*WARNING: This is a tie-in story to my novel ‘Ghost Train’; those who have read the book will know where this story falls in the timeline. However, I have kept ‘The Clown’ spoiler-free for those who haven’t read ‘Ghost Train’ so that this story will serve as more of a taster than a spoiler!*
After the Halloween ‘killer clown axe murders’ of 2014, a family prepares for the festive season, not knowing that the craze continues in the shadows… because a masked maniac is stalking them, intent on continuing the carnage…
After I finished writing ‘Ghost Train’, I felt there was room to expand on the characters and stories crafted in the novel, but in different scenarios. This is the first of those explorations (spoiler free!). Clowns are creepy for many people, and one of the inspirations of ‘Ghost Train’ was the killer clown craze of recent Halloweens (look it up online!), and there’s so much to play with there that I feel the stories just had to continue. I also wanted to change the slasher formula here, overlooking clichés and going for a slightly different style, but I won’t reveal too much! Because you can read it all below…
The Clown
By Keelan Berry
The red liquid touched his lips, and his tongue shot forward to embrace it, as it fell into his mouth.
“Are you going to take us down into this cellar then, Danny boy?” One of his guests asked; a ‘friend’ from work, “Maybe we can light a candle and tell ghost stories.” He slapped his leg and laughed at himself. “Who has a cellar anyway?!”
“People like me.” He replied, holding up his glass of wine and shaking it in the air, “Now,” He stood and moved towards the door, “Come on, then, let’s all go and view the cellar.”
The room suddenly fell silent and everyone turned towards him.
“You’re serious?” His ‘friend’ from work who’d been asking about the cellar originally asked, “As if we’d all fit in that tiny thing!” He laughed at himself again.
“You’re right.” Daniel smiled and dimmed the light, taking a seat. “Maybe it’s better I tell you the story in here, where it feels a bit more safe.”
“What story?” One of the women asked, clutching onto her glass of white wine like it would act as a ghost repellent.
“Do you know where we are?” He asked everyone.
“Your house.” Some people chuckled.
“I mean this neighbourhood. This street.” He said, “We’ve only just moved here, but we already knew its history.” He looked around to see if anyone knew where he was heading with his story. “It was newly built six years ago.” Still nothing. “Anyone?” He sighed, “If we forget these things so quickly, what about the poor kids who got attacked at that fair thing the other week?”
“Oh, let’s not talk about that, Daniel!” Another woman said; one of the elderly personal assistants from work.
“What thing?” The woman with the white wine asked, now clutching to it as though it was going to keep her safe from whatever horrors were about to come from his mouth.
“The Southumberland Snatcher?” He tried (ignoring the woman’s question about his comments on the fairground axe attacks; that would detract from his story), and although nobody immediately responded, he could see from the widening of their eyes and the tightening of their lips that they all knew.
“You’re telling me you knowingly moved into his house?!” A man at the back of the room exclaimed, his eyes bulging.
“Not his house!” He laughed, “But this is his street. He was the first resident. Eager for a place with a cellar. Anyone remember why?”
“I don’t care to remember such things.” The elderly woman left for the kitchen, but everyone else seemed drawn in.
“His brother.” His work ‘friend’ answered, not laughing anymore.
He nodded, “He’d built a machine to try and resurrect his long-dead brother. A cellar was the ideal place to do it.” He looked over at his wife, who shook her head at him but smiled as she did so, which encouraged him. “A skeleton brother. He tried to bring it back to life by… Well, I’m sure we all remember by now.”
The silence in the room was heavy and thick, like a winter fog.
“So!” He shouted, jumping to his feet and turning the light back up, “Who’s first for the tour of the cellar?” He laughed, and everyone else did too. “Worst horrors we have down there is this red stuff.” He shook his wine glass again, and everyone went back to their conversations.
He smiled back at his wife, not knowing that in a few weeks’ time, the ‘red stuff’ in the cellar would be their blood.
*
He walked through the city centre, watching people’s faces as they passed him, sometimes staring for too long and getting looked back at himself.
But it was okay. They didn’t know who he was. Nobody did. He was just a small – no, he wasn’t small – short and overweight man. Without his costume and face paint, anyway. With that, he was someone entirely different… but Halloween was gone now.
Why should that stop you?
