Tubby The Clown

I was fifteen years old when everything changed. It was a damp October morning, the kind where the mist hangs low over the rooftops and you can smell the wet leaves in the air. I remember it clearly because that was the day I realised something was very wrong with Tubby The Clown.

I dragged myself out of bed, my room still dark except for the thin slivers of grey light peeking through the curtains. Pulling on my school uniform, I headed downstairs, my mind already on the Coco Pops waiting in the kitchen. Breakfast was always a comforting routine, a small slice of normality before the chaos of school.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard Tom's excited voice echoing through the hallway. "Rosie, Rosie! It's on! It's on!"

Tom, my little brother, was four and absolutely obsessed with Tubby The Clown. Tubby was Channel 4's latest attempt to capture the hearts of preschoolers, a goofy clown who found himself in all sorts of comical situations. The show was narrated by a gentle, Watch With Mother-style voice that guided Tubby through his adventures. It was the kind of show parents didn't mind leaving on, safe in its predictability and charm.

I poured myself a bowl of Coco Pops and sat down at the table. Tom was already planted in front of the TV, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, Rosie! You have to watch!"

With a sigh, I joined him on the couch, the smell of chocolatey cereal filling the air. Tom’s favourite show had just started. I wasn’t particularly thrilled about Tubby, but watching it with Tom had become part of our morning routine. Besides, I had to admit there was something endearing about the bumbling clown and his simple adventures.

This morning's episode was titled "Tubby At The Farm." I expected the usual antics: Tubby chasing chickens, maybe falling into a haystack. But as the episode progressed, I noticed something was off. The farm looked eerily familiar, resembling the one on the outskirts of our town. And then there was the chicken. It wasn’t running around or clucking happily; it was lying still, too still.

The narrator’s voice, usually so warm and comforting, took on a different tone. "Oh dear, Tubby. It looks like the chicken has gone to sleep forever. What should we do now?"

Tom, usually giggling at Tubby's antics, looked confused. "Rosie, why is the chicken not moving?"

I didn’t have an answer. I watched as Tubby, with exaggerated clumsiness, began to tend to the dead chicken. The narrator continued in that unnervingly cheerful voice, explaining in kid-friendly terms what to do with a dead animal. It felt wrong, deeply wrong. My skin prickled as I glanced at Tom, who was still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Before Tubby could do anything more, Mum walked into the room, her eyes widening at the scene on the TV. "What on earth is this?" She quickly switched off the TV, plunging the room into an awkward silence. "You two are going to be late for school. Get your things."

I got up, still processing what I had just seen. Tom didn't protest as Mum shooed us towards the door. We grabbed our bags and jackets, and soon we were walking to our respective destinations. The mist was still thick, wrapping around us like a damp blanket. Tom held my hand, his usual chatter replaced by a contemplative silence.

As we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with Tubby. The show was supposed to be innocent fun, a world of bright colours and silly jokes. But this morning's episode had shown something darker, something that didn't belong in a children’s show.

At school, the usual whispers and giggles greeted me as I entered the playground. The other girls were huddled in their groups, their eyes darting towards me. I knew what they were talking about. I had become the target of their teasing, just like some kids got bullied for liking Barney or the Teletubbies. Tubby The Clown was no different. They didn't understand why a teenager like me would watch a preschool show, even if it was just for Tom.

I kept my head down and made my way towards my friends, trying to ignore the whispers. But I couldn’t ignore the uneasy feeling that settled in my stomach. Something was wrong with Tubby, and I needed to find out what it was.

As I reached my friends, I forced a smile, but my mind was already racing. I had to get to the bottom of this. Whatever was happening with Tubby The Clown, it wasn’t just a glitch in a TV show. It was something more sinister, and I was determined to uncover the truth.