“Daddy?”

“Yes, Kitten?”

“There’s a clown in my bedroom.”

“A clown in your bedroom, you say?” Gerald looked at his daughter over the edge of his newspaper, “Are you quite sure?”

The seven-year-old nodded slowly. “It’s sleeping in my bed.”

Gerald stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That shouldn’t be, should it?” Bethany opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything her father continued. “I mean, it’s only six, his sleep schedule will be thrown way off. Last thing we need is a clown with jet-lag.”

“Um… do… do you mean the clown is supposed to be there?”

“Don’t be silly Sweety, the clown is supposed to be staying in the guest room. He must have gotten mixed up, do go wake him, please.”

“But… no!”

“Bethany,” Gerald looked at her sternly.

“I don’t want a clown living here! He’s scary!”

Gerald folded the paper and laid it on his lap. “Someday, little girl, you’ll understand that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to, even if they are sort of scary. Do you know the phrase ‘slavering, ichor-dripping, toothy maw’ means?”

“Um. No.”

“I didn’t think so. But you will, you will,” Gerald sighed, “Tell you what, Kiddo, you go get yourself a cookie and a glass of milk, and I’ll tell the clown to go to the guest room. Sound good?”

Bethany was less than pleased with the situation, but she knew things were out of her control. And she really, really liked cookies. She smiled, nodded, and dashed off to the kitchen. Gerald stared after her for a moment, bittersweetly. He remembered back when he was a kid, and his father took in a clown. That month was one of the most defining of his youth, with him and the clown. He didn’t understand either, back then, why the clown had to be there. It didn’t make things much better now that he understood the rules, now that his daughter had to meet her clown.

Gerald walked down the hallway to Bethany’s room. Sure enough, there, spread out on the pink bedspread, floppy shoes hanging over the edge and touching the floor, snoring lightly with a honking sound, was the clown. Gerald squeezed its big red nose to wake it up.

“Um… hey there, sir,” Gerald’s gaze was locked on the clown’s bright yellow eyes, “Um… this is, uh, my daughter’s room. I was wondering if you’d want to, uh, go to the guest room?”

The clown’s white lips parted slightly, showing his crooked yellow teeth, and filling the room with the faint scent of tobacco, popcorn, and innumerable rubber balloons. He inhaled slowly, as he rolled over and sat up. “Have you seen the flower in my lapel?”

“Y- yes.”

“Maybe you should get a closer look at it.”

Gerald shuddered, “I… I don’t want to.”

The clown’s eyes narrowed; he said nothing. Gerald swallowed nervously, and leaned in, until his face was a few inches from the flower.

The clown gave Garald a quick jab to the abdomen, then a right hook to the chin, sending him sprawling. “Perhaps you forgot who’s in charge here.”

Gerald scrambled to his feet, “I’m sorry, sir. Bethany can sleep in the guest room, it’s all right.”

“It had better be.”

***

Bethany was sitting at the kitchen counter, her cookie mostly finished. Her second cookie, that is. Gerald walked in, and sat next to her.

“Daddy? Daddy, are you crying?”

“No, Sweety, it’s just… it’s just seltzer. Seltzer from the funny clown… the funny, funny clown.”

“… oh.”

Gerald stared at the wall, not seeing anything in particular. “The funny… funny… clown…”