He said it was part of the game.
By
Updated 4 years ago,September 11, 2021
I was always a spoiled kid.
My parents were wealthy and decided to spend their money smothering their only son with an incredible childhood.
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I had it all.
My play room was insane, a huge tv, pinball machines, and every toy you could imagine.
Despite having so much, I wasnt a brat about it.
I can say that now, having thoroughly examined my childhood.
I loved to share my immense stash of stuff with my friends.
I gave toys away, invited them over for pizza and movies, and was all around pretty generous.
On paper, I should have been a spoiled snob, but for whatever reason I wasnt.
Good genes I guess.
On my ninth birthday I had a bunch of my friends over.
Tables were set up with punch and snacks, little finger foods to keep us from complaining until dinner.
Balloons and banners were tied to every surface, my parents way of establishing how loved I was.
Music played from giant speakers my dad had set up on the back patio.
My friends and I ran around and jammed out while waiting our turn in the moon bounce.
My grandparents arrived a couple hours into the party, bringing with them a party gift.
My grandmother informed me she had purchased it at a yard sale the weekend prior.
It was a giant, hollow, plastic clown head.
Its face was white with red circles lining the painted eyes.
A smile was smeared to its lips, a big goofy grin that was also painted red.
The nose was a bulbous orb of plastic that sat oddly on its face like a big gumball.
Seeing my confusion, my grandmother laughed and explained what it was.
I flipped the head over and saw serrated notches lining the bald dome where the crown went.
I thought it was pretty lame, but didnt want to be rude.
I dutifully slid the plastic clown head over my own, the interior hard against my temples.
As it settle over me, I realized I couldnt see anything.
Red light filtered through the plastic, but there was a concerning lack of eye holes.
My grandfather chuckled as he watched me stumble around, hands outstretched so I wouldnt bump into anything.
I had to rely on my ears to keep my friends at bay.
He said the game was called Crown the Clown.
I was beginning to understand the rules.
My friends had gathered around to watch me and soon they were laughing and calling out for me.
My grandmother tossed one of them the crown and the game began.
It was surprising fun.
The plastic mask got hot, but I didnt mind.
I was too caught up in keeping my friends away from me and the crown off my head.
After about twenty minutes, no one had managed to get me.
I was laughing and stumbling around, doing my best not bump into anything.
Turns out he was trying to distract me.
I suddenly felt something click over my head, followed by a great cheer from my friends.
I had finally been crowned.
The neck hole was suddenly smaller, curling tight under my chin and biting into my skin.
I tried tugging harder, trying not to panic, the air thick inside the head.
I wrapped my fingers around the base of the head, pulling up as hard as I could.
I felt rough edges cut into me and I immediately stopped.
I could hear my friends laughing at me.
Im sure I looked ridiculous, but at that time I didnt find any humor in the situation.
Sweat dripped into my eyes and I blinked against the burning sensation.
I was suddenly very aware of how claustrophobic the clown head was.
I called out for someone to help me, doing my best to keep panic from my voice.
Still laughing, one of my friends came to my aid.
I felt his hands around my ears and suddenly I screamed as he jerked upward.
Pain exploded around my face and I shoved him away from me, panting.
Why couldnt I get this thing off me?
But now everything was squishing in on me, the opening flush against my throat.
I suddenly realized my nose was bent against the plastic, bent painfully to the right.
I then understood what was happening.
The clown head was shrinking.
I screamed for someone to get my dad, sweat pouring from my face.
The head stunk and the combination of unfiltered breath and sweat made me dizzy.
My throat was parched but my lips were lined with perspiration.
I felt the burning fingers of claustrophobia wrap around my mind.
The head squeezed a little tighter.
I screamed again for my dad, my vision obscured by the head.
I suddenly heard him in front of me and felt his hands trace the outer surface of my prison.
His voice changed from amusement to worry in a matter of seconds and that scared me even more.
His fingers traced the now compressed opening at the bottom.
The clown head gripped my head tighter.
I wheezed and sunk to my knees, the heat and lack of oxygen causing my head to swim.
My dad was yelling at my friends, instructing them to go retrieve something from the woodshed.
I didnt hear much, instead concentrating on my breathing.
My head throbbed as the hard plastic compressed my skull like a grape waiting to pop.
I heard my moms concerned voice, a shrill inquiry that my dad ignored.
I felt his fingers have a go at pry the head off my throat again.
He could tell I was fading.
Panic cracked his voice as he yelled at my friends to hurry.
His fingers were back at my throat, digging desperately, trying to give me some kind of relief.
I knelt before him, swaying slightly and sucking in hot, stinking air.
My body hitched and I felt another wave coming.
I tried to fight it, but it was like trying to stop a train.
I vomited into the mask, regurgitated soda and pretzels gushing into the tight space.
I gasped and the smell alone brought another gout rocketing from my lips.
It was trapped inside the head along with me.
And I was drowning in it.
It came to just above my nostrils, a slimy yellow line below my eyes.
I felt my strength begin to leave my body.
Suddenly, my friend returned with the item my father had asked for.
I heard him instructing me, his voice drown out by the puke in my ears.
He slowly turned me on my side and I coughed and gagged against the slurping vomit.
My nose felt like it was breaking against the walls of my prison.
My ears burned and sweat coated my skin.
I immediately knew what it was.
I howled as he applied pressure, the crowbar burrowing into my neck muscles.
Suddenly, the clown head tightened again, squeezing my skull harder than I could bare.
I thrashed on the ground, screaming in agony, clawing at my head.
I felt like my skull would explode from the pressure and darkness swam closer.
I heard my father instruct my friends to hold me still as he readjusted the crowbar.
Sweaty hands pinned me to the earth as my head was pushed sideways.
My father was apologizing, over and over, and I knew something bad was about to happen.
He shoved it in until I felt its hard surface resting against my cheek.
I tensed, warm blood streaming down my neck and across my shoulders.
I heard my father whisper into my ear to brace myself.
Tears ran down my face and red darkness shook my world.
Puke and sweat coated my face as I tried to escape the pain.
My friends held me in place and I heard one of them crying.
My teeth cracked against each other as my father continued to pull upward.
My tongue waggled and went numb in my mouth.
I felt a molar tear free from my gums.
It tumbled across my tongue like bloody candy.
I felt howling darkness rush me.
As I blacked out, I felt my father shaking me, clutching me in his arms.
His voice faded into the nothing.
I felt woozy and sick, an IV bag by my bed dripping relief into my bloodstream.
My mother and father were at my side, eyes bloodshot and filled with concern.
My grandparents sat on the other side of the bed, my grandmother crying.
As soon as they saw I was awake, they began to apologize all at once.
My father for doing what he did and my grandparents for exposing me to such horrors.
Thinking back on that day, I can still feel that horrible clown head.
Its like one sick joke now.
My jaw is in a constant state of crooked humor…like a painful half smile.
Read the whole story of Tommy Taffy.
THE THIRD PARENT by Elias Witherow is now available!here.
