The hallways of St. Joseph's Secondary School buzzed with the usual Monday morning chatter. As I walked past the lockers, I could hear the whispers and giggles following me like a shadow. I knew what they were talking about. It was always the same - my obsession with Tubby The Clown.
"Did you hear about Rosie?" one girl whispered, loud enough for me to hear.
"Yeah, she’s gone mental over that creepy clown show," another replied, stifling a laugh.
I kept my head down, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. It wasn't fair. They didn't understand. They hadn't seen what I'd seen. The dead chicken, Tubby's unsettling grin - it was all too real. I reached my locker and fumbled with the combination, trying to shut out their voices.
By the time I got to PE, I was a bundle of nerves. We were playing dodgeball today, and I knew I had to stay focused. But as I stood in the gym, all I could think about was the episode of Tubby The Clown. The image of that lifeless chicken flashed before my eyes, making my stomach churn.
"Hey, Rosie! Watch out!" someone shouted, snapping me back to reality.
Too late. The dodgeball slammed into my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. I heard Liana's shrill laugh echoing in the gym, followed by the snickers of the other girls. My face throbbed, and tears sprang to my eyes.
"Nice one, Liana," one of her friends said, giggling.
"What's the matter, Rosie? Are you gonna cry?" Liana taunted, her voice dripping with mock concern.
I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They streamed down my face as the laughter grew louder. I scrambled to my feet and bolted out of the gym, clutching my face in pain. The sound of their mocking voices followed me all the way to the nurse's office.
Nurse Katy looked up as I burst in, tears still streaming down my cheeks. She was a kind woman, with warm eyes and a soothing voice. She took one look at me and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer.
"Sit down, Rosie," she said gently, handing me the ice pack. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice. "I... I got hit in the face during dodgeball. But it wasn't just that. I was distracted because... because of something I saw on Tubby The Clown."
Katy raised an eyebrow. "What did you see?"
I hesitated, then blurted it out. "A dead chicken. In the show. Tubby was holding it, and it looked so real. I saw it with my little brother, Tom. It's been bothering me ever since."
Katy listened patiently, nodding as I spoke. When I finished, she gave me a reassuring smile. "Rosie, it was just a TV show. Sometimes our imagination can play tricks on us, especially when we're already scared or anxious."
I nodded, but in my mind, I was certain it was more than just my imagination. Something was definitely up.
After school, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to investigate further. I decided to head to the outskirts of town, to the farm where Farmer Bartholomew kept his chickens. As I approached the farm, my heart pounded in my chest. I had no idea what I was going to find, but I had to know the truth.
The sight that greeted me was worse than I could have imagined. There, lying in the dirt, was the dead chicken from the show. Its body was stiff and lifeless, and next to it was a balloon animal shaped like a spider. My stomach churned with a mix of fear and disgust.
I forced myself to move forward, towards the chicken coop. The stench hit me before I even opened the door. When I did, I nearly gagged. All the chickens were dead, their bodies piled up in the corner of the coop. A poisonous stink bomb lay in the middle of the floor, its noxious fumes still lingering in the air.
I stumbled back, horrified. Who could have done this? And why? My mind raced with questions as I made my way up to Farmer Bartholomew's house. I had to tell him what I'd found.
The old farmer answered the door, his face lined with worry. "What is it, Rosie?"
"Have you seen a clown around here?" I blurted out. "Someone childish, like from a TV show?"
Bartholomew frowned. "No, I haven't seen any clowns. Why?"
I hesitated, then told him about the dead chickens and the stink bomb. His face grew darker with each word.
"I'll call the police," he said finally. "You'd better head home, Rosie. This is no place for a young girl."
I nodded and turned to leave, my mind spinning. As I walked away, I heard him pick up the phone and dial the police.
At the police station, Officer Reginald answered the call. His expression grew serious as he listened to Farmer Bartholomew's account. "We'll be there as soon as possible," he promised.
He hung up and walked into the boardroom, where the other members of the police force were waiting. He held up a file photo of a man with black hair, a pitch black beard, and no shirt on. "We might be dealing with a killer known as Jingle Jo," he said grimly.
Questions flew around the room, but Reginald cut them off. "Farmer Bartholomew needs us, and we need to act quickly - or else."
As I made my way home, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had settled over me. Something was terribly wrong, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. No matter what.
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