Send in the Clown
Jim closed the blinds, unplugged the telephone, and put the tape in. He leaned back in his chair, took a breath, and pressed play.
The tape crackled, the sound familiar though no less unsettling, for he knew what was to come.
He skipped past the preliminaries, stopping when he heard Jess’s voice.
“The baby monitor is one of the new models. There’s a small camera downstairs in Harry’s room, and a base unit next to my bed. I was nervous about Harry sleeping in his own room, especially with him being two floors below: the lower ground floor. It’s a long way down. The house wasn’t really designed for family living. Michael loved it though.”
He turned up the volume and closed his eyes. He heard her take a sip of water. He flinched as the glass touched her teeth.
“I liked lower ground floor over basement, like the realtor said. Basement sounds creepy, dark, and cold. Harry’s room is nice though—there’re animal stickers on the walls. We had the ceiling painted blue, like the sky.”
She coughed lightly, shuffled in her seat.
“It’d taken a few weeks before I managed to sleep more than an hour without checking the monitor; seeing what position he was sleeping in; making sure he hadn’t kicked his sheet off. The night-vision mode gives his room an eerie, green glow; makes his skin look so pale I felt sure he was freezing cold down there.”
She laughed then, a fleeting, anxious laugh.
“I wasn’t sure why I was sitting up in bed that night, why I was sweating, why my heart was pounding so hard. I remember reaching for the clock, seeing it was three-nineteen. Funny . . . the things you remember.”
Another pause, another cough.
“I glanced at the monitor and fought the urge to check him. I drove myself mad, always checking. He’s three after all, not a baby. I reached for my glass of water. My throat was dry and scratchy . . . I’m not sure . . . maybe I was getting sick . . . a cold or something.”
She cleared her throat. “Is this too much detail?”
He heard his own voice, calm, reassuring, practiced. “You’re doing well.”
“I lay back and stared at the blank screen. He was fine. Harry was fine. It had been like this every night since Michael left. I was a wreck . . . I am a wreck: fucked. The person I used to be . . . gone . . . I’m not even sure I remember her. I wonder if I’ll ever see her again . . . that person I mean. Do I sound crazy?”
He’d smiled gently, shaken his head.
“My mother said it will just take time, that I’ll find my way again. But how much time? How much longer will I have to go on like this before it gets easier? She doesn’t know, she can’t tell me. I’m waiting for the day when I can stop thinking about him, flip a switch or something; dark to light. But at the same time I’m terrified of moving on, because I love him so much. Do you get that, Jim?”
He’d met her eye, offered a slight nod.
“I wonder when I’ll be able to eat a meal and not think about who he’s eating with, or worse, sleeping with. It’s like an illness, it consumes you. I breathe him in, but never out. Is that fucked-up, Jim? It’s unfair, you know. He just walked out. It’s easier for him to find someone else. I’m the single mother now, the one with the baggage, the one that needs a small miracle to find someone decent . . . someone that wants to be a father to another man’s child. And who does? I mean, really? I try to force these thoughts to the back of my mind. But lying there at night . . . that night . . .”
She trailed to a heavy silence.
They broke, this time for her to visit the ladies’ room.
He thought about stopping the tape—he always did at this point. He traced his finger over the button, drawing it away when he heard her voice again.
“A long hour passed before I started to relax. My eyes grew tired and I started to drift. And then I heard it.
A whisper.
‘Jessica.’
I opened my eyes wide, my breath caught in my throat. I stared at the monitor, the screen still dark, the green light still burning.
I must have been imagining it. That’s what I thought, Jim: Get a grip, Jess. It was my mind playing tricks again, the way it did when Michael first left. It had been easier then because Harry had slept in my bed, as much for my sake as his. He didn’t want to though. Imagine that. A three year old wanting to sleep on his own. So grown-up.”
She cleared her throat.
“I sat up. My hand shook as I reached for my water.”
He remembered her cheeks burning, her eyes darting up, around.
“I heard it again.
‘Jessica.’
Still a whisper, but louder this time.”
Her words tumbled out.
“I dropped the glass. I picked up the monitor and pressed the button. I calmed when I saw Harry, fast asleep on his back, with his hands above his head. He’d slept that way since he was a baby. I must have imagined it. Just a voice in my head. That’s what I kept telling myself, because that’s what you do . . . you rationalize. I watched him until the screen faded. I placed it back onto the nightstand and forced myself to lie down. I thought I was going mad, Jim. I thought I’d call my mother in the morning and tell her. Then maybe the men in the white coats would come and cart me off someplace.
I couldn’t get back to sleep. I kept thinking, what if I hadn’t imagined it? What if there was someone in Harry’s room? The scan button. I had forgotten about the scan button. I reached for the monitor again. There’re four arrows on the side of it, so you can move the camera around. I pressed the right arrow. The camera swept along his bed and past his toy chest, his rocking horse, and his ride-on car. I hoped that it didn’t make a noise when it moved. He’s only just started to sleep through the night, a big deal for a boy who used to wake every few hours.”
He could hear her fingers clawing at the table as the panic began to take hold.
“The camera reached the far wall. I scanned back again. And then, just before it reached his bed, I saw something. The camera swept back to Harry’s face. He looked so calm, Jim, so peaceful.”
She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper.
“I pressed the arrow intermittently. It jerked slowly right.
Again, I pressed it. Again, it jerked.
Again and again . . .”
She paused, struggling for breath.
He’d wanted to break then, had moved to, then stopped himself.
“And then it settled on the rocking chair in the far corner of the room.
I saw a shape in the chair, but it was too far away to make out.
I knew that it shouldn’t be there.
Every night I sit Harry on my lap and read him a story in that chair. I strained my eyes trying to see what it was.
I pressed the zoom button and watched as the shape slowly became something that I recognized.
A man.
A man in my son’s room.”
Her voice shook savagely.
“The man was wearing a clown mask.”
He swallowed then, felt his own throat dry.
“I screamed, dropped the monitor, and grabbed the phone.
I put it to my ear. The line was dead . . . the storm outside. I walked across the bedroom and stopped when I felt something wet beneath my feet. I was about to scream again when I saw the glass on the floor. Water. I had spilled my water.”
The clawing was louder now, faster.
“I crept down the first flight of stairs, wiping the sweat from my eyes.
I walked along the hallway and into the kitchen. I had left the blinds up, could see the rain falling outside. I saw the knife block. I reached for the largest, the carving knife. As I walked down the final flight of stairs I stopped and listened.
My heart was pounding so fast, Jim, it was all I could hear.
Thump.
Thump.
Over and over.
I took a breath and ran for the door, pulled the handle down, and burst into the room.
I hit the light switch and screamed, gripping the knife so tightly that my fingers turned white. I looked at the rocking chair.
No clown.
And then I looked at my son’s bed.
I dropped the knife and fell to my knees.
My son wasn’t there.
He was gone.
Harry was gone.”
Jim rubbed his eyes, his shoulders tight as he exhaled heavily.
He sat in the dark for a long time, listening to her cry, willing himself to stop the tape.
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