One of Us

by Samie Sands

  “That’s better, son.”

  Half way through the bowl of cereal, Davey noticed that his parents weren’t eating anything. They only sipped on their cups of black coffee. Davey’s eyes moved back and forth from face to face, wondering what was wrong, why is something different this morning? It was like they were waiting for something. He continued to watch them warily, until he finished the last spoonful.

  “Can I go out and play with Slingshot, now?” he asked. “Maybe he needs to take a walk.”

  “Okay, Davey, but you know the rule––only to the end of the block and back again.” Both parents watched him walk slowly out the kitchen door. It made him feel weird. He snatched the leash off the hook on the porch and stepped into the yard.

  Once out of their sight, he called, “Here, Slingshot, here boy!”, then slid down the outside wall until he was just within hearing range of the kitchen.

  “What’ll we do? How shall we tell Davey about this...?” June began.

  “About what? You haven’t even clued me in on whatever it is, yet!” said Guy.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! That was my friend down the street, Amy Witherton. She said that the little Royle boy, Wilson––you know the one from Davey’s preschool class––went missing overnight. They can’t find him anywhere! I didn’t want to say anything in front of Davey quite yet. I’m hoping he’ll be found and we won’t have to!”

  Guy watched as the worry lines scrunched up his wife’s pretty forehead.

  “I think I’ll go and volunteer for the search.

  Okay with you, Hon?” Guy stated.

  “Yes. That’s a very good idea. They’re congregating at the Royle’s place on the next block...1410 Paar Avenue.”

  Guy grabbed his lightweight jacket and left through the front door. He gazed back at June and whispered, “I just hope I don’t run into our son along the way.”

  STILL SITTING OUTSIDE the back door, Davey wondered what they meant by “missing”. Then it hit him, like a lightning bolt out of the clear blue sky, so then he got up and ran inside.

  “Mommy!”

  June, startled at the sound of her son’s urgent voice, dropped the dish she’d been washing while staring out the window over the kitchen sink.

  “My gosh, Davey! You gave your mother quite a scare there.” She knelt down to his level and looked directly into his worried blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Little Man?”

  “It got him! It got Wilson!” His words ended in a sob.

  As she hugged him close, June asked, “What? What got Wilson?”

  “The clown, the clown in the parade, the clown in the parade...you remember, you remember... he touched his face, even when I begged him not to, begged him not to...” More sobs racked his slight body, so June held him even tighter.

  “Shhhhh, there, Son. There, Son, Shhhhhh,” she murmured, over and over until his sobs subsided and only occasional whimpers emitted from his mouth, then ended in him developing the hiccups.

  When Davey stood back from her, he wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. His moist eyes pleaded with his mother to understand.

  “It’s the clown, Mommy. That scary clown, with the pretend smile on his face. I think he stole Wilson....” His eyes looked deeper and deeper into June’s, which she found unsettling.

  “Davey, Davey...clowns do not steal people! They make them laugh.”

  “This one does! He steals kids! His face doesn’t laugh––or his eyes either!”

  “Well, your father went to help search for Wilson and I’m sure they will find him. You just wait and see. Okay, Honey?” She clutched her son’s trembling form and held him close, again. Then she whispered in his ear, “It’s just your imagination.”

  Davey realized that no one would believe his explanation of how his friend Wilson became missing. He even thought about going over and telling the boy’s parents, but just as quickly, changed his mind. They wouldn’t believe him, anyway. He hugged himself when he went to bed that night and said a prayer for Wilson. Wherever he might be.

  WILSON ROYLE WAS NEVER found.

  The following year, being a year older did not lessen Davey’s fear of the clowns. If anything, it was worse. It was a dread that washed through him and settled deep inside his flesh and bones.

  Once again, his begging did no good. He wondered if he absolutely refused to go, would his parents hog-tie him and take him to the park anyway? Reluctantly, he went along quietly, not wanting to find out the answer.

  This year he and his new friend, Timmy, were the ones who ran wild together during the Big Wig’s speeches. They ate lots of watermelon, whose juice ran in rivulets down their giggling faces. They teeter-tottered, climbed the monkey bars, and went down the slide together. All in all, it was a glorious day filled with fun. Until...

  “Mommy, Daddy, don’t make me watch the clowns this time, okay?” Davey’s hopeful eyes peered up at them over the edge of the picnic table.

  “Now, son, don’t be silly,” his dad said, “Clowns won’t hurt you.” He said as he ruffled Davey’s sandy hair and smiled comfortingly.

  “C’mon, let’s go!” His mother took his small hand in hers and exerted a little pressure, as she pulled him along toward the edge of the sidewalk. Timmy ran to find his own family.

