The Nightshift

Wursley didn't sit down after stepping onto the bus. There were plenty of seats, but he wanted to make a swift exit, so he stood right by the door. Rain slid down the windows, each wobbly streak illuminated by the yellows and oranges brushed across the sky. His destination felt like the faraway horizon, warm, dry, and colorful. It was hard to remain patient while the bus trundled along under this rain cloud. Wursley gently patted the outside of his jacket to make sure his package was still there. He already knew it was, but he had to be sure. His whole plan for the evening would be impossible without it. The sky darkened, and white street lamps blinked on. They pushed their sterile light up against the windows.

Wursley straightened his tie and checked his watch. A lady sitting by the door glanced up at Wursley. She was the only one who had acknowledged his existence. His bland uniform - navy trousers, grey shirt, and clean black shoes - screamed night security guard. She felt tired just at the thought of wearing a uniform like that. It wasn't difficult to guess where he was going, but no one on that bus would be able to guess what he was going to do when he got there.

Wursley was a security guard at a small shopping mall. He had chosen the job because of one store in particular. It had started innocently enough, but after years, spending every night in the mall, it had snowballed into an obsession. He took the job as he thought he might be able to satisfy himself by simply looking around this particular store at night, when no one was there. He had tried going during the day many times before but had always lost courage, chickened out, and trudged home defeated. As a night security guard, he could go when there was no one there to make him feel shy or embarrassed.

Wursley would sleep during the day, often dreaming of arriving at work. He would wake up in the late afternoon to have his breakfast. He would carefully iron his uniform and put it on while it was still warm. There wasn’t a single crease, except for the intentional one down the front of his trousers. This would make them easier to fold later. He would polish his shoes and set off for the bus stop, always making sure he was at least fifteen minutes early. He never wanted to risk missing a shift at work. Of course, this had nothing to do with taking pride in his job or taking his responsibility seriously. He didn't want to miss a single opportunity to visit his beloved store.

Wursley checked his watch again. Barely a minute had passed. The closer he got to the mall, the slower time seemed to go. Every day as he was getting dressed to leave his house, a simmering feeling, like fizzing static, grew in his veins. As he waited for the bus, things started to bubble a little more energetically. Stepping onto the bus was simultaneously a jolt of excitement and a wash of relief, knowing that he would soon arrive. When it was finally time to press the stop button, he was almost ready to burst.

It was time. Wursley pressed the STOP button firmly to ensure there was an audible ding for the driver. He never pressed it twice in case the driver became angry and decided to deliberately pass his stop. The bus slowed and stopped. Wursley didn’t even wait for the doors to fully open. As soon as the crack was wide enough for him to slip through, he turned sideways and hopped out onto the pavement. He marched towards the back entrance of the mall, where he entered to reach the security office.

As he reached the door, he stopped himself, realising that he was far too overexcited. He took a sharp breath and paused. He slowly exhaled and opened the door. He walked as casually as he could down the hallway and stepped into the security office.

As usual, Graham was sitting in his chair scrolling on his phone; he didn’t look up. Wursley gave a gentle knock on the door. As nonchalantly as possible, he told Graham to take off early. Before he’d finished his sentence, Graham grabbed his headphones and wallet, slung his jacket over his shoulder, and left.

Wursley considered sitting down, but knew it was pointless. He waited an excruciating 17 minutes. When he was confident that Graham was really gone and that he had the Mall to himself, he made his way to his favourite store.

When Wursely had started the job, he’d told himself it would be enough to look around, unobserved, that he would never try any costumes on. This didn’t last. On his third shift, he tried on his first clown nose.

Wursley was absolutely obsessed with clowns, but was so embarrassed that he had never told anybody. It started with a clown nose, then a vibrant wig. Once he’d been brave enough to try on the nose, wig, and oversized shoes, there was no turning back. By the end of his second week on the job, he was wearing an entire clown costume, and brought his own face paints.

He had limited himself to 30 minutes, dressed up as a clown every night. This quickly became 45, then 60. By the end of his first month, he was spending his whole night shift dressed as a clown. He would strut around the hallways in his big clown shoes, looking at his reflection in all the empty shop windows. He would admire his face painting and outfit for that day. He would practice miming and develop skits. He literally spent his entire night shift clowning around.

Wursley was also very careful. He would always allow plenty of time to clean the face paint off, put all the clothes back, and change into his uniform. This was just in case the morning security guard came in early, which, of course, he never did.

