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SUPERMAN: INTO THE WICKER MAN

CHAPTER 2: PEELING BACK LAYERS

Summerisle was a remote place; from the mainland it was most common to fly there by seaplane.

‘Not a problem for Superman,’ thought Clark, gazing out of the window as the small craft carrying him approached the island, ‘but as Clark Kent, if I’m to come here and investigate, I need to fly in the conventional way.’

The little plane bobbed down gently on the water, and its dour pilot turned and looked expectantly at Clark, who returned his gaze in some confusion.

‘Uh… sir? We’re some way from the mainland still?’

‘Aye. You’ll have to walk the rest. It’s no deep, mind – just a couple of feet.’

‘What?’ Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘But… but I’ll get wet? My shoes… my socks… my pants…’

The man smiled unpleasantly. ‘You’re no in America now, sonny. Ye’ll need to get your feet wet every now and then on Summerisle. Your pants too, at that, as ye say.’

The shore was at least twenty or thirty feet away. Surely there must be some other way?

‘Come on, sonny,’ said the pilot. ‘Ah’ve not got all day. Out ye jump. It’s only water. Be off with ye. Or did ye want to take off your shoes and socks first, and roll your trousers up?’

Clark swallowed. If he were to accept this relatively sensible solution, then the pilot would get a great surprise, as removing his shoes and socks and rolling up his pants would of course reveal that beneath them he was wearing blue tights and red boots – the world-famous uniform of Superman.

‘N-no, sir,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll manage.’

The pilot gave a low chuckle. ‘Out ye pop then, boy.’

Unbelievable. Bristling at the man’s rudeness, Clark gathered his case and his coat, and jammed his hat down firmly on his head. He would just have to dry himself off with his super-breath when he reached the shore.

He opened the door and swung his legs around. He could see with his x-ray vision that it was a little deeper than the man had claimed, though not much.

‘Well, then, sir,’ he said, ever-mindful of his manners, ‘thanks for the ride.’

‘You’re welcome,’ came the brusque response.

He took a deep breath and was just about to jump down into the murky looking Scottish waters, when a sudden violent gust of wind came out of nowhere, rocking the little seaplane. There was no warning of this whatsoever, and it took Clark so by surprise that he lost his balance and slipped, and in less than a second he was tipped straight down into the sea.

‘Huh! Hngh!’ He cried out in alarm and shock as he tumbled into the icy waters, completely soaking himself. His head slipped beneath the surface for a moment, and then he managed to steady himself. Spluttering and spitting out water, he stood up, clutching his case to his chest, water pouring from the brim of his hat. So much for just getting his feet wet; the sea was almost up to the top of his thighs.

He turned to find the pilot laughing at him. ‘Sorry, sonny! What a start to your stay! Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!’

‘Sir,’ Clark said, trying to remain calm, ‘you’re very unkind.’

Trying to muster some dignity, he began to splash his way clumsily to the shore. He could feel his spandex uniform sopping wet beneath his smart black suit. It certainly was an inauspicious beginning to his trip. Nevertheless, he had come here to try and help, to do some good, and so he ignored the pilot’s derisive laughter and waded onwards.

He scanned the mainland, wondering briefly if he could use his powers and fly, but no – there was someone stood there watching him… almost as if he was waiting. Clark waded onwards, seawater sloshing around his clothes.

The figure waiting for him was a lad of about twenty or so, with glossy, mid-length fair hair flopping over high cheekbones. His eyes were dark and thoughtful, and as Clark emerged from the waters, he looked him up and down, studying him.

‘Are you the reporter?’

‘Uh… that’s right,’ said Clark. The boy reached out a hand and he shook it. ‘Clark Kent. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Tam Lunn. Here. Let me take your case.’

‘Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,’ protested Clark.

‘S’alright.’ The boy took hold of his suitcase, and Clark reluctantly handed it over. ‘Thank you. Tam, did you say?’

‘That’s right. Fall in tae the water did ye?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did ye not just wait for the boat?’

