A Jester's Face

My name is Jeanette Hooper. I am thirty-two years old and a single mother.

My boy Aaron , who is seven, is missing. I’ve been through hell ever since
he disappeared. There is a small play park in the suburb of San
Fransisco where we live and it is from there he seems to have been
abducted. I’ve been on the News, consulted with police, been in
touch with all branches of my family, but nothing has been seen or
heard of Aaron again. I am at my wits’ end and ready to consider
any lead whatsoever. All I want to do is find my boy. Aaron was a
lovely boy: he had fair hair, blue eyes and a cheeky smile. He was
just the sort of boy you would cherish, and now he’s gone. I really
don’t think I can go on if I don’t find him soon.

 

The police didn’t have to wait too long before something happened near the spot where
Aaron disappeared. A red van was spotted parked in the street and a
clown in full make-up was seen chatting to a group of young children.
It may seem innocuous enough; after all clowns are fun things, aren’t
they? But not today, not after all the stories of child abduction.
Neighbours had seen him, this clown, in a red and yellow silk suit,
and sporting a red nose and white face with a blond shock of woolly
hair.

 

A lot of people had a phobia of clowns; not really surprising when they could abduct
children. They thought of the case of Pogo the clown who had done
terrible things. His make-up had been full of angular lines: the sort
of face that would scare any child. That was a while back but it
still lingered in the minds of all parents. Clowns could be dangerous
and now the police were convinced this sighting in our suburb of San
Fransisco meant something very nasty was afoot. I was going to scour
the neighbourhood, look for this red van whenever I had time off
work. He had my Aaron, I know he did. I tried to tell myself he was
still alive, but sometimes I did wonder if in fact he had been killed
by this monster.

 

* * *

 

The basement was very warm. It was July after all. Four young boys sat about wondering what
was going on. Toby, the first boy to be seized, said “He seems
okay, doesn’t he, Wacko the clown?”

“No, he isn’t,”
another boy said. “I think he’s a bad man, just pretending to be
a clown.”

“So, he isn’t a real clown then. I thought he was going to do fun things with us.”

Aaron was confused. He didn’t know what to make of Wacko. He knew he missed his mum and he
thought it wrong to be kept in the basement of a stranger, but he
didn’t want to alarm the other boys, some of them younger than
himself. There was a four year old and a five year old, and he didn’t
want anyone to panic.

 

* * *

 

Jeanette Hooper turned on the News :

THERE HAS BEEN ANOTHER SIGHTING OF A CLOWN, THIS TIME
IN SAN JOSE, TALKING TO CHILDREN AND APPARENTLY ANOTHER CHILD IS
MISSING. ROBIN COULTHARD IS FIVE YEARS OLD AND HAS NOT BEEN SEEN
SINCE 10‘O CLOCK THIS MORNING.

So, another child was missing and this terrible clown was on the scene again. San Jose was
in travelling distance from San Fransisco. It would be easy to go
there by car and travel back. Just then Jeanette’s neighbour Susan
called at the door. Susan had been terribly concerned for her ever
since Aaron had gone missing. It was two days now. Jeanette had been
beetling around the streets of ‘sisco in her station wagon on the
lookout for anything suspicious but she had seen nothing. No red vans
with clowns in, that’s for sure. Susan had just been to see the
doctor with her own son Michael. He was hyperactive and the doctor
had prescribed Ritalin for him. She did not really agree with drug
treatment but what could she do. Susan also had a three year old
daughter Sophie. She was forever poking around in drawers and
cupboards and sometimes mislaying stuff Susan could then not put her
hands on.

“Only today,” Susan began, “Sophie put something in my bag. I don’t know where it
came from. It looks like make-up, a red lipstick, but I don’t think
it’s a woman’s, it looks like stage make-up.”

Jeanette was astounded.
What if it was a clown’s make-up?

“Where did you get this? Jeanette asked the little girl.

She answered back,
“Doctor, Doctor.”

It may not be anything, Susan, but I think this guy wants checking out. Which doctor is it
you see?”

“Oh, Dr. Coupland.
He’s ever such a nice man. He’s on Golden Gate Drive, 1257.”

“Is that his home address?”

“No, I don’t know where he lives, but I think it’s somewhere in San Jose.”

Another child had gone missing in San Jose, Jeanette thought.

“What sort of doctor is he?” Jeanette asked.

“He’s a paediatrician.”

“Oh, Susan, I think he’s a clown killer.”

 

* * *

 

Dr. Eric Coupland applied his make-up like a professional. He didn’t want the boys to
see him without it. He descended the basement steps his hands full of
candy. He had to make an effort. He didn’t want the boys
suspecting. He had quite a haul now, four lovely boys to enjoy,
before he decided how to dispose of them.

“Hi, boys - here’s some candy for you.”

The four innocent boys crowded around the clown. He sat two of the boys on his knee and
fondled them. He could barely resist their particular charms. In his
professional life of doctor he’d always wanted to do things with
the boys especially. He’d wanted to cuddle them, kiss them, do
inappropriate things, terrible, unspeakable things. Eric Coupland was
a monster, yet to himself simply a man having fun. The fact that it
entailed killing in the end meant nothing to him.

 

* * *

 

Jeanette Hooper grabbed the telephone directory and looked under C for Coupland’s home
address. She found it soon enough - 639, Sycamore Drive, San Jose.
She then telephoned the police before getting into her station wagon
and heading down the highway. It was a lovely summer’s day;
temperatures had been rocketing and today it was at least ninety
degrees Fahrenheit. She got there before the police which
disconcerted her a little. On the driveway was a green van, as well
as a regular car. Oh no, she thought, I have made a terrible mistake.

“Wait,” said Susan, who had come with her on the journey, and she then proceeded to get
out her keys and scratched the surface of the paintwork on the van.
“Look, Jeanette,” and as she scraped away the surface paint you
could see red underneath. It had obviously had a recent respray. “You
are right,” said Susan, “it’s him.”

 

Just then a suave looking forty year old man appeared at the door of the house, an
extensive bungalow of elegant proportions.

“Can I help you? he asked.

“Oh no,” said Jeanette, terrified he might do something to them.

Luckily at that moment two police cars sped into the drive.

Jeanette gained a new confidence. “You bastard, where’s my son?”

The man immediately went back inside as the police officers aproached the house. Then a
shot rang out. He was shooting from inside the house. Jeanette and
Susan ran back into the car and zoomed off out of sight. The police
then started a gun battle and it wasn’t over until they stormed the
front door and used tear gas to overcome him. Dr. Eric Coupland, or
Wacko as he called himself to his child victims, tottered to a stop,
was handcuffed and led out of the house. Jeanette and Susan looking
on from the safety of the end of the street rushed back upto the
house.

“Where’s Aaron?” she shouted.

“Let us deal with this,” the officers said.

Before very long four confused boys ran out onto the lawn, happy to be in the sunlight
after their dark days in the basement. Jeanette kissed Aaron and
hugged him. She was happy again. She had not been too late.
Coupland’s ritual of incarceration then murder had not had time to
develop, thank God.

 

Inside the house police found a room solely devoted to Coupland’s sick fantasies.

There was clown make-up, costumes, toys, candy, and on the walls chilling
photos of his child victims, many of them only four or five years
old. A jester’s face covered a whole gamut of the sickest of mad
fantasies.