Wursley went directly to the costume shop. He already knew which clown costume and accessories he was going to put on that evening. He carefully unpacked the items and laid them out in front of him. He undressed methodically, making sure not to ruin the nice crease in the front of his trousers. He hung them up over a chair in the dressing room and put his shirt and tie on a hanger. He lined up his two shiny work shoes and slid them under the chair. He took his time dressing himself in his costume, there was no rush anymore. He could feel all the fizzing and the bubbling subside, and a cool quietness washed over him. He took out his face paints and began. He looked in the mirror and thought to himself, This might be my best yet.

Wursley wore a tufty orange wig with a tiny top hat, placed precisely askew. He wore crisp white gloves and an oversized tartan jacket over a stripey black-and-white T-shirt and rainbow suspenders. His trousers were bright red and ballooned from the waist to just below the knee. From his knees to his ankles, brightly patterned socks. On his feet, the biggest clown shoes he had ever worn, at least eight sizes too big. He looked down, and they gleamed up at him. Wursley wondered if he could go swimming in them, as they reminded him so much of flippers. The shoes were so big, it took him a while to get used to walking. He paraded around the store for a while and then ventured out into the tiled hallway of the mall. The shoes slipped, but if he walked slowly and deliberately, he was just fine.

The first few hours of his night shift went by as usual. However, around 4 am, he heard a faint clattering sound. There were often small noises throughout the night. Wursley used to think someone from management had come to check up on him. He would always rush back to the costume store to get changed and return to the security office. Every single time it turned out to be nothing, so he didn't worry anymore. Tonight was no different, especially as his costume was so magnificent. He wasn't going to change out of it just for a little noise.

A few minutes passed, then Wursley heard an even louder clattering; he froze. This was not one of the normal small sounds. He began cautiously walking back towards the costume store, treading as gently as possible, but his shoes squeaked with every step. He was at the opposite end of the hallway from the costume store. He began silently praying to himself that if there really was someone there, they wouldn't see him before he was able to reach the costume store and change.

The slippery shoes slowed him down, so he began walking as carefully as he could to improve his speed. It was still a snail’s pace. Halfway to the costume store, he froze. He heard footsteps. Crossing at the end of the hallway, he saw someone in what looked like one of the ninja costumes from the costume store, all black, with a gap only for the eyes.

For a split second, he thought maybe this was someone else with a costume obsession. Then he remembered he was a security guard, and the only way someone else could be here, besides his boss Phil, was by breaking in. This was a burglar.

The burglar saw him and jumped. He might have been expecting to bump into a security guard, but certainly not one dressed as a clown. Especially one as colourful and flamboyant as Wursley. The burglar had a bulging bag full of stolen merchandise.

A few thoughts flashed through Wursley’s mind. Firstly, it was his job to look after the security of the building. If he failed to do that, he would likely be fired. No more clown costumes. Secondly, if this burglar got away, there would be an investigation. All the security camera footage would be inspected. They would see Wursley dressed up as a clown. He’d be fired, publicly ridiculed, and no more clown costumes. However, if he could catch the burglar and retrieve the merchandise, no one would ever find out. He would need to release the burglar to stop him from telling everyone he was chased around the mall by a clown. Not ideal, but Wursley could live with it.

As he considered this, the burglar started backing away. Wursley started walking towards him slowly, putting his hands up in an attempt to calm him.

“Excuse me, please don't run away. I just want to talk to you. I'm not going to arrest you.”

The burglar started chuckling, clearly he wasn’t going to take Wursley seriously. He still planned to leave with all of the stolen goods.

“I can't let you go. I know what I look like, but I am actually the security guard here. If you leave, there'll be an investigation…everyone will find out that I dress up as a clown.”

The burglar started laughing louder now. He turned his back to Wursley and began casually jogging towards the exit. Wursley tried to break into a run but immediately slipped over. It took him three attempts to stand up. During which, he could hear the burglar’s howls of laughter echoing around the mall.

He tried desperately to run after him, but it was no use. He slipped and slid, making little progress. All the while, the shoes squeaked as if laughing at him too. He heard the sound of the emergency exit open with a high squeak and a metallic thud. It swung open, and he heard the sounds of the night: traffic, sirens, distant voices. The burglar didn’t stop laughing, but grew quieter as he ran off into the distance. There was a slam as the door shut, returning the mall to silence. Wursley didn’t move.

