Yet once again, Davey was dragged to the car, to the park, but that’s as far as he would go, even if he had to dig his heels into the ground.
While his dad played softball with the other men, Davey pleaded with his mother.
“Please, Mommy, don’t make me watch the
clowns this year. Please!”
“Now, my Little Man, it won’t kill you to watch the parade for a little while, at least. Then you and Slingshot can go play. Okay?”
He knew he couldn’t ask for any more than that and so shrugged his tiny shoulders.
As always, he got through the speeches and the picnic without trembling too much.
He held tightly to Slingshot’s leash as his mom and dad walked him by the hand over to the sidewalk curbing.
Okay, he told himself, Be brave. Be brave. They’re only men dressed up in stupid ol’ clown suits. They can’t hurt you. There are people all around. He wouldn’t dare...
Then they came wobbling on their little trikes, waving at the people, painted on red smiles, spread across white faces. Green hair, yellow hair, red hair. Three clowns.
Beneath his breath, Davey whispered, “Three. I
wonder if it’s my turn yet.”
“What did you say, Son?” June tilted her head down toward his quaking form.
“I said, there are only three clowns this year. You remember when I told you there would only be three?” He clutched his dog’s leash as if his life depended on it.
June looked toward her husband and said, “He’s right, Hon. There are only three clowns now. Last year there were four, the year before that––five, before that––six...”
“Coincidence. That’s all it is,” Guy said.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right....” June answered. Davey’s eyes pleaded with her to believe him, believe there exists a connection between the clowns and the missing children, one missing, one of them dead!
The colorful clown trio grew closer. Then, Slingshot began to shiver, too, and it was all Davey could do to hold onto him. When a green-haired clown wobbled toward them, Davey took a step back, like he always did. Suddenly, his dog let out a loud yelp, jerked the leash from his master’s small hand and scurried off as fast as his legs would allow. He disappeared into the brush in back of the ball field.
Davey started to follow, but his mom grabbed hold of his collar and said, “Stay here, Little Man, Slingshot will be okay. The clown just spooked him, that’s all.”
But Davey detected the worried sound in her voice and the frown that wrinkled up her forehead.
“See, Momma, Slingshot is scared of them, too!” His bottom lip protruded outward. So stubborn––Just like his father...June thought.
Frozen to his spot and unable to move now, Davey had to stand and watch the antics of these dreaded performers. I wonder who it will touch this time...?
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Son?”
“Watch and see who that clown touches this year and you’ll see who disappears next. Please?”
June said, “I’ll do that, Davey. Just for you, I’ll do that...”
He slipped his small hand in hers and squeezed with all his might. Now he felt that he had someone on his side.
They watched carefully as the performers crisscrossed the road, back and forth, making the small children laugh and clap their pudgy, little hands. Then, the clowns did something they’d never done before. They began handing out colorfully wrapped lollipops to the crowd. Especially, to the youngest children.
Davey watched, growing more frantic with each passing moment. Oh, no! They are touching lots of kids! Now we’ll have no way of knowing who’s next!
The yellow-haired clown paused for a few seconds longer before a tiny, curly-mopped boy. Then the clown tousled the boy’s hair before handing him the candy and then pedaled crazily on his way.
Davey felt a shudder pass down his spine.
“He’s the one, Mommy, he’s the one! Do you know who that boy is? The one the clown touched...on his head...?” His voice was full of excitement and fear, all at the same time.
“No, I don’t, Son. And I really don’t think...”
Davey pulled his hand out from hers and ran to find Slingshot. She didn’t believe me! Not for a minute! He was about in tears when he found Slingshot huddled beneath a tall maple tree.
As he hugged his dog fiercely, more tears began to fall down his cheeks, and he and Slingshot shivered together.
A few minutes later, Guy found them and said sternly, “C’mon, Davey.” He knew he was in trouble because his dad only called him Davey, in that tone of voice, when he was angry.
“Get a move on and no more funny business! Grow up, Son! Why should we have to pound it into your thick skull that clowns are here to entertain us, not to scare us? Take your dog and we’ll head for home.”
Davey knew when to keep his thoughts to himself––knew when his Dad had his mind made up and there would be no further argument.
Two days later, the headlines read “ANOTHER MISSING CHILD”. It went on to name the boy under a photo, the boy whose hair the clown had tousled at the parade. Davey didn’t say a word, though his mother glanced at him with a question in her eyes. Thinking no one will ever believe him, he lowered his head and passed by his parents to go outside and play with his only friend in this world, Slingshot.
Why can’t anyone believe me? It’s so plain to see. So why don’t they want to see the truth, the plain-as-the-nose-on-your-face, God-awful TRUTH!
The year passed by slowly. School and friends filled up the time. Winter was fun. It snowed that year which meant lots of sledding, building forts, and throwing snowballs. It was over too soon. March turned to April, April to May. June passed. Then...July Fourth...The Day of the Clowns!
Davey didn’t even beg to stay home this time. What was the use?
Two clowns. Who would it be this time? Is it his turn yet- to go off to Clown Land, or wherever they take the little boys and girls? And where is it? What sort of torture goes on there? He shivered as he stood next to his mother alongside the parade route.
Once more, the brightly colored clowns––one yellow, one dressed in green- passed out candy. Some they tossed into the crowd, some they handed out personally. Once again, Davey took a step back when they neared him and his parents. The green haired clown glared at him with dead slate-black eyes, then passed on to another family. It touched a boy from his class. Timothy, somebody or other.
Letting himself breathe again, Davey was glad he got through another year. But not glad that it meant another boy would be taken.
“It will be Timothy from my class this time, Mom.” He didn’t want to be right––but he was.
“H––hmmmm,” June barely heard him as she busily cooked breakfast. She had been listening closely to the local news and trying to hear Guy explain something to her, at the same time.
“Next year there will be only one clown. Only one.”
His dad heard his mumbled words this time.
“When will you grow up? Davey, I’ve told you and told you. Now, no more clown talk! Have you got that straight?”
“Yes, Dad. I’ve got it.” As he ran from the room, he made a parting shot, “Watch next year. There will be only one clown! And maybe this time it will take me!” He disappeared outside so fast that his dad didn’t have time to retort.