Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ5A5REVJV5CYXS4B000RQR

The birthday party sprawled across the Wilsons' backyard like a pastel-coloured disaster zone. A massive pink tent rippled in the breeze, its sides covered with cartoon unicorns that appeared to be crying. The magician inside was frantically trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat that had already produced three sad-looking mice. Children were beginning to throw cupcake wrappers at him. A balloon poodle lay deflating on the grass, its snout pointing accusingly at the sky. Molly and Bill had been crouched behind a thicket of rhododendrons for ten minutes. Molly's knees were starting to ache, but she kept the binoculars steady. Bill was trying to pick a piece of gum out of his hair with a twig and failing miserably. "The present table is defenceless," Molly whispered. "Sixteen boxes. One is shaped like a spaceship. The deluxe model." Bill stopped his hair rescue operation. "A laser toy? Safety hazard." "We're not here to critique child-rearing. Recap the plan." Molly held up the mesh bag at her belt. It buzzed with frantic energy. "Trained crickets. They swarm adults in blue. The mother's wearing blue." Bill squinted at the bag. "You trained crickets. For months." "Four. They have short attention spans." "Right." Bill looked at the duffel bag at his feet. "I put on the costume, walk in, grab presents, walk out. Kids scream." "Exactly. Perfect crime." "I've never stolen from a kid before," Bill said. "You'll get used to it." Bill unzipped the duffel bag. The smell of cheap dye and microwave popcorn wafted out. He pulled out the orange and yellow jumpsuit. It had pom-poms on the sleeves and an elastic waistband that had seen better decades. "I will never know peace again," he said, holding it at arm's length. "You will know gift cards. Now put it on. The mother is on her second phone check. Our cue." "I still can't believe we're doing this," Bill said. Bill wriggled into the costume. The legs bunched around his ankles. The torso crept up under his armpits. He looked like a circus tent that had collapsed on a trampoline. He picked up the shoes, two floppy, pancake-shaped monstrosities. "Why do these exist?" "Comedy. Embrace your destiny." He shoved his feet inside. They made a sad, squelching sound. When he walked, they flopped like jellied fish. He looked like a man being chased by his own feet. "Remember the giggle," Molly said. "You're Stitches the Clown." Bill attempted his professional clown giggle. It came out as a strangled wheeze, like a cat trying to start a faulty lawnmower. "Perfect. Utterly haunting. Children will flee." "And what if a child asks me for a balloon animal?" Bill asked. "You tell them the clown is on a break." "And the parents?" "Will chase crickets. Now go. Third phone check. Signal." Bill took a deep breath, which only filled his nose with the scent of mothballs. He turned on his floppy heels and began the waddle of his life toward the pink tent. His shoes slapped the grass with wet sounds. Behind him, Molly undid the catch on the cricket bag. The insects spilled out in a black and white wave, their tiny painted skulls glinting in the afternoon sun. They formed a line and marched toward the bounce house like a SWAT team. The party was about to get a lot more interesting.