It doesn’t feel the same…
Oh, shutup, fat boy. Get a grip and carry on. It doesn’t have to be Halloween for it to be scary.
I suppose you’re right.
In fact, chubby, it will probably make it scarier.
People expect to be scared around Halloween.
Exactly, fatso! Pick a target, scout them, get them nice and scared, and then move in for the kill. Make your own Halloween.
He realised he was smiling to himself and so stopped, at the same time bringing his legs to a halt having reached his destination.
He had come here… well, he didn’t know. What else was there to do? But now he did have a purpose.
He entered the fancy dress shop, which had been crammed with eager customers a few weeks ago but was now empty and with most things reduced in price.
Immediately, upon the half-empty shelves, something caught his eye.
He rushed over to it, picked it up, and stroked its front.
Cheap plastic, but beautiful. Different from his usual style, but perfect for the new chapter in his life.
A mask that would be a perfect mould for his face; puffed out, chubby cheeks at the tops of the corners of the smiling, red-lipped mouth and beneath the small eyeholes that were topped with thin, black semi-circles for over-the-top eyebrows. A red nose the size of a golf ball finished the design off, and there was an elastic strap attached to the sides of the mask to hold it onto his head.
“Planning for next Halloween?” A voice asked him.
He turned, and managed a smile, “Something like that.”
“Oh!” The woman smiled, “Late Halloween party?”
“Something like that.” He repeated.
Her eyebrow cocked slightly, “Will you be buying anything for this… mysterious event?” She chuckled nervously.
“Just this I think.” He held the mask up and the held it before his own face again.
“Simple and cheap.” She commented, heading for the till.
“It’s beautiful.” He stroked it again, not knowing if she had heard him.
*
Daniel was home late again; the sun long gone and the stars twinkling in the sky. For once, though, it was not because he had finished work late, but because he had been shopping for Christmas presents. He looked to the house, searched each window, until finally he saw his wife giving him the thumbs-up from their bedroom window. He left the car quickly, hooked the bags of presents from the boot onto his arms and manoeuvred his way into the house, kicking the door shut behind him.
He heard footsteps on the stairs and his heart stopped, but a second later he could tell it was his wife’s steps.
“They’re watching the television in our room.” She said.
He nodded, lowering the presents, “Where am I going to put these, then?”
“Cellar? They don’t go down there.”
He sighed, “It will have to do until we can move them to our room I suppose. I just don’t want the presents to freeze down there.”
His wife moved down the hallway ahead of him, opening the door to the cellar and holding it open as he stepped sideways onto the wooden steps, trying to fit all the presents through the doorframe.
He took the steps one at a time, taking his time with each and resting his elbow on the bannister to maintain his balance. Reaching the bottom, he switched the light on with his elbow (at the same time hearing his wife shut the door above him) and finally set the presents down beneath a wooden table.
The cellar was a mess, nowhere near as organised as he would like it to be, but since moving in he hadn’t had chance to clear it out and make it the way he wanted it. He had his wine shelves set up neatly, but he hadn’t gotten rid of everything he’d used when attempting DIY when they’d first moved in; the wooden table, for example, which he had built himself as practice and then used to store his tools on top of, was still there (tools and all).
There were also wooden chairs which he had built, which he hadn’t had a plan for, but thought they could be used for the garden or the kitchen and be decorated accordingly. However, as setting the house up got busier and more stressful, he’d neglected them and opted for buying some instead, and his DIY phase came to an abrupt end.
He looked at the top of the table; a plastic box had fallen, spilling small nails across the wood. Some had no doubt fallen to the floor but in the dim light he wouldn’t be able to see them all. He grouped the ones on the table together and began putting them back into the box, arranging his tools neatly next to it too.
However, he stopped when he came to something that was out of place. A kitchen knife. Long and shiny and sharp. Was it the one from the kitchen? If so, how had it made its way down here? If not, where had it come from? Was it one they had discarded when first moving in? Had he used it for something and forgotten?
He touched the metal handle. His fingers danced along to a screwdriver, a hammer… yes, the knife was definitely-
“Daniel!”
-out of place.
He turned at the sound of his wife’s panicked voice and rushed up the cellar stairs, and only when at the top and opening the door to the hallway did he realise that his hand was tightly gripping the hammer.
“Beth?!”
He looked and listened for his children, but could only hear the TV blaring from inside his bedroom, meaning they would be sufficiently distracted.
