On a chilly autumn evening in Midland City, a figure shadowed in gloom, with stooped shoulders and tired gait, walked down the streets. One might be excused for thinking that there was nothing very remarkable about him. But this man, Benton Harbor, by weekday a mild-mannered shoe salesman for a major downtown department store, carries an important secret—one that has long meant the difference between a glorious future and certain disaster for Midland City.

For Benton Harbor, unbeknownst to the average citizen (but known all too well to the office of the police commissioner) is in reality none other than the fabulous white-winged weekend warrior, Chickenman!—the scourge of the unlawful, the prodigy of pugilism, sallying forth on his only two days off to strike terrific terror into the hearts of evildoers everywhere!

“Give my regards to Broadway...” he sang softly as he walked slowly home to patrol the streets and alleyways of the city (and incidentally to save money on bus fare). “Remember me to Herald Square...”

At long last, our lonely hero arrived without incident at his humble house at 1421-1/2 Wannamakapaka Lane. Now that he was home, the dreariness of this Friday night, the weariness of his workday, all vanished with his anticipation. Once again he was about to take up the mantle of his sacred commitment, once again could he armor himself under his heroic identity, once again this weekend would the challenging cry of Chickenman strike a certain degree of apprehension into the criminals of Midland City...

“Benton? Benton Harbor?” came a cheery, cultured and matronly voice from the living room. It was Mildred Harbor, Benton’s mother, who sometimes fought crime herself under the guise of the Maternal Marauder.

Benton sighed. “Yes, mother?”

“I made a broccoli and garlic casserole for you, Benton. It’s on the counter...”

“I’ll eat it later, mother. I have an urgent project waiting for me in the Chicken Cave.” He drew himself up to his full height and declaimed in heroic tones. “For in the continuing fight against crime and/or evil, I must remain ever vigilant—”

“You also need to keep up your strength, Benton. You aren’t a growing boy anymore...”

“Later, Mother. I promise I’ll eat it later. Loveyoubye.” Before she could reply, he fled to the safety and security of his bedroom. He opened his closet, lifted the trap door, and descended to his secret sanctum, the Chicken Cave. There, Benton Harbor swiftly shed his street clothes and donned his costume and utility belt, once again becoming the Fearless Feathered Fighter, Chickenman!

“Broccoli and garlic casserole—ugh!” he said with a shudder.

Glancing nervously around him, Chickenman stepped to a portrait hanging on the wall, and lifted it to reveal a secret compartment. He then brought forth a small combination box...

“Mmm... Cheez balls, gummy worms, batter-fried potato chips... Chomp glomp glump...”

Chickenman swiftly and expertly stuffed his utility belt, and his face, with handfuls of chips and candy. He then strode confidently to his workbench. It was here that Chickenman labored in secret to produce the many crimefighting gadgets which were so useful in his eternal fight against the forces of e-vil, including the Chicken Missile Ejector, the Chicken Hurler, and the potent Geshtunkina Ray Gun.

And near the workbench this evening was a new device, a contraption that strangely resembled an old refrigerator...

“Boy, was I lucky to find this old refrigerator,” exposited Chickenman. “It’s a perfect housing for my experimental Chicken Costume Refeatherator. Now to test it! First, I open the Feather Hopper like this...”

Chickenman opened the ice box with a squeak.

“Then I load it up with chicken feathers like this...”

*shuffa shuffa shuffa*

“Then I step into it like this... Close the door, and press the button!”

*whrrrmm-chugga chugga chugga... tapocketa-pocketa-pocketa...*

“It’s working, it’s working!” exclaimed Chickenman as the machine neatly glued fresh feathers onto his costume.

But then—

“Benton-n!” called out Mildred from upstairs. “Your casserole has gotten cold! I’m warming it up for you...” And the lights flickered as the microwave started!

Benton pounded his fists on the doors of the Refeatherator. “Wait! Please, mother, no!”

The fusebox, into which Chickenman had jammed an enormous penny, exploded with showers of blue sparks, and arcs of dancing electricy covered the Chicken Costume Refeatherator, with our hapless hero trapped within, a tornado of feathers swirling about him!