After a brief moment, he decided to make his way to the security office. He would wipe all of the security footage. His new priority was making sure no one saw him dressed up as a clown. When his boss investigated, he would say the burglar had a weapon, made him erase it at gunpoint. It wasn't worth risking his life, the mall was insured. This could work!

He shuffled into the room and logged into the computer. As soon as he clicked to open all the footage, he saw multiple angles of himself in his clown costume. It felt like a waste to delete it all. He paused, looking up at a dozen copies of himself, vibrant and dancing.

Clack! The sound of the door opening down the hall pulled him out of his trance. His heart sank so quickly, so far down, he was sure it must have reached one of his oversized shoes. He turned around in his chair as the quick footsteps approached the open door of the security room. His boss appeared and immediately jumped out of his skin. He stopped and stood, completely dumbfounded.

Wursley raised his hands, “Sir, I can explain...”

“Explain?! “His boss interrupted, “I’ve been trying to reach you on the phone! The silent alarm was triggered. I rushed over here thinking you were in trouble, but here you are dressed as a …..a clown!!”

“No, sir, I’m not in any trouble but…”

“Oh no sunshine, you’re in nothing BUT trouble now!”

“Sir, I have a reasonable…”

“Did you set off the alarm?”

Wursley paused and sighed in resignation; it was no use.

“No, the burglar set off the alarm.” The boss’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

“I tried to chase him down, but these shoes…he got away.” In a final attempt to save himself, he added, “I think he had a weapon, I could have been killed, I wouldn't have been able to stop him anyway.”

Wursley’s boss looked at him, so many emotions crossed his face, dragging his features from one expression to the next - confusion, anger, disbelief, and finally resignation. He stepped to one side, leaving room for Wursely to pass him in the doorway.

“Do I have to say it?”

“Please don't tell anyone about this.”

“Tell anyone? Our reputation would be ruined! I can see it now…” he sighed, “Just go.”

Wursley left, walked to the bus stop, and sat. He prayed to God that the video footage of him running after the burglar never made it to the Internet, that his boss would keep his word. Wursley gave a big sigh, put his elbows on his knees, and looked down at the floor. He couldn't believe it. He was still wearing the big clown shoes and the rest of his costume. He had been so wrapped up in being fired that he'd walked out, still dressed as a clown. He thought about going back, but decided against it. He knew he wouldn't be allowed back in the building. He imagined the staff coming in in the morning, finding his ironed trousers folded over the chair, his shiny shoes sitting neatly underneath, and his shirt and tie hanging up in the dressing room. Maybe they’ll think it was just a security guard costume. Hopefully, this would compensate for the missing clown costume.

Wursley sat there for almost an hour. The bus finally arrived, and as it pulled up, a huge grin stretched across the bus driver's face. He tapped his bus pass and sat in the closest seat, looking at the floor the whole time to avoid catching anyone’s stare. He heard mutters and whispers. He could feel pairs of eyes all directed at him, like laser pointers. He waited for his stop.

After a few minutes, a woman moved from her seat and came and sat next to him.

”Are you a professional clown?” she asked without a trace of mockery.

“No, I just really like dressing up as one.”

She must've thought he was joking, because she returned a little giggle. It felt good to admit it to someone, to tell the truth.

“Well, my son's birthday is tomorrow. I've been trying to organise this party but...Anyway, I have zero entertainment. Do you think I could hire you?“

“I don't really do parties. I just dress up for myself, not for other people.”

She thought this was even funnier. She scribbled down her number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

“Please, if you're free, give me a call. You would really save the day, the hero clown!” She gave a final laugh, pressed the button, and stood up. She gave him a smile and stepped off.

Wursley stared at the phone number scrawled over the paper in his hand. He missed his stop; he didn’t care. She hadn’t laughed at him. She thought he was funny, but didn’t make fun of him. She thought he was a professional. A warmth began to radiate over Wursley. All the feelings of humiliation and self-loathing seemed to melt away. This was a job where he could dress up as a clown without having to hide it. People would actually want to see him as a clown. He could perform all of his routines and skits to an audience. He pulled back, the idea of an audience scared him. No, no, I’m not chickening out, I’m gonna do this! He thought to himself. He got off the bus and decided to just walk the extra distance home. The sun was rising, and the ground was wet. The air was cool and clean. Wursley's obsession no longer needed to be a secret. He would be wanted, he would save the day, he would be the hero clown.