by Matthew Ward
But before he could persuade his uncle to take him somewhere—anywhere—else, Uncle Mervyn, who had been listening in just outside the conversation with the new neighbors, stepped forward and introduced himself to Rex Goldwin.
“Mervyn McCleary,” said Arthur’s uncle, shaking Rex’s hand. “Adjudicator for the International World Record Federation, under contract with the Grazelby Guide—and the Whipples’ primary officiator. Pleased to meet you. Afraid I’m not familiar with your earlier work, though I have read your recent profile in The Record. So, how are you liking it over at the Almanac? I’ve known quite a few certifiers over the years who’ve been contracted by Ardmore after earning their officiating licenses from the IWRF—but I’ve since lost touch with all of them. Bit of a secretive place, it seems. And what of their publishing policy regarding the Regrettable Records? I’m afraid I can’t say I approve.”
Rex nodded considerately. “Your concerns are perfectly valid, Mr. McCleary. I’m the first to admit the Almanac hasn’t had the best reputation in the past—but we’re trying to change all that. It might take some time—years maybe—but they assure me this is the start of a new era for Ardmore.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear it. Very few wrongs that can’t be righted with the proper amount of effort.”
“Indeed, Mr. McCleary,” Rex said with a heartfelt smile, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Very good, Mr. Goldwin,” Uncle Mervyn smiled back. “So tell me about some of your recent records then. I’m always eager to hear what the rest of the record-breaking world is up to.”
While Rex proceeded to describe his record for Largest Private Collection of Military Prototypes, Arthur continued to stare straight at the ground—and away from Ruby Goldwin—until he was overcome by a sudden fit of curiosity.
He glanced in Ruby’s direction—and found she was already looking straight at him. Their eyes met for an uncomfortable moment, before Arthur quickly glanced away again.
After several more seconds of staring at the ground, he could no longer bear the awkwardness. “Mrs. Waite,” said the boy, turning to his chaperone, “may I go browse the Grazelby exhibition for a bit?”
“I suppose, dear,” the housekeeper replied, “but don’t be too long. The ceremony begins in less than half an hour, and you know we can’t start without you.”
“Yes, ma’am—I won’t be late,” Arthur called over his shoulder, then hurried off toward the massive tent at the rear of the crowd.
The tent that contained the Grazelby exhibition was large enough to house a small circus, and when Arthur stepped through the draped entryway, he imagined himself its ring-leader. Any thoughts of ghost girls—or of unpleasant neighbor children masquerading as ghost girls—vanished from his mind as he slipped into a state of wonder.
The tent was filled with assorted record-breaking exhibits, some belonging to the Whipple family and some on loan from the private collections of their guests—but all astonishing. And since most of the partygoers in the area were still out watching Johnny Stump and the Missing Limbs, Arthur practically had the place to himself.
Though he had seen his sister Cordelia’s scale model of the Arc de Triomphe before, it never failed to fascinate him. It was over twelve feet tall and constructed entirely from standard playing cards. Despite a total lack of adhesives or fasteners, it was so well built, Cordelia assured him, that an entire rugby team could stand on its roof without causing the slightest structural damage.
Stepping through the giant archway, Arthur proceeded down the first row of exhibits, pausing to marvel at each of them.
Soon the boy had reached the rear of the chamber, where a giant floor-length curtain spanned the full width of the tent. Following the velvet rope that ran along the front of the curtain, he came to a silver-plated sign that read:
PRIVATE.
AUTHORIZED PERSONS ONLY.
NO PEEKING.
THANK YOU.
Though most of the guests had no way of knowing what the sign was guarding, Arthur knew that behind this curtain sat dessert. The rear half of the tent was in fact being used as a holding bay for the World’s Largest Birthday Cake, which was to be kept under wraps until the official unveiling—an event that held particular interest to Arthur that year.
Staring up at the giant curtain, Arthur dreamt about the colossal cake behind it. He was dying to get his first peek; he only hoped the wait didn’t kill him first. With a wistful sigh, he stepped away from the curtain and returned to the exhibition.
As he headed down the center aisle, he suddenly stopped short. There, studying the pendulum on the World’s Thinnest Working Grandfather Clock, stood Ruby Goldwin—the one person Arthur had sought to avoid by entering the tent in the first place.
Now that he knew she was not an apparition but a living, breathing human girl, he could hardly decide which was worse: to have been put to death by a soul-swallowing specter—or to be constantly reminded how foolish he’d been to actually believe in soul-swallowing specters. It was beginning to seem that the ghost girl—in one form or another—would simply go on tormenting him forever.
Luckily for Arthur, she appeared to be unaware of his presence, so he quietly performed an about-face, then made his way around the corner. Proceeding down the next aisle, the boy peered constantly over his shoulder to make sure she was not following him.
When he felt confident he wasn’t being trailed, he turned his head forward to locate the main exit—and nearly collided with the very girl he thought he was eluding.
He skidded to a halt—but this time, he did not escape her notice. Indeed, it seemed she had been watching him for some time.
“Hello,” she smiled.
“Oh,” gulped Arthur, startled by her proximity. “Hi.”