‘There was a boat? Why, that lousy…’ Clark turned back, but the seaplane was already flying towards the horizon.

‘Ah. I see. Old Jeremiah doesn’t take well to outsiders.’

‘He sure doesn’t,’ said Clark with feeling. Standing there, soaked to the skin, the Man of Steel could sense his cheeks reddening. For all his powers he suddenly felt very foolish. Unbidden, a memory came to him then, as clear as the day it had happened.

‘Why, it’s just like the time…’

The memory formed fully in his mind’s eye: his first ever defeat. And what a terrible, ignominious defeat it had been. Luthor – tricking him into opening the box with the Kryptonite chain inside. ‘Your very own Kryptonite necklace, Supe baby. I’ve spared no expense.’

As Superman he had backed away, trying to escape, to run from Luthor’s deadly trap, his body racked with a fear like nothing he had ever known until that moment, knees knocking together foolishly as his legs trembled in his tights. It had never occurred to him that this ordinary human male could prove any kind of threat to him, Superman. Yet before he had even kicked down the door of Luthor’s lair, he had already been out-thought and outclassed. The man had not even had to lay so much as a finger on him to defeat him.

‘Mind over muscle,’ Lex had said, shaking his head as he placed the chain around Superman’s neck, tender as a lover, making him cry out: a low moan.

Powerless then, he had felt Luthor’s hands all over his body, touching him in his spandex, teasing him, toying with him, letting him know he had been bested and mastered, as the criminal genius simply dragged Superman along. Lex had not spared him anything; he had even taken hold of Superman’s nipples, once like steel, now like jello, and tweaked them through the hero’s spandex.

The terrible, disgraceful moans that Superman had made as Luthor played with him, showing him how defeated and helpless he was, still haunted him. Finally, when he had demeaned himself in the throes of defeat sufficiently, he was released. His body tingling, the Man of Steel had at last been given a good shove by his nemesis, and as he looked back in astonished fear, Superman dropped like a stone, falling into Lex’s pool, fully-clothed in his spandex uniform.

‘Mr Kent? Are ye alright?’

‘Huh?’

The boy Tam was looking quizzically at him, a half-smile in his eyes. Dimly, Clark noted that he was extremely handsome.

‘Are ye alright, Mr Kent?’

‘Oh. Ah. Um. Yes. Just… remembering.’

‘Looked like it was a happy memory, no?’

‘No… no, not really. Uh… Just… just another time I got soaked.’ Clark smiled ruefully.

‘Strange. It looked like you were remembering something nice. Well, don’t worry,’ said Tam, patting him on the back. ‘My father’s the innkeeper. I’ve come to take you there, and we’ll find ye some fine dry clothes when you get in. I’ll soon have ye out of this soggy lot before you know it.’

‘Oh,’ said Clark, unsure what to say to this. ‘Uh… thank you.’

The inn was a large, stark building next to a rushing stream. A vast tree, ancient and gnarled, stood just outside it, looming up, branches outstretched towards the place. As they walked up the dusty track, Clark chose his moment carefully, and when he was ready, peered over the top of his glasses and shot a blast of his heat vision at one of the topmost branches of the old tree. It fell heavily and suddenly, making Tam cry out in alarm, and the distraction it bought him gave Clark enough time to use his super-speed and his super-breath to quickly dry his clothes.

‘Gosh,’ he said to Tam, who stood gazing in shock at the fallen bough, ‘you sure do have some strong winds here.’

‘Aye,’ said Tam slowly, ‘but not that strong. That old rowan tree has stood here longer than anything on Summerisle; it’s endured mighty storms and never loses so much as a twig.’

‘Well, I guess it must be feeling its age.’

The tree’s branches shook suddenly, and to his surprise, Clark found himself shuddering.

Tam shook his head. ‘No, Mr Kent, you dinnae understand. It’s a powerful thing this tree, it protects us. It’s magical.’