“In here.” His wife’s hushed voice came from inside the kitchen, which was drowned in darkness.
He crept inside, and saw her crouched behind the sink, looking out the window into the garden.
“What’s going on?” He whispered.
“I’m so… sure…” She banged the kitchen counter lightly as she emphasised the words, “That I heard someone in the garage…”
He moved to open the kitchen door that led into the garden.
“But then…” She grabbed his arm, “I’m sure I saw someone walk out of it.”
“Sure it wasn’t a cat? A fox?” He asked, but still holding the hammer tightly.
“I mean…” She huffed, shaking her head, “I don’t know.”
He opened one of the kitchen drawers and took out a torch, “Watch from the window.” He said to his wife before stepping out into the garden.
He switched on the torch and approached the garage. He shone the light on the front doors and tapped on them with the hammer, hoping that if someone was inside he would scare them. He rounded to the side of the garage and unbolted the door, letting himself in. He shone the light around quickly, but nobody and nothing was inside… which reminded him he needed to move his car afterwards. If you get out of this alive. His mind added.
He shook his head, as though the motion would literally shake the thought from his brain.
There’s nobody in the garden. He told himself, bolting the door again and scanning the rest of the garden with his torch.
And, although he didn’t know it, he was right: there was nobody in the garden except himself.
If he had stopped searching the garden there and then, and if he had turned around to look at his wife in the kitchen, he would have seen a bright white plastic clown mask hovering behind her shoulder.
*
Daniel forgot all about the garden incident for the next few days.
In the moment, it had been scary, of course. But standing alone in the cold and the dark with a hammer in one hand and a torch in the other was bound to create those feelings of fear. However, he almost instantly forgot the whole thing, seemingly sleeping it off that night, disregarding it as Beth’s mind making things up or exaggerating true events (like a fox, as he’d suspected on that night).
Then, a few days later, as he got home from work and turned onto the drive of his house, he saw something in his bedroom window.
A white ball almost pressed up against the glass.
He looked up at it, squinted at it, and saw the dark eyeholes, the smiling red lips and the round, red nose. It looked out into the night, not moving.
Daniel looked away from it – unnaturally calm for just a moment – and then he shivered before quickly leaving his car. He looked up again and what he was certain had been a clown face had gone.
In the moment, it had been scary, it had been clear and real. However, as his mind repeated the event to him, he disregarded it as the reflection of the moon on the bedroom window, with the dark eyeholes the moon’s craters, and the redness coming from the TV or lights inside the room.
He entered his house, still mildly apprehensive, but was greeted by his wife and children.
And, almost instantly, he forgot the whole thing.
*
“Okay then, get some sleep, not long to go now.” He stroked his son’s head and stood up from his bed, turning to do the same to his daughter. Both of them were getting excited about Christmas now that it was only less than half of their advent calendars away.
As he turned from their beds, his daughter spoke: “Daddy?”
He turned, “Yeah?”
She paused, went to say something, looked at the corner of the room and then back to him, before finally pushing herself up into a sitting position and speaking, “Is the clown something to do with Christmas?”
Daniel stared at his daughter, aware that his mouth had fallen open but that no words had come out. He cleared his throat and sat himself down on the edge of her bed again, more for himself than for her. “Clown?” He asked.
“The clown in our room the other night. It creeped Justin out, but I couldn’t really tell what it was. Is it a teddy?”
“Josie!” Justin whined, “I told you not to ask!”
“It’s okay.” Daniel reassured his son, “If I was stupid enough to leave presents in your room you should bring it up to me…” He forced a smile.
“So is it a teddy? A toy?” His daughter pressed.
“I’m not sure.” He muttered, scanning the darkness of their bedroom.
“What?” She leaned closer.
“Wait and see.” He stroked her head again and she fell back down to her pillow. “Night both.” He said. They replied in unison. He waited for a few moments until he was sure their eyes were closed, and got to his knees, looking underneath their beds. He was sure there was nothing – or no one – there, but still he took his phone out and shone it around the floor and then around the room, spinning on his knees. When he was content that it was clear, he made his way to his feet and pocketed the phone.
He left their room, and shut the door quietly.
He moved to the bedroom he shared with his wife, turned the light on and searched in there too, including inside the large wardrobe. When he was finished, he turned the light off and shut the door to their room too.
