My son’s birthday is today, but unfortunately, it’s not a happy birthday. It’s the first birthday my son is going to experience without his father around, ever since the divorce. Things weren’t working out, my husband started drinking and doing drugs, and I couldn’t have my son around a man like that. I mean, he’s only turning eight today, and just think what would’ve happened if I had stayed with him. Not only that, my brother escaped from prison three months ago, he’s still running around, and no one knows where he is. Some people say he’s still in town, others say he flew the country. Whatever the case is, as long as both of those terrible men don’t get involved in today, everything will be fine. I’ve setup everything for today to be great. I’ve got the cake, got all of my son’s friends to come, and I even hired a clown for the entertainment. This clown said in his ad that he was highly recommended and that he got a positive rating from almost every party he went to. Anyways, the doorbell rang and before I could answer it, my son got the door for the first of his friends. About an hour later, all of the guests were here, except for the clown, who should’ve been here a half hour ago. All of a sudden, the doorbell rang, and I went to get the door. At last the clown was here, but he was not how he described himself in his ad at all. His wig was not a solid bright red, but a dirty rainbow. Instead of makeup, he wore a full clown face mask that covered his entire face, including his eyes and mouth. The mask was creeping me out, so I asked him to take it off so that he wouldn’t scare any of the kids.
“Trust me ma’am,” he said in a very amusing voice. “It’s all part of the act.”
Sticking to what I read in the ad, I trusted him, and led him to the kids. He had his balloons, flowers, and props ready to entertain them. Pretty soon, all of the kids were laughing along and playing with him, except for my son, who was looking really nervous for some reason, so I went to ask him what was wrong.
“I don’t like that clown,” my son nervously said, “He looks scary.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I assured. “He’s a lot of fun.”
As the party was winding down, all of the guests and the clown were getting ready to leave, but before everyone left, the clown announced that he would be taking pictures with all of the kids as they were leaving, so everyone got in line. When he said that he always saves the birthday kid for last, my son and I got into the end of the line, but my son wanted to get out, so I had to keep calming him down the entire time as the line kept moving. When the last kid left and had his picture taken, it was my son’s turn, and by this time, he was in tears.
“Don’t worry,” the clown said. “Your son’s in good hands. You can trust me.”
I gave him my son for him to take the pic with him.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” I interrupted, “but I’m a little thirsty, so I’m just gonna get a couple of drinks. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I drank it in about forty-five seconds, and when I was done, I returned to the living room, and the clown was gone, and so was my son. My heart felt like it dropped out of my body and underground. I started panicking like crazy, looking all over the house for him, but I couldn’t find him. I returned to the living room, where I found a note where the clown was taking pictures. I picked it up and read it.
“Come to my house with one hundred thousand dollars within twenty-four hours or the gun I have against your son’s head goes off. You better hurry, he doesn’t have much time left. Your ex-husband.”
My eyes widened bigger than the earth, and I nearly had a heart attack. On the back of the note was his address, so the second I read it, I hopped in the car, not caring about the money, because that son of a b**** doesn’t deserve anything, and drove straight to the address on the note. Forty-five minutes later, I arrived at this house that looked exactly like the stereotypical house you see in a really good horror flick. I got out of the car, and ran to the door, where a note that read, “Go to the basement. I’m waiting.” was hanging on the door. I barged in and found the basement, When I ran down to the bottom steps, into a room that had chainsaws, knives with bloodstains all over them, and guns scattered across the basement. It also had my ex-husband sitting in a chair, with my son on his lap and him holding a revolver to his head.
“Hello, honey.” he said.
“Give me my son,” I screamed, “or I swear I’ll-”
“You’ll what? You forget I’m the one with the gun threatening your son’s life. Now, pay up, or pay up.”
“You don’t deserve s***! You’re a deranged, disgusting, messed-up son of a b****! You actually dressed up like a clown just to kidnap my son?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Weren’t you the one who came to my house dressed up like that clown?”
He started to laugh.
“Oh, no, that wasn’t me. That was my really good friend. I’d introduce you, but…”
He gestured behind me, and I turned around to find the clown that came to the party.
“Then, if the clown’s not you, who’s this?”
“ A really, really good friend.”
The clown took off the mask.
“You see, your brother here has been a huge help to me ever since he escaped prison. I’ve been sending him notes to plan an escape, and once he succeeded, he came to me, and I took him in, taught him how to do my dirty work, and helped me complete my plan on you.”
“What plan?” I asked scared for my life.
“You see,” my brother chimed in, “you were always the favorite. You got everything you ever wanted in life, and I got nothing. Now, we’re here to make sure it’s the other way around.”
I picked up a knife in defense, and held it towards my brother.
“Stay away!” I cried. “Believe me, I know how to use a knife for more than just cooking!”
“It’s time things were different. You know, like how your son belongs to us now. And if you don’t pay your ex in about thirty seconds, your son’s brains are going to belong to the walls.”
My brother charged towards me, and out of instinct, I stabbed him in the stomach. He collapsed, and fell down, dead. I turned to my husband, who couldn’t stop looking at the sight he just witnessed. My son was screaming and crying, trying to get free, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Well, I think we need to get a message across.”
“And what’s that?” I asked
“That your son needs to say hi to your brother for us in hell!”
I charged toward my brother, and just before he pulled the trigger, I stabbed him in the eye, leaving the knife in his now bloodied skull. I pulled my son out of his grasp, as his now lifeless body fell to the ground. I hugged my son as tight as I could, as I heard the sound of people coming down the stairs. They turned out to be the local cops. As I thought they were about to get us to safety, one of the cops started reading my Miranda Rights, and another started handcuffing me.
“Wait, what’s going on?” I cried. “Those two men were about to kill my son!”
“Ma’am,” said one of the cops, “You’re under arrest for two counts of first-degree murder. You’re being put away for life. Your son will be going into the local orphanage.”
Before I could say anything, one cop took a swing, and knocked me out.
When I woke up, I was in a jail cell. There was a cop standing outside of it, with a piece of paper in his hand.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“For you.” he said.
He handed me the piece of paper and walked away. I opened it up, and it had a message for me.
“We told you you’d have nothing left.”