“Mufffm mufffbrr mffummbbbfr!” shouted Chickenman, his mouth full of gluey feathers.

The glowing energy grew within the Refeatherator. The penny finally dropped. The house went dark as, in a huge zapping noise and a great flash of light, Chickenman vanished from our mortal world!

Moments later, with a fountain of white feathers, a strange sound like a rubber plunger, and a gut-wrenching odor of burnt garlic and broccoli, Chickenman reappeared right in the middle of one of the multiverse’s most powerful chaos magnets, Ponyville! It was in broad daylight, right in the middle of the town square during market day, and everywhere Chickenman looked, the square was packed full of colorful ponies going about their business.

Stunned, Chickenman spat out a mouthful of feathers. “Uh... is this kid’s day at the Rodeo...?”

The ponies of Ponyville looked at him and froze, then reacted with their legendary courage, serenity and restraint in the face of unusual occurrences.

“GRIFFON INVASION! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

Screaming and whinnying, they charged off in all directions, but mostly right over Chickenman, knocking him down and trampling him into the dust with a stampede of adorable little hooves.

Chickenman, bruised and dazed, with many a feather awry and horseshoe imprints on his face, groaned and sat up, trying to straighten the squashed beak of his costume. A shadow fell over his face, and he looked forward to find himself staring into a pair of large stern green eyes. The pony’s fur was orange and she wore the cutest Stetson hat that Chickenman had ever seen. It was Applejack, Ponyville’s most doughty and honest farmer.

“Now, just how did you get outta the coop?” she said.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh...” babbled Chickenman, utterly flabbergasted that a pony was talking to him.

“Don’tcha give me no back-cluck. How dare you just flap down outta nowhere and spook all these nice ponies? G’wan, back to the farm with you!”

She started towards him menacingly. Chickenman scrambled to his feet, still stammering, and tried to run. Applejack whipped out a lasso and deftly snagged him, quickly wrapped him in coils of rope, and slung him over her back, to the cheers of the surrounding ponies. She then trotted off out of town, with Chickenman’s round belly resting on her back and his head and feet bonking the ground lightly at regular intervals.

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-ow-buh-buh-buh-buh-ow-buh-buh-buh-buh-ow...” said Chickenman. He shook his head. “Excuse me, ow, could you not, ow, trot so hard?”

Applejack did not reply, but she slowed down. Chickenman was now able to hold his head clear of the ground.

“Thank you. Uhm... So... You can understand me?”

“Ayep,” said Applejack.

“And you can really talk?”

“I believe you heard me the first time,” said Applejack.

“Well. Uhm... You’ll have to pardon me, Ma’am, I’m not sure what to say. I’m not very used to talking livestock...”

Applejack bridled. “Y’know what? Neither am I. So shut your beak.”

“Well, Ma’am, I don’t really have a beak. This is actually a costume. For I am in fact the wonderful White-Winged Warrior known as... Chickenman!”

Applejack responded by trotting faster.

“Wait! But-but-but-but-ow!-but-but-but-but-ow!-but-but-but-but-ow!” said the Feathered Fighter.

Soon, Applejack arrived at her farm, Sweet Apple Acres. She went directly to the chicken coop, hoofed the door open, then stood Chickenman up on his feet. She yanked at the rope’s end with her teeth, and Chickenman whirled like a top, spinning right into the coop. Applejack then slammed and locked the door.

Chickenman landed on his rear on the floor, and strained to see in the near-darkness. Some light shone in through cracks in the wall boards, showing the glinting eyes of a flock of chickens, all surrounding Chickenman.

“Hmm,” said Chickenman, “These chickens can probably talk as well. Hello! I come in peace and mean you no harm! I am the Fabulous Feathered Fighter known as...”

The chickens formed a menacing ring around Chickenman, growing closer and closer. One pecked him sharply on the ankle.

“OW! Uhm, maybe I’ve still got a can of corn in my utilty belt...”

The sounds of clucking and pecking grew louder in the little chicken coop.

Author's Notes:

Kids, please note: Do not play around inside of old refrigerators! You will not wind up in Equestria, nor Narnia.