He could see inside the other rooms without going inside; the bathroom and his study, and he closed the doors to those rooms too. Now, if anyone was moving around the house, they wouldn’t be able to get into any of the upstairs rooms without him or his wife hearing the doors open.
Daniel made his way slowly down the stairs, holding onto the bannister and listening closely as he descended into the hallway. He couldn’t hear the TV or his wife, and even more strangely, the cellar door was open. The dim light from inside the cellar was the only source of light downstairs. The hallway, kitchen and living room lights were all off.
His heart rate started to increase, the beats also becoming heavier against his chest.
He came towards the cellar door, and, like a crab, walked sideways around it, never taking his eyes off it as he backed into the kitchen. He guessed his way to the kitchen counter, before reaching out for the drawer nearest to the door to the garden, and took out the hammer that he had left in there over a week ago.
Everything he had overlooked came back to him.
The knife in the cellar.
The incident in the garden.
The face in the window.
He had dismissed it all.
Only when his daughter brought up the clown in their bedroom did he realise something was wrong.
But what if it’s not? His asked himself; everything could still be fine. Almost immediately after he’d seen it he’d forgotten about the face in the window, dismissing it as a reflection. What if the thing his children had seen in their bedroom had been something similar? But that’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? He argued back at himself.
He realised he was halfway down the cellar steps and exited his thoughts.
The wooden table came into view, and on top of it were several of his tools – a screwdriver, wrench, pliers, nails. All of them looked freshly washed; he could even smell the cleaning materials in the air. But, in the middle of them all, dripping with blood, was the kitchen knife.
He jumped down the remaining steps into the cellar, the soles of his feet stinging as they landed on the cold stone floor. He readied the hammer to strike, but was caught off guard with the sight in front of him.
The four wooden chairs he had built were lined up neatly in the middle of the shelves of wine. On one of them sat his wife. Her hands were heavily taped behind her, as were her feet and mouth. Her head lolled from side to side and her eyelids twitched as she tried to look at him. Then, finally, and very quickly, her eyes were wide. Daniel heard the scraping of metal on metal and turned, but it was too late.
As he turned he saw the knife thud into his shoulder first; he didn’t fully feel the pain until seconds later, at which point the hammer had already fallen from his hand and clunked onto the stone floor. He tumbled backwards, realising he had been shoved. As he fell he caught a glimpse of his attacker, and saw the mask – the same mask he had seen in the window the other night. How could he have dismissed it? In his pain and frustration, he closed his eyes and groaned, clutching at the knife in his shoulder.
He opened his eyes again when his arm was pulled across the floor, sending excruciating bolts of pain from his shoulder through the rest of his body. A foot stomped on his forearm, holding him in place, and he looked up at the clown. He was short but heavy.
The clown raised the hammer.
Daniel’s eyes locked onto the knife. He had a few seconds. He had to be quick. Using his left hand, he gripped the handle of the knife and pulled. He cried out in pain as the steel freed itself from his flesh and blood flooded from out of the wound.
He rolled onto his side and took aim at the clown’s leg, but again he was too late.
The hammer pummelled his fingers – a heavy, calculated strike first, followed by shorter but sharper blasts. Some of the blows missed his hand and thudded on the stone floor, and Daniel, in between his cries of agony, hoped that the hammer would break as he felt the bones of his fingers snap and crunch.
Despite the pain he was in, he stifled his cries as much as he could; he didn’t want the sound to carry into the house and wake his children. If they heard him, they might call for help, but they might also investigate and end up in the cellar. He wasn’t willing to take the risk.
The barrage finally stopped and the foot was lifted, his arm automatically came towards his body and he clutched it close to him. He couldn’t feel his right hand anymore, but he didn’t look. He didn’t know how bad it was and didn’t want to know; it could shock him too greatly and render him useless to his family, who he needed to defend urgently.
Instead, he stared at the clown’s feet as a hammer dropped beside them. The clown bent down and picked up the knife before he finally came towards him again.
With one arm, he hooked him into a sitting position and started dragging him backwards, whilst holding the knife to his throat with the other hand.
He was seated next to his wife.
All he wanted to do was turn around and fight against the clown to guarantee no harm would come to his family, but he couldn’t. If he did, he would be killed, and their chances of survival would be slashed.
