I’ve had my six year old daughter Layla staying with me for a bit. My ex wife is at an adults only resort in St. Lucia with her twat of a boyfriend.
It’s been great having her here as I usually only see her every other weekend, although she’s spent a lot of it in front of the TV.
Layla is currently obsessed with a show called Patti Pepperoni’s Playhouse. I’d never heard of it until last week, though I’m not really one for cartoons these days.
I didn’t pay too much attention to the show at first. I heard the sickly-sweet intro theme, followed by an annoying high-pitched voice and left her to it. It seems to be on a lot.
I had an interesting phone conversation with my brother Jeff on Tuesday:
J: Come over Friday, we’re having a barbecue and getting a bouncy castle for the kids.
Me: Is it just for the kids?
J: If you’re a good boy and bring beer you can have a go too.
Me: Yay! I just hope Layla can go a day without that fucking Pepperoni show.
J: What one?
Me: I don’t know, Poppy Pepperoni or some shit?
J: Don’t think the kids watch that one. Not that I’ve noticed anyway.
Me: Really? She’s obsessed, I assumed it was popular.
J: What’s it called?
Me: Hold on. Layla, what’s that show you like? Thanks sweetheart. Patti Pepperoni’s Playhouse?
J: Megan, Oscar. Do you watch a show called Patti Pepperoni’s Playhouse? Nope, they’ve never heard of it.
Me: Bizarre.
J: It sounds fucking awful.
Me: It really is…
Truth be told, I hadn’t actually watched any to make that judgement. Maybe my daughter had discovered some obscure underground cartoon? It prompted me to do a bit of online research.
‘Patti Pepperoni’s Playhouse’ gave no exact Google results. That was weird. I even searched the Sky TV guide and no results came up there either.
Yesterday, I sat on the sofa with the intention of watching some properly. Layla sat on the carpet cross legged.
“Don’t sit too close to the telly sweetheart, you’ll get square eyes.”
“You can’t get square eyes, daddy.”
“Says who?”
“Shush, it’s coming on.”
That put me in my place. The intro theme started, then a multicoloured, bubbly font appeared on the screen.
PATTI PEPPERONI’S PLAYHOUSE
The show opened inside a playroom with lots of toys and a blackboard, like in a classroom. From the left, Patti Pepperoni skipped into frame in a yellow dress with orange polka dots. It was that stop motion style of animation, like she was made from plasticine.
She had red hair in bunches at the sides, it looked like cotton wool or something. Her cheeks had big orange freckles and dimples. Her face was kind of fat and her eyes were wide.
She reminded me of those weird Cabbage Patch Kids my sister had. Actually Garbage Pail Kids is more accurate. Honestly, she looked fucking creepy. If I was a kid it would be the sort of thing that would give me nightmares, but Layla loved it for some reason.
Patti gave a big, toothy smile and waved.
“Hey kids! It’s me, Patti Pepperoni!”
Her voice was like a grown woman trying to sound like a child.
“On today’s show we’re going to… OOH!“
As she gasped loudly, her hands covered her mouth. She just stared at the screen like she’d been caught off guard by something. Every so often she would blink, and her eyes would look to the sides briefly before looking back.
The camera alternated between a close up of her face and a long shot of her whole person. I swear, it felt like she was looking right at me. I’m a grown-arsed man and that made the hairs on my arms stand up and a shiver run down my spine.
“Sweetheart, what’s she doing?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It might be because you’re here, daddy.”
Fuck. My stomach dropped. I don’t know how I didn’t shit myself.
“That’s impossible, darling,” I said, doubting the words that came out of my mouth. “These types of shows are made and filmed in the past, months ago.”
Layla shook her head. “Patti Pepperoni isn’t like that, daddy. She’s different.”
My eyes began to glaze over as I stared into Patti’s, a feeling of dread setting in. I noticed beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, though they looked like they were made from the jelly in a pork pie.
As if she could sense how fucked up I thought it was, she closed her eyes and let out a childish laugh.
“Tee-Hee! Sorry kids, you know Patti forgets her lines sometimes!”
“She does, daddy,” said Layla, turning to me and laughing.
Patti wiped her brow with the back of her hand, laughing uncomfortably.
“Let’s sing the Pepperoni Song!”
Layla cheered. Patti tilted her head from side to side as a tune played and she sang. Layla started clapping and singing along.
“Ma-car-oni, mas-car-pone, can-nell-oni, pep-per-oni…”
Minutes later, the song was still going. It was the same ridiculous words over and over again. As it went on, Patti began to look increasingly more uncomfortable.
“Sweetheart, how long does the song go on for?”
“Shush daddy… car-pone, can-nell-oni…“
I picked myself up from the sofa and slowly left the room, feeling Patti’s eyes on me the whole time. It was fucking weird.
This morning I sat in the kitchen as I heard the opening music. It made me shudder. I got up and crept to the living room, hiding on the other side of the doorframe to listen.
