
Miss Universe
She found a sash in a box of carnival junk and crowned herself. Now she needs runners-up.
Carnival day at the asylum
Every inmate has escaped in costume. Here's who might ring tonight, and what they have in store for you. The Doctor, as always, rings last.
31 escapees

She found a sash in a box of carnival junk and crowned herself. Now she needs runners-up.

Locked up for forty years, he finally wants to retire. He needs a successor.

He thinks he's on the campaign trail and has turned the living room into a rally. He's looking for a successor.

Committed after sentencing his own cat to life for knocking over a plant. His wig is cut from the common-room carpet, and his gavel is a shoe.

He escaped to save the world from every possible offence. The moral tribunal is now in session.

He lifts a paper-plate dumbbell from dawn to dusk. A nurse swore to him that true strength lies in the thumbs: ever since, he's been running thumb wars to find someone stronger than him.

He spent thirty years counting the tiles in his cell. He now knows only two operations: doubling and halving.

He's 45 but convinced he's 8. He wants to watch the grown-ups play rock paper scissors, and he's taking bets.

He's still guarding a door that no longer exists, and he needs someone to take over. Rule number one: never smile.

She escaped in a cloud of glitter, convinced she's headlining the carnival. She's casting for her show.

He hasn't made anyone laugh since 1987. In despair, he begs you to show him how it's done.

He thinks he's a Eurovision star and he's auditioning backing singers for his tour.

He's pitched his tipi in the living room and only talks in smoke signals now. He has an urgent message for you.

He lost his decks during the escape, and there's a tune stuck in his head he can't put a name to.

He lost his wooden leg climbing over the asylum wall. Out of solidarity, he insists everyone gets the same treatment.

He guards an imaginary border in the middle of the living room. Nobody gets through without questioning.

He's still delivering the asylum's post, thirty years late. Nobody knows what's in the letter.

She reads the future in the coffee grounds from the infirmary. She already knows who's knocking next.

He's spent twenty years investigating a crime that never happened. Tonight, his prime suspect is you.

A kleptomaniac eaten up by guilt, he slips everything he steals into the nearest pocket.

He wears dark glasses even in bed and suspects everyone of bluffing, his own mother included. He wants to prove you're a cheat.

She collects every embarrassing secret in the asylum, and she needs fresh ones.

The only truly dangerous one in the asylum. When he walks in, everyone backs away. Except he's found someone just like him.

She escaped on the arm of the first man who walked by, and she has life advice for everyone.

The stingiest man in the asylum. He's never bought a round in his life, but he's passing the hat for his own birthday.

He thinks he's the King of the Carnival and he's brought a king cake. Half-eaten.

He's convinced he's a unicorn and lives on nothing but love and compliments.

He claims every mind in the room is connected, and he wants to prove it.

He's forgotten who he is. He begs you to help him remember.

He's convinced he knew everything before everyone else. Including the wheel.

He's been chasing his patients all evening. He rings last, determined to restore order.
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