Clown's Little Helper

1

Twenty-seven years old, and here I am wasting my days away babysitting children. You'd think someone like me would actually have a social life, and not be hanging out with thirty-something kids on a daily basis. 

The sounds of the children's screams seemed to be lodging themselves into the most sensitive parts of my senses, aching every single bone, straining my eyes and pulsating a headache in my brain. But I love these kids anyways, and it's always been a dream of mine to have a kid. And since I never did, I have to replace it with caregiving, which is good enough—for now.
But every chance I got, I'd sneak off downstairs to the cellar of the house to have a drink or to just have one relaxing, quiet moment to myself.

And as I sat down here surrounded by the darkness, my every move echoing off the grainy dirt covered walls, I could hear something else that wasn't my feet scratching against the floor, or one of the kids screeching managing to reach me. It was like a whisper, and the whisper seemed to flow around as if some being were walking circles around me. I wasn't afraid, no, fear has never been a problem for me. My own mother feared how fearless I was. If there were a snake that managed to slither into the house, I could kill it, no hesitation. My father attempted countless times to jump scare me, but never achieved.

The echoing whisper shifted from just a moan, to my name. 'Holly...' it sent a soft cold breeze across the room.
To this, I was intrigued. I stood up and placed the bottle of whiskey on the small plastic crate I had been sitting on. I looked around, but before anything else could happen, I heard a familiar voice calling for me.

"HOLLY!!!!" He screamed at the top of his lungs from the living room. I sighed and ran back up out of the cellar, taking one last look before closing the door.
I walked to the upstairs area to see Richie greet me with a smile, his thick glasses making him stand out from the rest of the kids. Richie would occasionally visit me to help with babysitting—that's what he claims he does, anyways. Really, though, when he comes over, he usually sits around and eats all my snacks.
I walked Richie into the kitchen so I could hear him over the sea of yelling children.

"How was school?" I felt obligated to ask.

"Fine." He replied with no interest. "Did you hear about that storm coming to hit us tomorrow? S'possed to be devastating. Gonna take out the power I heard."

"Yep. That's when all the freaks come out ta getcha, when the rain is so thick that you can't see em' comin." I said in attempt to spook Richie, but he just laughed.

"You mind if I stay here while the storm hits? My moms being a real douche-in-the-ass."

"What about Eddie? Don't you wanna stay at his place?"

"Ah..." he reached in the cabinet for the cookies I had hidden in a jar labeled 'supplies'. "His mom doesn't like having us over. She gets all pissy and kicks us out. But as much as I'd like to get into her panty drawer—"

"Beep Beep, Richie." I laughed.
I began saying 'beep beep Richie' when he was younger. He's always been quite hyper, and it seems as thought it's uncontrollable. However, Richie is just unaware of how much he can be to handle, so, he just needs a simple reminding to calm down is all.
"And I'm guessing Billy's still sick..."

"Mhm. Killer sick, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned into a zombie." He begins moaning, imitating what an undead Billy might turn out like.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I guess you can stay here. Just don't be any trouble, you hear?"

"I hear."
I heard a glass break and a kid scream. I sighed, slowly making my way back to the kids. I seen a broken vase lying crumbled on the hardwood floor, the kids all standing a certain distance to keep from harm. At least they were that smart.