It started as a prank – wearing a porcelain clown mask under the waterproof hooded cape, then scaring the late night revellers and the dog-walkers; even the doggers – they were fun. Each time her went out he had found a new sense of purpose. New fears. New terrors, Each set of screams was individually and to be relished. On the previous night to this he had almost scared to death a little old lady who was out looking for her cat. He hadn’t seen ‘Tiddles’ but if he had then he would have made her terror _so _ much_better… Instead he leapt out and shouted “Waaaargh!” She screamed. She was weak and lacked the wind to make it worthwhile, so he shook her a bit. This would loosen her lungs! And that made her really scream. As soon as her let go her shoulders she fell to the floor. Dropped Like A Stone. That following morning the would- be clown fiend lay awake. He thought he may have killed the old woman. Maybe he had. He hadn’t wanted to kill anyone. If he did that then he would go to prison, and then he couldn’t carry on having his late night fun. He resolved to retrace his steps and see if he could find the old woman - not to scare her, but just see her, secretly… make sure she was OK. It was near 11 pm. By Thursden Avenue where he had jumped out last night. He waited under bush as the rain began to fall. He didn’t know why he was still wearing his porcelain mark and rain-cloak – but he was, maybe he thought of these as his nightwear now. Then from the corner of his eye he saw a movement, just by the alley next to the post office. There was the old lady, she had just emerged holding a small cat. The creepy clown smiled under his mask, he was actually happy about this turn of events. He hunkered down further into the foliage as he watched her walk his way, along the pavement by the park. His breathing was quick and loud so he tried to be quiet. It was impossible for him to creep any further into the bushes but he hoped that the black of his cap would hide him. As she passed he saw the cat squirm. It hissed at him. But she held it firm with one arm clutched to her side, the other in her coat pocket. It still hissed. “Who’s there? Come on out!” The old lady’s voice was surprisingly strong for one who had collapsed in a heap the night before. Feeing brave, he stepped out of the bushes and removed his mask. “I just wanted to make sure that you were OK. I’m sorry.” Steel flashed in the street-light. A knife. She stabbed him in the gut with her free hand. “Oh there’s some bad people about. You should be more careful.”

The abandoned carnival sat on the edge of town. The rides still creaked on windless nights. Faded music drifted through the trees after midnight. On moonless nights, the oldest warning was whispered: If you see the clown in black... you will be dead by morning. Of course, when Ethan’s grandma whispered the warning, he laughed. He was bored. Restless. So, he ventured out to the edge of town. "This?" he scoffed, sweeping his flashlight across a collapsed ticket booth. "People are scared of Halloween decorations." Footsteps echoed from the Hall of Mirrors. He swung his flashlight in that direction. The yellow beam landed on a figure. A clown. It sat motionless on a wooden chair beneath a sagging circus tent. Its white face gleamed in the darkness, red nose bright beneath hollow eye sockets, and a grin stretched too far beneath a tattered black hood. "Guess the town’s ghost story got a budget," he muttered. He walked closer. The stillness was suffocating. Even the insects had gone silent. Reaching out, he poked the clown's shoulder. Solid. Damp. Sticky. He chuckled. "I can't believe people are afraid of—" CLICK. His flashlight died. "Oh, come on." He slapped it against his palm. Nothing. Then... A soft sound. Heh... It was barely audible. A breath that almost sounded like laughter. He froze. The flashlight flickered back to life. The chair... Was empty. His stomach dropped. He spun around. Nothing. Only torn canvas swaying gently overhead. Then he heard it again. Heh... heh... Behind him. He whipped around. The clown stood three feet away. Close enough, Ethan could smell rot and old sugar. It hadn't walked. It hadn't made a sound. It was simply there. Its grin seemed wider now. Screaming, he stumbled backward. The clown didn't chase him. It only tilted its head. Waiting. Ethan bolted through the tent, crashing into rotten support poles. He burst into the moonlight, gasping. His car waited just beyond the rusted Ferris wheel. Safety. He sprinted. Halfway there, he risked a glance behind him. Nothing. His lungs loosened. Then... A reflection caught his eye in the driver's side window. The clown stood directly behind him. He spun— Nothing. Heart hammering, he laughed nervously. "I'm losing it." A hollow laughter filled the night air. The reflection laughed. Its shoulders shook violently. Its mouth stretched impossibly wide until the jaw cracked downward with a wet pop. Blackness poured from its throat like smoke. The reflection slowly lifted one long finger. Pointing... At him. Realization struck too late. The hand rested on his shoulder. Ice-cold fingers tightened. A raspy voice whispered beside his ear. "I’ve been lonely. Now I have company."

Gerald felt the mattress compress. “Happy birthday, Gerry Boy!” the clown shouted. “Can you believe it? A teenager now! Pimples on the way, hair popping out in weird places, girls suddenly making you sweat and…” Gerald kicked out as the covers were pulled down. “Beat it.” “No chance.” “Big test at school today and I gotta sleep.” “Yeah, like sleep will help you pass math. Nope, we got stuff to do.” The clown rhythmically slapped Gerald’s hip harder and harder. Gerald tried to retrieve his covers. “Knock it off! I don’t want to play games.” “No sweat. As of now, you’re too old for games. You’re ready for the big boy stuff.” “What are you talking about?” “Ever since you made me your imaginary friend when you turned three, we’ve done all the kid games. I’m sick of it. You’re thirteen and I’m…well don’t worry about how old I am. It’s time to grow up into a man, Gerry Boy…er…Gerald.” “Then I should be sleeping like a man,” Gerald turned over. The covers were yanked down quicker this time. “Get up, you little son of—uh—Gerald.” Gerald looked over his shoulder. The clown was bigger now, standing at the foot of the bed, its head bumping the ceiling, its silly painted-on smile was now an evil grin. It tipped the bed and threw Gerald hard against the wall. “I’m not taking crap from you anymore. Get off the floor and act like somebody.” Gerald shook as he got to his feet with the help of his desk. “What is your problem? You’re going to wake up mom and dad.” “YOU are my problem. We’ve only got a little while to get you into shape. Your destiny isn’t going to wait much longer.” “Destiny?” The clown chuckled. “Yeah, and it won’t happen overnight. You’ve got a whole lifetime to live in just a few years. By the time you’re all up in the news, you’ve got a few animals, a couple of kids, and eighteen adults to murder.” “What?” The clown paused. “Well, okay, a couple will be maimed and in wheelchairs, but why quibble about stuff like that?” “You make it sound like I’m a serial killer.” “Now it’s sinking in! You think I’ve been hanging around all these years because you’re adorable and I want a friend? Give me some credit. Okay, we’ve got plans to come up with. You know, like what drives you to incinerate your parents in your childhood home.” Gerald made for the door but was suddenly tied and gagged. “Come on, Gerald. Let’s get this worked out before I wipe your memory of all this so you can look suitably stupid to the jury. And I can finally get my wings. And horns.”