Clarice McPhee

By Johnathan Vance, Inspired by Tim Burton’s "Vincent"

When I met my wife, she told me about one of her favorite pieces. We had both been fans of Tim Burton’s in our formative years, and I had never heard of it before. It was Vincent.

Vincent is a cute little story about a young boy who is a little different. Shocker, there, I’m sure.

Well, I watched and read it often, and like my wife, fell in love with it. So, when I was trying to convince her to settle for me, I had this idea. I would write her a sequel to her favorite piece in the whole world, and that would make her fall madly in love with me.

I like to think that it worked.

I’ve written my wife many things over the years, but I truly believe it is this one that got my foot in the door.

Naturally, the Vincent character is wholly Tim’s, and if you haven’t read it/watched it on YouTube, do yourself a favor and go check it out now before reading my answer to it.

Anyway, here it is: Clarice McPhee.

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Clarice McPhee is eight years old,

She’s always cheerful, is quite smart, and bold.

For a girl her age, she is sweet and kind,

But the gears in her head are slightly misaligned.

She doesn’t mind living with her older brothers three.

Though she’d rather live alone in a dark kingdom by the sea.

There she could waltz like an ethereal banshee.

Alas, young Clarice has not walked since she was three.

She is nice to her cousin, even when he hits her,

But imagines poisoning him with a bitter elixir.

She likes growing “things” in her mother’s flower beds,

Garlic, wolfsbane, you know, plants with three heads.

All for concoctions and tinctures most foul,

Used to summon demons, ghouls, and an imp that can growl.

Her thoughts aren’t only of malevolent joy,

Sometimes, just sometimes, they are of a certain strange boy.

These incessant, shrill whispers she would like to destroy,

They were obviously created by Vincent Malloy.

One night, awakened by a terrible fever,

Clarice knew it was the work of—none other than—Vincent, the deceiver.

A terrible plague cast upon her with putrid mad science,

Brought wails from her chambers with hellish defiance.

Out from her sheets, barely she crawled,

Then her mother burst in to see her daughter limp and sprawled.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” her mother said, a hand placed gently on her burning forehead.

Of course, this meant that soon she’d be dead.

“You were wearing your scarf when you were outside,

At least that’s what you said, don’t tell me you lied?”

Clarice rolled over and started to whine.

“You just have a little cold, with some rest, you’ll be fine.”

After a potion and a kiss, her mother left the room,

Leaving Clarice to ruminate on her inevitable doom.

With nothing left but a sinister diagnosis,

She began to feel the onset of nefarious narcosis.

Cursed and abandoned, alone she would die,

Confined to her bed under death’s greedy eye.

An end undeserving of Clarice McPhee,

One rivaling that of the late Annabel Lee.

Vengeance was brewing for this, she was certain,

She’d get Dr. Malloy and call his final curtain.

Quickly, she reached for a pen from her table,

To jot down ideas of destruction (when she was able).

But how would she do it, end him for good?

Perhaps enter his home in secret, face under a hood,

Then come up behind him and push him down some stairs?

That would surely teach him not to meddle in her affairs.

Perhaps a pit viper under his hat,

Or, let him get mauled by a huge vampire bat?

After a quick thought, her excitement fell flat,

Hmm, no good, he might like that.

A flash of genius popped into her brain,

All she had to do was find a big train.

Tie his feet down real tight to the track,

Then sit back and watch, enjoy the loud smack.

Ah, but that seemed too messy, boring, and unrefined,

Suddenly, a better idea came to her mind.

Simple, yet cunning, she’d write him a letter,

And bide her sweet time, while she got better.

She grinned ear to ear, thinking of her prey,

Now she just needed the right words to say.

“To Whom It May Concern, Ms. McPhee is no longer with us,

Unfortunately for her, she was hit by a school bus.”

Yes, it was perfect; he’d never see it coming,

To her great plan, he’d soon be succumbing.

A twisted cold smile appeared on her face,

He should never have interfered with her in the first place.

With a weak little flourish, she sealed it up tight,

The news of her death will reach him by tomorrow night.

Then she can plan just how to smite him,

She’s not sure yet how, but it will be nasty and grim.

The powerful potion started working its magic,

As she drifted to sleep with thoughts most tragic.

Even while proud of her carefully crafted ploy,

Her last waking thoughts were of Vincent Malloy.