The clown only pulled his left arm behind the chair and taped it to the wood, knowing his right arm and hand were completely useless. He moved to the front of him and tied his feet together, before forcefully sticking a piece of tape across his mouth.
He tried to shout out as he watched the clown walk away and ascend the cellar stairs.
His children would fill the two remaining chairs.
He turned to his wife, who was now looking at him, seemingly more aware.
She blinked, and a tear left her eye, dropped down her cheek, and cut through blood that had dried on her face.
Daniel poked at the tape over his mouth with his tongue. It loosened, and finally he was able to blow it off. His wife had more than one strip of tape across her mouth; but even if it was just one, he doubted she had the strength to do as he’d done.
“How badly are you hurt?” He asked, realising she couldn’t answer and so changing his question, “Did he stab you?” She shook her head. “Are you hurt… badly?” She shook her head again. He breathed a slight sigh of relief and looked her up and down. Her hair was wild and her clothes torn and messy, but there were no major visible injuries. He guessed that the blood must have come either from the attacker or somewhere on her body he couldn’t see – like underneath her hair.
He jiggled his left hand, but the tape had been circled around the leg of the chair several times, so he wouldn’t be able to rip it off and free his hand. His only hope was to wriggle it free. And he didn’t have long.
He moved his hand from side to side, trying to make some room inside the tape. As he continued this motion, he looked around the room, and his eyes fixed onto the hammer, which was still intact on the floor, near to the stairs.
If he could get his hand free, he could free his feet and get to the hammer…
But he was too late. Again.
Footsteps sounded on the cellar stairs. He moved in his seat so that he was facing forwards, but continued to wriggle his hand. He could feel the tape slipping away, snatching at the skin of his hand as it fell away.
By the time his two children appeared at the bottom of the stairs, closely followed by the clown, his hand was free. But he kept it behind him. He had to wait for the opportune moment. His children looked unharmed, but were visibly frightened. His daughter clutched to a teddy, whilst his son mouthed the word “Daddy”, unable to push the sound out with it.
The clown gently ushered the children to their seats, staying behind them the whole time. He sat them down and didn’t use any tape, although the knife was still in his hand.
To not strike now would be a wasted opportunity; the clown probably wouldn’t leave the room again, so he wouldn’t have chance to free his feet and grab a weapon. He had to take the chance now and hope he could fight the clown for long enough for his children to escape.
He launched, making it to his feet – the chair coming with him, weighing him down. His right hand was useless, and the priority for his left was making sure the clown couldn’t land a fatal blow, so all he could do was pin the clown’s left hand against the wall.
Finally, he got lucky.
The knife dropped to the floor.
He looked down at it, judging whether he could grab it in time to make it back up and stab the masked maniac, but the clown kicked out and sent the knife spinning under one of the wine shelves.
Daniel and the clown struggled with one another, until the clown pushed his thumb inside Daniel’s shoulder wound. He fell backwards, the chair smashing apart underneath him, but the clown came with him. Underneath the mask, Daniel heard him chuckling. His thumb pushed deeper and deeper into the wound, and Daniel writhed in pain, hit out with his left hand, but couldn’t get a good enough hit.
The clown’s other hand grabbed Daniel’s throat, and began to squeeze.
In sync, his thumb pushed deeper and his grip grew tighter.
Daniel looked into the black eyeholes of the mask, stared long enough for the darkness to clear slightly, and for the eyes inside to become visible. He could just about see the pupils, expanding and drowning out all colour from the eyes; he could make out red cracks looking like they were about to burst and split open the pure whiteness of the eyes.
He felt the life being drained from him. Every last bit of energy being squeezed from his body. His last breath already drawn and trapped.
“Daddy!”
Suddenly, the clown’s grip loosened enough for Daniel to turn his head, where he saw his daughter placing the hammer into his left hand.
The clown poised himself ready to launch at the small girl, and almost instinctually, Daniel’s left hand formed a fist and swung through the air, sending the hammer crashing into the clown’s white mask and breaking it apart. White pieces of plastic splintered across the stone floor, and the clown fell sideways onto the floor, clutching his face.
Daniel was certain the hammer had made contact with the clown’s skin, but thought the plastic had absorbed the worst of the hit.
He sat up and used the sharp end of the hammer to cut through the tape around his feet. He shakily stood, using his daughter to steady himself. His son appeared at her side, not taking his eyes off the clown. Daniel looked at the clown, who was dragging himself towards the stairs.
