In Charge

 "A fortune in fabulous prizes may go to these people today, if they know when The Price Is Right!"

Dah-dah-dah-dah. Dah-dah-dah-dah... I catch myself humming the theme song. I'm such a grandma knitting along to late night gameshow re-runs. But Bob Barker's good company when you're in the middle of nowhere babysitting. The silence out here is disturbing.

"Rachel Donaldson, come on dowwwn! Yooou're the next contestant on The Price Is Right!"

I glance up at the TV. Rachel's jumping and squealing and throwing her hands in the air. I bet she'll win a new car. God, it's taking me forever to save for mine. I can hear my mom's voice in my head: "You need to learn the true value of a dollar." The only handout that woman gives is unwanted advice.

I set down my knitting needles to stretch my fingers. I have to finish one cat fedora, three dog bandanas and a guinea pig sweater by next Friday. My Etsy shoppers seem to love this stuff (not sure about their pets). But even still, I'd have to sell a million Chihuahua beanies to afford a car.

On screen, Rachel Donaldson's bidding $1 on a 6-person hot tub. Hmm, seems risky to me. But as mom likes to say, "You have to take risks to get ahead."

"Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!"

And once again mom's right (boo). Rachel's gamble paid off. She's through to the next round. Her family goes ballistic in the audience, screaming so loud it's going to blow out the Richardson's fancy surround sound.

Shit, I should turn the TV down. If I wake up the kids now, I'll never get them back to sleep. And cranky kids means cranky parents. I need to keep this gig. Turns out babysitting pays way more than my animal couture line. And Tatiana and Julian are pretty easy to watch. Though tonight they seemed in a funk. Barely spoke. Maybe they decided they don't like me.

I stare down at five remotes sitting next to a fat 'Entertainment Center' instruction packet. Seriously? I try the volume button and nothing happens. I hit 'power'. Still no go. Maybe the 'mute' button? It oddly does the trick. Rachel Donaldson is now noiselessly celebrating, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as a plastic Plinko disc lands on a $5,000 payout.

Ahoooga! Ahoooga!

The noise makes me jump. For a split second I think it's coming from the TV. But, no, the volume's still muted.

Ahoooga! Ahoooga!

It's outside. Some kind of... honking? I picture a tiny car full of murderous clowns flashing chainsaws and uzis (too many B horror movies with my brother). The Richardson's neighbors are at least a quarter-mile away, so if I screamed for help, no one would hear. I creep toward the window, a little freaked out. But let's be real, what blood-thirsty murderer would announce themself with a cartoon horn?

I peer through a crack in the blinds, not wanting whoever it is to see me. It's dark out, but I spot an old, boxy RV parked on the single-lane country road at the end of the Richardson's drive. Its brights are on, giving the vehicle a visible aura, as if having landed from outer space. The passenger door is thrown open. I squint and make out a hunched over figure in the driver's seat hitting the horn.

Ahoooga!

The side door of the RV is open too. Framed inside is the teapot silhouette of a women with big hair piled on top of her head. Hands on her hips, she yells at the figure in the front seat. Probably her husband. He hits the horn again. This is annoying. They're gonna wake the kids. I should go out there and tell them to stop.

Out on the porch I stop a sec. I hate confrontation. But they seem harmless... Definitely not murderous clowns. Just some old timers who probably lost their way on these crazy ass backroads. There are at least three streets with "Pine" in the name around here. Even confuses me.