  This time, Davey jerked his hand from his mother’s grip and took off running the moment he saw the clowns approaching in the distance. Both his parents ran after him. June reached him first. She grabbed him up around his slim little waist and started walking back with him tucked under her arm like a sack of potatoes.

  “Little Man, you stand still right here!” she ordered as she sat him down beside her. He squeezed his eyes shut so tightly, the world went black and he nearly fainted. But he’d make it through that year...somehow.

  Long after the brightly colored figures on their silly cars and trikes had passed, Davey finally dared to open his eyes and glare down the street at them.

  “One, two, three, four...” He counted below his breath.

  He pulled on his mother’s shirt and said aloud,

  “Mommy, there are only four of them now...”

  “What, Son?”

  “Only four clowns now!”

  “Uh-huh,” she said and went back to her conversation with her neighbor.

  The morning after the day of the clowns, Davey kept glancing at the white phone where it hung on the kitchen wall. It’s going to ring any minute now, he thought, while shovelingspoonful’s of Honeynut Cheerios into his mouth, milk dripping down his chin. Any minute now it will ring with news of another kid missing and we will know for sure that the clowns stole another one. Any minute now...

  “Davey, why do you keep glancing over at the phone? Is everything okay with you this morning? Are you are expecting one of your friends to call you...?” His father stared at him from across the small table.

  “Um, no,” he answered, as he took a large bite of his toast, followed by a gulp of cocoa.

  Three days passed and the phone never rang with bad news about anybody, so Davey began to feel more at ease––okay, they’re right and I am wrong.Clowns don’t steal kids after all. He sighed with relief and went about the business of enjoying the summer.

  On the fourth day, Davey came into the kitchen and immediately knew something bad had happened. The Daily News was spread out on the kitchen table with both parents hunched over it, reading together.

  “Oh my God! Oh, those poor people! She lived clear cross town.” They went on and on, not noticing their son standing in the doorway with a scared look on his now pale, white face.

  “Her father works on the loading dock, but I never got to know him.” Just then, Guy stood up straight and met his son’s eyes from across the room.

  In a hoarse voice, barely audible, Davey asked, “Were they at the picnic?”

  June swung around, surprised to hear such fear in her son’s voice.

  “Davey! I didn’t know you came downstairs. Sit and I’ll make you breakfast.” June
tried unsuccessfully to smile and act normal, like it was any other day.

  “I don’t want breakfast. I want to know if the girl was at the picnic!”

  “That’s no way to speak to your mother, Davey!” His father shot him a stern look. “Now, sit!”

  Davey did as he was told. Then he muttered, “Clown got her, too.”

  “I do wish you would stop going on and on about those clowns, Davey,” June said as she prepared his breakfast. “Besides, we don’t know if the family attended the annual picnic or not.”

  “Bet they did! Bet the clown got her!”

  “Hush now, Honey. Enough about the darn clowns!” June placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

  “It’s your imagination running away with you, son. Like when you complained about being upstairs alone and you dreamed about ghosts and goblins coming up the stairs to ‘get’ you. You know it’s not possible...right, Davey?”

  “Right, Dad.” Davey figured it’d be best to agree with them. They will never, in a million years, believe him on this subject.

  “Just one thing, though––I bet next year there will only be three clowns in the parade!” He began stuffing his mouth full of the scrambled eggs.

  Out of his sightline, June and Guy rolled their eyes to the heavens, their exasperation plainly evident upon their faces.

  The whole family attended the little girl’s funeral the next day along with the rest of the company and their families. Davey could not stop shivering, as he walked by the casket.

  It got her, it got her, it got her...only this time it killed her...he thought and wouldn’t look at the dead girl’s body as the family passed by. June held tightly onto her small son’s shoulders. Sadness and tears filled every corner of the room.

  When fall finally arrived, school began as usual. However, Davey became increasingly quiet and withdrawn. Now in the second grade, his teachers became worried about him, but decided it was just a phase he was going through. His schoolwork didn’t suffer, so they left him alone.

  Christmas came and went. Spring drifted by just like the robins in the front yard, as they fluttered from tree to bush. Crows squawked at Davey, who sat morosely on the bench on the front porch of his home. Slingshot brought sticks, but Davey wouldn’t play fetch with him, the way he always did.

  March, April, May, June...

  I won’t go this time! I just won’t! He promised himself, while he sat, arms crossed firmly across his chest. His stubborn chin stuck out like an exclamation point.

  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-fa
ce, 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.

  The summer passed. Fall fell. Same old, same old, with one bright exception––Mom and Dad announced they were going to have a new baby! It was going to be great! Davey decided he would love being an older brother.