Quickly, Daniel moved to his wife, freed her hands and feet with the hammer before removing the tape covering her mouth as delicately as possible (which was not very). She held onto the children for support, but also to reassure them; Daniel knew they would be her priority as they were his.
The four of them stood in the middle of the cellar, above the clown, who had propped himself against the cellar steps, staring back at all of them. His mask was broken and cracked all over, but what remained of it held together; almost all of the top half of his face was now visible. His eyes were lit and out in the open rather than hidden by darkness.
Daniel thought that beneath the mask – judging by the clown’s cheeks – he was smiling.
Daniel launched forwards, his rage consuming him, he brought the hammer up high ready to land a killer blow to the clown.
The hammer crashed through the wooden stairs; the clown rolling out of the way and back onto the stone floor.
Daniel moved quickly, pulling the hammer from the wood of the stairs and striking again, twisting his body and falling to his knees with the weapon in an attempt to hit the clown.
This time he hit his target.
He felt the metal plunge into the flesh of the clown’s leg, which only caused the masked psychopath to grunt slightly. Even so, he grabbed the clown’s leg with his left hand and pulled him towards the stairs. The rotund assailant barely budged, and so Daniel used the sharp end of the hammer and stabbed it into the clown’s leg wound.
It only grunted slightly again, but started moving itself to where Daniel wanted it to be.
He had the upper hand and he had to keep it; he had to incapacitate the clown for long enough to get his family to safety and call the police.
And he had a plan.
“Help me.” Daniel ordered.
Nobody came. He continued to struggle with the clown’s leg, eventually opting to change tactic and take the masked lunatic by the throat instead, holding him against the wooden stairs.
“Hold him in place!” He shouted, and his wife stepped forward. She touched the clown’s shoulder, flinched, and backed away.
But that had given Daniel all the time he needed.
By the time the clown turned his attention back to him, Daniel had the nail in place.
He thumped it into the clown’s palm and sent it crashing into the wooden stairs.
Again, the clown grunted.
He tried to move, and squealed in pain, before his body relaxed against the wooden stairs.
Daniel turned to his wife and pressed his cheek against hers, “Go to the neighbour’s,” He whispered, “Take the kids, call the police.” He kissed her, “I’ll be right behind you.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. She took the children by their hands and approached the stairs. The three of them slowed as they rounded the clown, who simply watched them. He watched them as much as his neck would allow; turning almost like an owl. Other than that, he didn’t move an inch.
Daniel stared at the clown for a moment, who stared back; the bottom half of his face still obscured by the remnants of his mask. Then, he took another nail off the table and showed it to the clown, who only continued to stare.
Even when he hammered a second nail into his hand, the clown just stared. He grunted in pain, yes, but didn’t blink – not even when the third went in, or the fourth, or the fifth.
All he wanted was a reaction – and an explanation – none of them knew this man. So why? For that reason, and for wanting to prove he was not like him, Daniel wouldn’t kill him. Instead, he would let the police take over in the hope that he would get the answers he wanted.
Finally, Daniel gave up, accepting he was going to get nothing for now. He grimaced at the clown, spat in his face, and ascended the cellar stairs.
He quickly left the house and looked to the right and left, hammer still in hand, as he worked out which neighbour’s house his family had gone to.
He followed the light…
*
He stayed with his family while they waited for the police. All he’d wanted to do is make sure they were okay and then go back to the clown and keep him in place, but as soon as he was reunited with them he broke down, dropped the hammer, hugged them, and cried.
Not long afterwards, the police arrived, and an officer stayed with them while his colleagues went into his house.
When they came back out without an extra man, Daniel charged towards them and asked what was going on.
An officer pointed to the door, which was smeared with violent strokes of blood and imprinted with blood-soaked handprints.
But, more importantly, the clown mask had been nailed to the door.
The bottom half was pinned onto the door by nails through the plump cheeks, while the other shards were held in place by nails roughly creating the outline of the original mask.
Daniel grabbed his wife and children with his left arm and held them close to him.
He looked at the mask, and then up into the night sky.
They had been spared. They had defeated the clown and been spared.
But Daniel knew, even in that moment of relief, that their lives would never be the same again. They would be left wondering forever – wondering if, one night, the clown who had randomly stalked and attacked them would return.
November, 2018
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