6:3O pm - Taken out of the box.
That idiot Mr. Jenkins always takes me out of the box at 6:3O, even though the show doesn't start until lO:OO. He fiddles with my head for a few minutes and then puts me on the bed and goes down to the bar for a whisky. At this time of year it's still light outside, so I take the opportunity to stand up on my little wooden legs, totter across to the door in a horrifying fashion and go out onto the streets to terrify children with my fixed rictus grin, mischevious eyes and clacking, clacking wooden jaw. Then it's back to the hotel for 8:3O, when Mr. Jenkins reels back from his disgusting piss-up.
8:3O pm - Warm up.
Now it's time for me to perch on Mr. Jenkin's knee and run through the act with him. I behave perfectly well on stage - I am a professional - but during these rehearsals I like to insult Mr. Jenkins, and threaten to ruin his act. "I'll tell them all what you did to that little girl, Jenkins," I might threaten, before moving on to declare myself the real star of the show and opine that without me, Mr. Jenkins would be nothing. Mr. Jenkins doesn't really enjoy this banter, I can tell, and he'll usually reply that it was ME who gutted that little girl, and they'd burn me if they found out. But as I always say, who's going to believe that? I'm just a dummy, after all. Then I laugh at him, clacking and clacking my obseqiously smiling wooden maw. He'll almost certainly throw me to the floor and storm out of the room. I just lie there, gazing blankly into space for a while.
lO:OO pm - The show.
Despite our differences - and I genuinely do despise him - Mr. Jenkins and I are both troupers and we know the show must go on. It lasts two hours, and I might throw in the occasional ad-lib to keep Mr. Jenkins on his toes, but by and large I behave. On special occasions, I like to stay quiet in front of the hushed, massed audience until the little beads of sweat start to show on Mr. Jenkins' balding head. Then I say something funny and the whole place bursts into laughter. I live for the show.
Midnight - Murder.
But I also live for grisly murder, and after the show is the best time for that. Mr. Jenkins will just storm off the stage after the curtain and throw me into the wings, where I remain until the stagehands have gone. Then I rise up and scamper into the foggy streets. My first mission is invariably to locate an oversized butcher's knife and clasp it in my tiny, childlike paw as I patter through the gloom. People often mistake me for a lost child until it's far too late. I get a lot of murder done that way.
7:OO am - Back to the hotel.
By the time I return to the hotel, the morning papers will be filled with startling reports of my horrible crime, and Mr. Jenkins will be sitting on the end of his bed, reading them all with an expression of weariness. I pad softly into the room and drop the bloodied knife at his feet. Nowadays, he rarely says anything at all, so I'm forced to break the uncomfortable silence by making some light-hearted observation along the lines of "This one looked a lot like your sister," or somesuch. If Mr. Jenkins seems like he's going to be trouble, I just stare him down, then bring my nightmarish jaws together. Clack clack.
8:OO am - Back in the box.
It's time to leave town and head onto our next venue, so Mr. Jenkins sadly opens up my velvet-lined carrying case. I find that I very rarely want to go back in the box, and have been known to put up quite a spirited resistance, but I know in my heart that my reign of psychological terror must continue, so I gracefully concede. I might playfully nip Mr. Jenkins' fingers as he arranges my head on the pillow. Then I glare malevolently into his eyes until the box is finally closed and I am lying in darkness.
An Evil Ventriloquist's Dummy is currently appearing with Mr. Jenkins at the Lyceum.