“Hey kids! It’s me, Patti Pepperoni…“
There was a moment of silence. Then quietly, “Psst… is it just us?”
My stomach dropped.
“Yeah, my daddy’s in the kitchen,” said Layla.
I covered my mouth with my hand. What the actual fuck?
“Good, we have to be quiet so he doesn’t hear us.”
My heart was working overtime. I heard the distinct sound of chalk on a blackboard.
“Can you read this, Layla?”
Fuck. She said my daughter’s name.
“Yeah, I’m good at reading.”
“Clever girl,” said Patti. “I need you to follow these instructions carefully.”
I wanted to get the fuck out of the house, but I took a deep breath and entered the living room.
Patti was looking down at my daughter. As she looked up and saw me she gasped, quickly using an eraser to wipe the board clean. I wasn’t focusing properly but I definitely made out the words BEDROOM, NIGHT, and DAD before it was erased.
Patti turned and looked from side to side with her hands behind her back, an awkward smile on her face.
“And that’s how we construct a sentence!” Her eyes kept flicking to the sides. “Now, let’s see if you can count to twenty. Ready? Here we go! One… Two…”
“Layla, sweetheart,” I said. She turned around. “I need you to go to your room for five minutes.”
Patti continued to count slowly. I noticed those jellified beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead again.
“Why, daddy? I’m watching Patti Pepperoni.”
“Six… Seven…“
“Just for five minutes, sweety. Daddy needs to do something. I’ll take you for ice cream later if you’re a good girl.”
“But…“
“Eleven… Twelve…“
“You can have anything you want.”
Layla sighed. “Okay, but I’m having the biggest thing! Bye Patti!”
I saw Patti’s eyes frantically looking around as my daughter left the room.
“Seventeen… Eighteen…“
“Drop the act you creepy fuck,” I said, crouching down near the screen. One of Patti’s eyes closed like she had a trapped nerve in her eyelid.
“Twenty! Well done kids, I knew you could do it!”
I knocked on the screen.
“Oi, pepperoni bitch!” My hands were trembling. “Why are you talking to my little girl, huh?”
Her lips started to tremble as she tried to smile.
“We just have time for the Pepperoni Song,” she said through gritted teeth. “Sing along with me, kids. Ready?”
The tune started playing as she sang, tilting her head from side to side.
“My daughter won’t be watching your show any more.”
The sweat was getting thicker and her eyes kept blinking independently.
“So long freak!” I said, picking up the remote. She stopped singing, just staring at me. Then she smiled.
“Do you think that will stop me?”
I dropped the remote, my legs giving way. I fell onto my arse! She just stared at me with a smile, her head cocked to the side.
“Stop you from what?” I stuttered.
She casually turned and picked up a piece of chalk, then I could hear it scratching on the blackboard. She had her back to me so I couldn’t see what she was doing.
“Stop you from what?!” I repeated louder, knocking on the screen again.
She moved away from the board to reveal a heart. But it wasn’t a traditional Cupid style heart. It was a detailed, biological heart with valves and muscle tissue.
As she smiled at me, her hands behind her back like she was completely innocent, the heart became animated. I could see it gently pulsing. Drops of chalky white ‘blood’ started to squirt from the valves and run down the board.
She brought her hands back around, and she was holding a large knife. The camera zoomed in to her face.
“Oh, you’ll see real soon. Tee-Hee!”
She winked, then the screen turned black. I sat frozen on the floor until I heard Layla coming back downstairs, asking where Patti had gone.
This afternoon we went to Kaspa’s for sundaes.
“What does Patti say to you?” I asked as we tucked into oversized glasses of cream, sprinkles, and chocolate sauce.
Layla shrugged. “I’m not supposed to say, it’s a secret.”
“Don’t keep secrets from daddy, sweetheart,” I said, trying my best to stay composed. “Is she scary? Does she say bad things?”
She shook her head. “No, she likes me. She said if I do what she says, I can meet her for real.”
Someone walked over my grave. I took her hand and squeezed it, perhaps a little too hard. “Don’t do what she says, Layla. Don’t you dare.”
She started to look upset. “Why? Patti is my friend.”
“Don’t listen to her, Layla! Promise me?”
I was unaware of how loud I was. I had many judgemental eyes on me as Layla started to cry.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I said, putting my arm around her. “Daddy’s just scared.”
We went home. I broke the bad news of no more television, but gave her the good news of going to uncle Jeff’s tomorrow and the bouncy castle. She told me she didn’t care and barely spoke two words to me for the rest of the day.
I’ve been trying to process what happened. Has anyone else heard of this Patti Pepperoni freak? Surely it can’t just be my daughter and I?
I’m sitting on the sofa in silence as I write this. I’m terrified to put the TV back on! Layla’s in bed already, but her bedroom door creaked open a little while ago. I was about to call up to ask if she was okay but I just heard her speak excitedly.
“My daddy’s downstairs.”
Oh God. Who’s she talking to?