space helmet.
“See, this little beauty works on a simple principle of emotional resonance. You simply place your head inside, think of a strong emotion, and…BAM! Instant emotional amplification!”
He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye. I shuddered. I knew this was a bad idea.
“Professor, please, let’s just stick to, you know, the self-cleaning toaster. Remember that whole opera fiasco?”
He ignored my plea and plugged the device into a wall socket. A series of sparks flew, followed by a sickly sweet humming noise.
Professor Clement grabbed a small bowl of vibrant green goo and, with a flourish, declared, “The moment of truth!”
He dipped his finger in the goo and dabbed it on the device. The hum grew louder, the lights flickered, and then…nothing.
“Well, that’s odd,” the professor muttered, scratching his head. He tried again, but to no avail. The device remained stubbornly inert.
Suddenly, I felt a strange tingling sensation in my head. It started faintly, like the buzzing of a fly, but it grew stronger with each passing second.
“What’s happening?” I whispered, my voice trembling.
Professor Clement looked at me with a bewildered expression. “I don’t know, Winston! It feels…odd.”
And then, it hit.
The emotion was so overwhelming, so intense, that it felt like a tidal wave crashing over my head. Laughter, pure unadulterated laughter, erupted from me, a sound that echoed through the basement. My stomach hurt, my sides ached, tears streamed down my face, and I laughed until I cried.
Professor Clement’s bewildered expression turned into one of alarm. He grabbed a nearby chair and sat down, his eyes wide.
“Winston! Stop! What’s happening!?”
My laughter subsided, leaving behind a feeling of utter exhaustion. I looked around, bewildered. The basement seemed to be spinning, the lights flashing, the shadows dancing. I stood there, staring at the emotion-enhancing device, a mix of fear and amusement swirling in my head.
“Professor, I think this thing might be amplifying…my fear of clowns.”
And with that, I saw a pair of oversized clown shoes, with a bright orange nose, peeking out from behind the table. Then, another pair of shoes appeared, and another, until a whole gaggle of clowns materialized, their painted smiles stretched into grotesque grins. They began to juggle, their jester hats bobbing, their laughter echoing my own – only theirs was a sound that sent shivers down my spine.
“Professor… we have a clown problem.”
The professor just stared, his jaw slack, his eyes wide with horror. It seemed the Emotion-Enhancer 3000 had a mind of its own. And it had a very, very bad sense of humor.
