Drags to Richesby Ann Richter
Narrated by Nikki Martin
“Mommyyyyy! The goat’s chasing me!”
I charged after the little goat who was chasing Ryla around our backyard, nipping at her pretty rainbow birthday dress.
“Shoo! Shoo!” I grabbed the little menace and carried it over to the makeshift pen, plunking it down with the rest of the escape artists. It bleated, displeased with being recaptured.
Ryla’s birthday party had been going well, until the goats from the petting zoo started escaping like tiny Houdinis. How they were getting out, I had no idea. It was bad enough that they pooped little pellets all over our backyard, but every time the kids got near them, they’d not only eaten the corn feed the kids held out, but tried to inhale the kids’ shirts as well.
“Everyone!” I shouted to the party guests that were mingling on the stone patio and around the pool. “Until we have the goat situation under control, please move inside the house!”
I strode over to the guy in charge of the petting zoo. “I don’t know what you have to do, but if these goats manage to get out again and eat any of my guests’ clothing, not only will you reimburse them for the damage, but I will be getting a full refund, you hear me?”
The punk, who was wearing earbuds, continued looking at his phone like I wasn’t even talking.
“Do you hear me?”I snapped my fingers in front of his face, feeling like I was ninety-five and poking him with a cane.
He finally glanced up at me, eyes hazy. “Bet.” I caught a vague whiff of marijuana.
Huh. Perhaps he knew Clarice.
At least Ryla looked like she was having a good time. We started the day on the right foot when she actually let me wrangle her hair into two French braids without any screaming. She skyped with Giselle without any tears, and Max didn’t immediately go to his room once the guests arrived, even though I’d made the rule that he was allowed to go into his room during the party if he needed a break. Leah had awoken bright and early and was my saving grace all day. She offered to keep an eye on my kids during the party so I could manage the guests, taking that worry off my mental plate. About a half hour before the party started,Sam from the Jack of All Trades company I'd hired to organize the party’s entertainment arrived with the petting zoo . . . and that’s when things started to unravel.
Just as the first guests arrived, Sam got an emergency call and had to leave. Then, the unseasonably hot summer weather started to make everything melt, so we had to move all the food inside. After that, a cry erupted from a little girl near the games area when a little goat started nipping at her untucked shirt from behind. Within the next five minutes, all the goats began to make their move, acting like convicts in a jailbreak, looking for any fence weaknesses.
Ensuring that no one except the goats and their wrangler were outside, I shut the sliding porch door and turned around . . . to absolute chaos.
I had planned for an outdoor party, and now the kids were running around the kitchen as though they’d never been inside a house before. Walking into the living room, things just got worse. The kids were using the toys I’d intended for outside use—large bouncy balls, foam airplanes, Hula-Hoops—like they were in a rage room.
Ding-dong!I heard the doorbell chime as Ryla shouted, “Mom! Can we open the Silly String?” from across the room.
“No!” I shouted back over the chaos, then heard the doorbell again.
Rushing to the front door, hoping against hope it was the magician coming to salvage this party, I opened the door and gasped, jumping back and slamming it shut. Heart thundering in my chest, I hesitantly opened the door and peered outside, half wondering if it was a figment of my imagination.
Nope. Not my imagination. There, standing in between the stone pillars of the front porch, was a clown.
He looked like every other clown that haunted my dreams: white face paint, creepy ruby-red smile, red ball nose, and rainbow wig. The clown wore a yellow suit with white polka dots and looking down, I saw the ensemble was complete with large red clown shoes. He wasn’t speaking, just staring at me with wide eyes.
I leaned slightly to the side, peering around him, then looked behind me—we were alone. This didn’t appear to be a prank.
“Are you here for . . . the party?” I held my breath, fearing the answer. I distinctly remembered emailing Sam and asking for a magician—no clowns.I think I’d even underlined it.
The clown didn’t reply. Was this one of those creepy clown mimes?
Frowning, I tried again. “I’m Polly Alberton. My daughter's sixth birthday party is today. I had requested a magician. Were you hired by Jack of All Trades?”
After one more pause, as if I’d chugged a quarter into a game slot, the clown opened their mouth and pointed at me.
“Right you are! Nice to meet you. I am Kent the Clown!” His voice was exaggerated, like a DJ of olde. “And I’m ready to amaze the birthday girl and all of your guests. I’m the master of magic tricks, the bringer of balloon animals, and the maker of your child’s dreams come true!”
And then he did a little pose, complete with spirit fingers.
So, not a clown mime, then.
Though, perhaps someone I shouldn’t bring near children . . . at least not until I asked for ID.
