When I was 12 I had my first experience with a clown. My mom hired one for my sister’s fifth birthday party and thought it’d be a great idea ‘cause in her time, people laughed at clowns. This one scared me though, there wasn’t anything funny about him. He wasn’t short or fat, he was tall and lanky. He didn’t make any jokes, he didn’t laugh at all. He wasn’t happy or joyful, he kept his head was down and he made a lot of squealing sounds. My mom knew that he wouldn’t give us a show and it was a rip-off. So, she paid him half and sent him back.
After that, he stayed in my memory forever. I could see him in my dreams, when I was in class, even at my sister’s dance recital. Of course I knew it wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been.
One night though, after I took my bath and headed for bed, in the hallway, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a clown go into my sister’s room. I went to my room for my baseball bat and ran straight to my sister’s room. I looked all over her room; under her bed, in her closet; nothing. That was so strange. Because I really thought I saw one. I went to my room and closed the door. I went straight to bed to sleep off the weirdness. I’m usually a deep sleeper and nothing gets to me, but after a couple of hours I heard a very loud scream. I was so scared because it was really freaky and I didn’t want to leave my room. I had never heard a scream like that before, a woman screaming like her son or daughte
r had been killed right in front of her. I pulled the sheets up over my head and tried to imagine it never happened. I heard footsteps outside of my room. A couple minutes passed and I pulled the covers down.
At the end of my bed was the clown, from my sister’s birthday party. His eyes were wide and he looked straight at me and whispered: “You’re next.”
If you’re wondering, I survived, but I leave you with this advice: don’t ever hire a clown or plan on meeting one at any point in your life. You may end up like me, without your parents, or sister, or arms, or legs.