‘Magic? Oh, gee… that’s a little far fetched don’t you th-’

The tree shook once more, and Clark had to admit that he found it rather menacing.

‘Nae, Mr Kent – you’ve got to believe me. No one on Summerisle would dare touch this tree or harm it, for it would bring him powerful bad luck.’

‘Uh…’ Clark looked up nervously at the great rowan. ‘Is… is that so? Gosh. Well. I’ll… I’ll be sure to remember that.’

A huge gust of wind seemed to come from nowhere then, engulfing the pair of them. The tree’s branches seemed almost to change direction for a moment, reaching out to where Clark stood, clawing and straining at him, as rain began to fall from the sky.

‘That’s strange,’ said Tam, turning his attention back to Clark as the wind died down, ‘why, Mr Kent… your clothes… they’re all dry.’

‘Hardly surprising, with all this wind,’ said Clark.

‘But… but you were completely soaked. Your trousers… how could that be…’

Suddenly Clark heard the voice of old Jeremiah, the unpleasant pilot, echoing in his head once more.

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper!

To his horror, Clark felt his bladder clench and spasm. ‘Ha! Ah! Ah!’ he cried out. ‘Uh… Tam… I need the uh… I need the bathroom… I need it real quick.’

Panicked, he started to stumble towards the inn.

‘The bathroom,’ frowned Tam, ‘what do ye need a bath for?’

‘Not a bath,’ cried out Clark, his voice getting higher. ‘I need to use the bathroom. The washroom. The restroom. Quickly, please!’

‘Oh,’ said Tam, ‘the toilet! Why didn’t ye say? Here, there’s one round the back.’

He started to lead Clark around the side of the inn, but before they could reach it there came another of those fearsome gusts of wind, enveloping them both, and making Clark gasp.

‘No!’ he said as a cold feeling embraced him. ‘Oh no… no!’

It was too late. As he stood there, the handsome young man in front of him turned back just in time to watch as Clark’s bladder emptied itself against his will. The Daily Planet’s intrepid top reporter stood open-mouthed with shame and horror, as he pissed himself, soaking first his tights and his briefs, before a dark stain came pouring down the legs of his suit. And again, he heard that malevolent voice in his head:

Ye’ve wet your pants now, all right – wet yourself good and proper… SUPERMAN! GO ON, MAN OF STEEL, THINKING YOURSELF SO STRONG – YOU DARED TO BURN THE TREE OF MIGHT, NOW PAY THE PRICE AND WET YOUR TIGHTS! PISH YOUR TIGHTS, SUPERMAN! Hahahaha!

As Clark stood there pissing himself, on top of everything else, he felt strangely exposed – as if some force could see beneath his clothes. Tam was gazing at him open-mouthed, but what this young man who looked at him now with such pity and amusement did not, could not know… was that, just as the insidious voice in his head was now sneering, it was in fact Superman who stood before him now. Superman, the Man of Steel… had arrived on Summerisle and begun his trip by helplessly and humiliatingly pissing his tights and briefs. The wind seemed to shriek malevolently as the hero steadily wet himself, and the tree’s arms once more curved towards him.

His penis now spent, Clark felt his cheeks burning hot and red. He tried and failed to think of something to say, to explain or excuse his predicament.

‘Um,’ he said, ‘ah… uh…’

‘It’s okay, Mr Kent,’ said Tam, at last. ‘I’ll take you up the back stairs. No one need know or see. And I won’t tell anyone that ye had a wee accident, I promise. I guess you’ll be needing a bath after all, aye?’

Clark managed a very weak smile. ‘Uh. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Tam. That’s very kind.’

‘Nay bother, Mr Kent. Come on then.’

‘Um… Tam? Call me Clark, please?’

Tam grinned. ‘Right ye are… Clark. Come on now, man, never mind your wet pants, we’ll soon have ye right as rain. Follow me, Clark.’

‘Thank you, Tam.’ And follow he did, though with each step he felt his own warm piss sloshing around at the bottom of his concealed red boots, reminding him of his shame.

To be continued...