This was the closest he had ever been to the ghost girl.
“So you’ve had enough of the crowd as well, eh?” she said.
Arthur squinted. “Um…yeah.”
“Excellent,” smirked the girl, “we can be unsociable together then.”
Arthur gave an awkward smile, then, not wanting to encourage her, turned away and pretended to browse the exhibits on his right. Briefly stopping at each display, he retreated down the aisle, back toward the enormous cake-concealing curtain at the rear of the tent. But as Arthur tried to move away, the girl simply followed him, examining each exhibit as soon as he had finished with it.
“I’m Ruby, by the way,” said the girl, still smiling as she offered Arthur her right hand. “You know—in case you lost track in the never-ending onslaught of delightful Goldwin children. We keep running into each other, you and I, but we’ve never exactly met.”
Not knowing what else to do, Arthur took the girl’s hand and gave it a perfunctory shake. “Yep,” he said, doing his best not to prolong an already awkward conversation.
For a moment, it seemed he had succeeded—but Ruby Goldwin would not give up so easily.
“You’re Arthur, right?” she added after a brief silence, effectively taking on introductory duties for the both of them. He hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Um. Yeah.”
“Pleased to meet you, Arthur,” she smiled.
“Yep,” said the boy. “So…do you always dress like that?”
“What—this?” she replied, referring to her makeup and tatter-sleeved dress. “Oh, you know—just taking a stand against the oppressive grip of popular fashion. As one does.”
“Oh, right,” said Arthur. “Of course.”
“Yeah,” the girl frowned. “Not really sure it’s my thing, to be honest. Just don’t tell that to Rita. Wouldn’t want her to think she’d broken me….”
“Fair enough,” Arthur said brusquely. “Well,” he added, turning back toward the entrance, “I should probably get back. See you—”
“By the way,” Ruby called, “your whip-cracking/milk-bottle-balancing act was very impressive, you know. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. You must have practiced for year
s to get so good.”
Arthur turned back around. For some reason, he no longer felt quite so eager to leave the girl’s presence.
“Thanks,” he said, his chilly expression melting away. “It’s not easy finding genuine whip-cracking/milk-bottle-balancing enthusiasts these days.”
“Yeah—sorry for slipping off afterward like that. I really wanted to meet you, but I figured you might need a moment. You really were amazing, though.”
The boy flashed a warm grin. He could hardly remember why he had been avoiding her in the first place.
But the girl hadn’t finished.
“So,” she said, “what records have you actually broken then?”
And there they were. The words Arthur lived in constant dread of hearing: What records have you broken? The words flew at him like daggers—but somehow, he managed not to flinch. He had been asked this question so many times by so many people, he had gradually devised a sort of verbal shield, which he could recite in such instances to keep the daggers from reaching his heart: “Well,” he said, “I’ve come really close, but I haven’t actually broken any records—yet. Any day now, though.”
The girl scrunched her lips to one side. “Ahh—well, don’t worry about it, Arthur. I was only trying to make conversation. Seems all anyone in this world ever wants to talk about is what records they’ve broken. But seriously, who needs their silly games anyway, right?”
“Well,” Arthur replied with furrowed brow, “I don’t know if I’d refer to world-record breaking as silly…”
“All right then, what would you refer to it as?”
“I don’t know…well, serious at the very least—but also grand, significant, esteemed, revered…hallowed…and that’s just scratching the surface, really.”
“Wow. You’ve got quite the vocabulary when you choose to use it, haven’t you?”
“Ever since I tried to break the record for Listing the Most Synonyms in One Hour, they just sort of come out sometimes…. So how many records have you broken?”
“Oh.” Ruby’s cheerful expression faded. “Just one—but it was a long time ago; it doesn’t matter now….”
“Doesn’t matter? I don’t think you understand what an honor that is.” Arthur’s voice filled with reverence as his father’s words echoed in his mind. “You’re a world-record holder; it doesn’t matter how long ago you broke it—your name will be forever immortalized in the World Record Archives!”
“Don’t remind me.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you want to be reminded of the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life?”
“It’s just not something I’m proud of.”
Arthur nearly choked. “I don’t understand. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t overjoyed to have their name in the record books…. Well, except maybe for Geoffrey Dwindle, the man who contracted the Most Aggressive Strain of Flesh-Eating Bacteria Ever Recorded—but come to think of it, I’m sure he was a lot happier than the man with the second-most aggressive strain; at least Mr. Dwindle got something in return for his troubles…. But anyway, I’m sure your record isn’t nearly as awful as his.”
Arthur was then struck by a troubling thought. “Wait—you haven’t broken the record for Youngest Murderess to Escape from Prison or something terrible like that, have you?”
“I don’t know; I might be proud of that. I imagine it takes a good deal of ingenuity to escape from prison.”
“So, it’s worse than murder, then?” Arthur gaped.
Ignoring the boy’s last question, Ruby turned to the silver-plated sign ahead of them and said, “So what’s behind the curtain?”
“It’s a surprise,” Arthur said hastily. “But—”
“Can we have a look?”
