Nightmare Clowns: No Escape

Anne was standing on her apartment porch when I pulled up, clenching and unclenching her fists in short staccato bursts. At the sound of my car door closing, she blanched and jerked her head in my direction.

I knew she had been on edge ever since her house burned down but this seemed dramatic even for her.

Intending to calm her down, I spread my arms wide and offered her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “We just moved you in, you’re not planning on leaving already?”

“I can’t stay here. They knew where to find me. They were waiting for me this morning. I thought the fire would stop them but it didn’t!” She grabbed my arm with shaking hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there. Who will get you?” I asked.

She took a hand off my sleeve to point down. “The clowns.”

Filthy dolls lay spread out across the wooden planks of the porch.

A creeping dread crawled over my shoulders, stirred by memory. “Aren’t those the same ones that used to give us nightmares as kids?”

“Yes, except for the big one. He’s new.”

View this story's 9 comments.