Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YJG7RSXDEXACM065MBZDKP

Molly spread the birthday invitation across the kitchen table while Bill weighed down its corners with four suspiciously identical salt shakers, all labeled POLICE EVIDENCE. “The party’s at two, presents arrive at one, and the clown arrives at noon. We’ll slip in during the balloon animals, when nobody can hear.” Bill leaned over the invitation, squinting at a photograph of a smiling child wearing a crown made of glitter and pure, considerable, apparent executive authority. “I’m not scared of children, Molly. I’m scared of clowns. One made my father disappear, and Mother says it wasn’t even a proper magic trick.” Molly drew a rectangle representing the house, a circle representing the garden, and a potato representing Bill. She added alarmed tiny arms to the potato. “You’ll pose as the magician’s assistant, carry the presents to the van, and leave the cake alone. That last bit is operationally absolutely essential, Bill.” Bill examined the plan with the gravity of a general reviewing troop movements, or a man trying to read instructions on a packet of instant noodles. “What about the magician? If he recognizes me, he’ll remember I still owe him twenty pounds and one extremely disappointed white rabbit named poor Derek.” Molly produced a false mustache, a sequined waistcoat, and a laminated badge reading OFFICIAL PARTY INSPECTOR. The mustache had more sequins than the waistcoat, somehow. “Wear this and nobody will question you. If anyone does, inspect their party sternly and say the bunting isn’t compliant with current safety regulations, Bill.” Bill stuck on the mustache. It promptly fell into his tea, where it floated like a drowned caterpillar contemplating its many previous poor career choices. “We need a diversion, something spectacular, perhaps a smoke bomb or a marching band or a second clown. No, scratch that. I’m being quite ridiculous.” Molly tapped the invitation. Beneath the child’s photograph someone had written PLEASE BRING UNWRAPPED GIFTS FOR THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL. Bill’s mustache sank with sudden dignity. “Hang on. We’re stealing presents from sick children? That’s not a heist, Molly, that’s the sort of thing that gets you haunted by absolutely everyone.” Molly read the invitation again. Her smile folded itself away like a deck chair sensing rain. She crossed out the potato’s two cheerful little arms. “Right, new plan. We break into the party, deliver every present ourselves, and steal something else. Something nobody will miss and everybody will deeply appreciate.” Bill considered this while rescuing the mustache with a teaspoon. Across the road, a neighbor’s leaf blower commenced its daily argument with the entire universe. “The clown. We steal the clown. Not permanently. Obviously, we just lure him away with a fake audition and let the children actually enjoy themselves.” Molly packed the gifts into a sack. Bill wrote AUDITION on a card and added FREE PARKING, because even evil deserved a properly convincing incentive. “And if he asks about the rabbit, I’ll say Derek joined a monastery. Which is technically true, provided nobody checks what particular kind of monastery.”