“Absolutely not. But you haven’t answered—”
“Well what about them?” said Ruby, pointing to the far end of the curtain. “Why should they get a peek, while the rest of us are stuck out here in the Dullest Museum on Earth?”
With an exasperated gasp, Arthur glanced to where the girl was pointing—and promptly focused his gaze. Thirty feet to their left in the darkened corner of the room, where the curtain met the side of the tent, ripples had begun forming in the fabric. It appeared someone on the other side was hunting for the way out.
“That,” explained Arthur, “would be my family’s chef, Sammy the Spatula, simply adding some finishing touches before he presents the cake to—”
“It’s a cake?!” blurted Ruby.
Arthur let out a defeated sigh. “You know,” he said, “I’ve just thought of some questions I should ask Sammy before the unveiling—so if you’ll excuse me…”
“Oh,” said Ruby, her shoulders drooping slightly.
Arthur smiled with equal parts regret and relief. Intriguing as the girl had proved to be, he could hardly justify keeping company with someone who seemed to think so poorly of world-record breaking—and who, furthermore, would not deny committing a crime worse than murder.
Straightening his jacket, Arthur proceeded past Ruby and headed toward the rippling. But before the boy had taken two steps, a figure emerged from behind the curtain.
Arthur gasped. It was not Sammy the Spatula.
With all the fuss over failed record attempts and troublesome ghost girls, Arthur had nearly forgotten about the first pang of dread he had felt that evening.
It was the clown. The same tiny, smirking clown Arthur had tried to escape only one hour before.
THE CLOWNS
Startled and terrified, Arthur ducked behind the nearest exhibit. For a moment, Ruby looked at him as though he had lost his mind—but as soon as she saw the source of his fright, she dropped to her knees and hid behind the display in front of her. Despite her own rather morbid appearance, it seemed she was no fan of sinister-looking dwarf-clowns either.
The two children peered through cracks in their respective exhibits as the shadowy figure stepped into the room and looked stealthily from side to side.
When the dwarf seemed satisfied that the coast was clear, he turned and pulled gently on the edge of the fabric, creating a gap between the curtain and the side of the tent. Slowly, the lumbering form of the dwarf’s giant companion stepped forth into the shadows.
The giant carried a large, black leather case with what appeared to be a dragon etched into its side. Arthur wondered what could be inside it. Perhaps this was where they kept the bones of the unsuspecting children who unwittingly invited them to their birthday parties.
Once the giant had fully emerged, he reached down with his free hand and scooped up the dwarf, then stepped out of the corner. The two men crossed into the light, slyly returning to their clown routine as they headed for a small exit on the side of the tent. The giant extended a massive arm, and the dwarf used his partner’s upturned palm as the base for a handstand.
The children sat petrified, their eyes locked on the ghastly duo until, finally, the giant ducked through the opening, and the two clowns disappeared from view.
Without thinking, Arthur looked over at Ruby and found himself exchanging relieved glances with her.
“Who were those two?” whispered the girl. “And what were they doing back—”
Before she could finish, a voice called out behind them—and Arthur spun around to see Wilhelm standing at the main entrance.
“Master Arthur,” the butler called. “It is time for you to take your position.”
The boy leapt to his feet. If anyone could defeat a pair of diabolical devil-clowns, it was Wilhelm.
“Wilhelm!” he cried.
Glancing back to Ruby, Arthur shot the girl an uncommonly confident smile, then hurried off to report what they had just witnessed.
“Vhat is it, Master Arthur?” called the butler, his face filling with concern as he rushed down the aisle to meet him.
But now that Arthur finally had a grown-up to confide in, his memory grew foggy. As he replayed the incidents in his mind, his prior conclusions now struck hi
m as rather improbable. Had the clowns really been staring at him earlier that evening—or had they merely been gazing in his general direction? Had they really been sneaking out from behind the curtain just then—or had they simply lost their way? Indeed, it was difficult to be certain of anything he had seen that night. He had, after all, recently mistaken the girl down the street for a ghoulish fiend from beyond the grave—and had subsequently made a fool of himself upon mentioning it to his father. Surely, he was mistaken about the clowns as well.
Recalling the sting of his father’s last reproach, Arthur decided to wait for more proof of actual evildoing before risking ridicule a second time. He did his best to push any thoughts of the clowns and their supposedly suspicious behavior out of his mind—and focus on the fact that, at least for now, they were gone.
“Um,” said Arthur as the butler approached, “so where exactly should I stand for the start of the ceremony?”
“Oh,” said Wilhelm, surprised by the trivial nature of Arthur’s question after what seemed to be an urgent cry for help. “Vell, if you just go stand vith your uncle on the side of the stage, I vill find you there.”
“Oh, right,” said the boy. “Thanks, Wilhelm. See you soon.”
“Yes. Okay. Godspeed, Master Arthur.”
Wilhelm proceeded past him toward the curtain at the rear of the tent, and Arthur glanced back toward Ruby Goldwin. She wore a perplexed expression that seemed to say, Why didn’t you tell him about the clowns?! but Arthur tried not to let it bother him. After all, it wasn’t her reputation on the line here. And besides, he hardly had time for this sort of thing now. He had an honored and vital birthday duty to perform.