Sir Timothy's Clown Holocaust
Extract from "Daddy Stories" by Meg McCarville
Meg McCarville, author of “Four Circles” (AS#19, 2019), has a new book, available for pre-order from our comrades at Nine-Banded Books. Publication date is, appropriately enough, Father’s Day (June 16). Meg is the wittiest and fiercest of writers. But don’t take my word for it, read on for an exclusive extract from DADDY STORIES … and buckle up!
I believe my lifelong fascination with clowns started when Daddy took me to Sir Timothy’s. Sir Timothy’s was a classy shop that sold high-priced “collectibles”—mostly objects I’d imagine being on display at Neverland Ranch or Trump Towers (or in my McMansion, if I had a winning lotto ticket and a time machine that took me back to 1986!). There were ceramic plates adorned with the faces of Elvis Presley and Princess Diana, Fabergé eggs, full suits armor, Precious Moments figurines, and rare pewter Dungeons and Dragons tchotchkes.
I loved going to Sir Timothy’s with Daddy. It was better than any museum—and more educational!
During one of our visits, as I was taking all of it in, my attention was drawn to a floor-to-ceiling glass display case filled with ceramic clown figurines. Not one of them priced under $500.
I was in awe! I beheld these little clowns in a state of rapt fascination, as if they were priceless relics in the Louvre. I wanted to have and hold every single one!
Daddy wasn’t interested in the clowns. Daddy had some scheme in mind where he was going to use his Little Princess to finagle free cigar boxes from the store owner. I’m not sure how this was supposed to work, and I’m not sure Daddy knew either.
Daddy was very drunk.
Daddy was being escorted to a room in the back of the store where the cigar boxes were on display. I was supposed to go with him, according to plan, but I could not stop staring at those clowns and dreaming of having them all to myself.
I was still in a sort of clown-coveting trance when I saw Daddy stumble out of the back room, shouting and waving his arms in anger.
Then it happened.
You know the phrase, “like a bull in a China shop”?
How about, “like my Daddy in Sir Timothy’s”?
Daddy walked head-on into that glass case of very expensive, very fragile clowns! Like a bird flying into a closed window!
The scene is emblazoned in my mind. It unfolds in slow motion, in true Technicolor, in cinematic perfection with “Ave Maria” playing in the background. One by one, the precious clown figurines crashed onto the floor, shattering into a million pieces. Sound stopped. Life stopped. It was magnificent and terrifying at the same time. A once in a lifetime occurrence, like seeing Halley’s Comet or watching a guy get murdered with a broken bottle. When I face the Reaper and my life plays out before my eyes, I am certain that THIS moment will be front and center!
I pause now in solemn remembrance.
…
After this memory, it’s a blur. Everything happens at breakneck speed. Daddy grabs my arm, tears me from the clown holocaust and out the door. I remember people angrily calling after him:
“Sir, get back here!”
“You just destroyed forty thousand dollars worth of merchandise!”
“This is a felony!”
I remember store managers and security guards and even mall patrons trying to block Daddy’s reckless path as he ran through the mall with me in tow. I remember Daddy shoving and pummeling anyone who came near him.
And somehow Daddy broke through the gauntlet! When he was satisfied that we had lost the throng of ground-zero witnesses, Daddy slowed down with purpose and pulled me toward a MEN’S RESTROOM!
“Daddy! I cannot go in this bathroom! It’s for MEN!”
He looked into my eyes. “Honey, you have to. Just close your eyes until we get into a stall and then stand on the toilet seat.”
Maybe I should have listened to Daddy, but I had to see!
While it is common to see mothers attending to their little boys in public restrooms, the gender-reversed scenario is strikingly rare. A man simply does NOT drag his daughter into a busy shopping mall men’s room.
There is a reason for this.
Men with their cocks in their hands were EVERYWHERE. And when you’re a girl forty inches tall and seven years old, the sight of a bunch of adult penises can be very… alarming. Having just witnessed a clown genocide, I now found myself assuming the point of view of a girl in a piss bukkake video!
I screamed. “AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK! Just get in the stall and stand on the toilet!”
Oh no! I was blowing Daddy’s cover!
With visions of cocks and clowns swarming through my mind, I tried to compose myself. I got up on the toilet seat as Daddy instructed and stayed silent. There were security alerts about Daddy over the loudspeaker outside.
Daddy seemed to gather himself. He was planning our getaway. The threat of having to pay forty grand for a bunch of broken clowns was very sobering for Daddy. Once he had collected his thoughts, Daddy spoke in a whisper:
“Okay. Now, we have bad people looking for us. We have to get out of here. I am going to open this stall door, and we are going to walk out of this restroom like nothing ever happened. Once we get out of the bathroom you will see an exit ahead. We are going to run to the exit. And no matter what, you keep running. Run all the way to the car and get in and shut the door. I’ll be with you.”
I gave him a thumbs up.
Security alerts repeated over the loudspeaker. I was all in. This was our Bonnie and Clyde getaway mission. If we were going down, we were going down together! I followed Daddy’s instructions. He held my hand as we innocently walked out of the stall, this time with my eyes shut. Then to the restroom door. Daddy opened the door, and I opened my eyes.
“RUN!”
Daddy and I ran for it. I heard a man shout, “THERE HE IS! I SEE HIM!” Daddy picked me up mid-stride and made for his black Mustang with me in his arms. He opened the door and tossed me in the car. Mission accomplished!
But where was Daddy?
He was finagling with something in the trunk. What was he doing? I couldn’t see him behind the open trunk. Then the trunk slammed and he swooped into the car and floored it the fuck out of Stratford Square Mall.
I looked out the back window and saw a group of security guards getting into cars. I saw the man who owned Sir Timothy’s writing something on a pad of paper. But Daddy was way ahead of them. He accelerated. Daddy and his fast Mustang got us the fuck out of harm’s way! Away from the bad people!
Driving at breakneck speed, Daddy turned to me and told me NEVER to go near Sir Timothy’s again. I swore not to.
We made it home. After Daddy parked the car, he again opened the trunk. He removed the decoy license plate and replaced it with the normal one.
Daddy always thought ahead for moments like these.
I still feel bad for those clowns.
DADDY STORIES PRE-ORDER:
MEG meets JERRY
Text and images copyright Meg McCarville / Nine-Banded Books 2024.
©Amphetamine Sulphate ©Philip Best 2024
Excellent writing. Would like to read more from someone who knows how to tell a story with twists.