The Clown

There's a clown following me. I know it sounds crazy, but there is. It never dresses the same, but it know it's the same one. It's always carrying a bunch of helium balloons. It never moves and it's always staring at me. Every time I see it, it's just a little bit closer to me. Last time it was about 10 feet away. I'm not even afraid of clowns, but I don't look forward to the day it gets close enough to to touch me.

I saw it for the first time a couple weeks ago. I thought it was odd because there was no carnival or circus or anything in town and there are no little kids in my neighborhood, so he couldn't have been there for a birthday party. It was also five o'clock in the morning as I was leaving for work.

 It was standing at the end of my block, wearing a rainbow wig, a red and blue polka dot suit with a yellow collar, and giant red shoes. It had a big friendly smile painted on its face. I passed it off as my overactive imagination and the fact that it was dark, but it didn't feel friendly. It felt menacing. It felt hungry.

I shuddered and forced myself to turn away. I walked down the driveway a little quicker than usual, trying to keep my pace under a full-on sprint. When I reached my car, I glanced back and it was gone. I sighed with relief, figuring I was seeing things.

A couple days went by before I saw it again. I was at the park reading a book on my day off. A bunch of kids ran by screaming and laughing, which pulled my attention from the story. When I looked up, the clown was standing half hidden behind a tree. If it hadn't been for the white frown painted on its face and the balloons in its hand, I would've thought it was a hobo. It had a tattered bowler hat, torn up jacket, stained shirt and pants, and an oversized tie.

I squinted and I could see that it was looking right at me, burning a hole through my soul. The balloons it was holding didn't move any more than the clown did, but the branches of the tree it was standing next to were bouncing around in the breeze. I stood up and looked around the park to see if anyone else had noticed it, but it didn't seem that way. There were dozens of adults and kids playing, running, walking, and doing other park things, but no one so much as glanced in the clown's direction. In fact, everyone had their backs to it and although the park was crowded, not one person was within 50 feet of it.

As I walked around, observing this phenomenon, it's line of sight never left me. It was quite disconcerting. At some point, I wandered onto the bike path. I noticed just in time to avoid a collision with a very angry man on a bicycle. I jumped out of the way, falling on my ass as he went by shouting obscenities at me. I would've laughed if I didn't have the heebiejeebies. I looked back over at the tree, but the clown wasn't there.

I've seen it about half a dozen more times since then. I'm always in a different place and it's always in a different outfit, holding balloons, never moving, ever closer. Once, it had a half bald cap with bright orange hair running around the back of its head. It was wearing a blue suit with giant white pompoms and a huge blue collar. The face paint was a big red smile and tall, round eyebrows, expressing sheer happiness, but I know the only feeling that thing has is rancor. Another time, I swear it was dressed as Ronald McDonald. Big red wig and a yellow and red suit. Once more, the smile was sour. A bitter lie masking the murderous hatred it emanated.

The last time was no more than a few hours ago. The clown wasn't wearing makeup, just a yellow suit and a big red nose. It had a blond beard, and a tiny top hat cocked to the side. It was close enough for me to hear its ragged breathing and see the look of pure hatred on its face. Its mouth was pulled in a grimace and its teeth were yellow and rotted.

It smelled sickly sweet. I was instantly reminded of a time in middle school when I kicked a random bag on the ground and it turned out there was a dead bird in it. The bird had been dead so long, the only thing that indicated it had been a bird was the feathers stuck to the inside of the bag. I loved my shoes and didn't want to throw them away, so after trying and failing to clean the smell out, I sprayed the shoe with my sister's fruity perfume. That's what the clown smelled like. Rotting bird with a slight undertone of cheap, girly perfume.

I tried to ask what it wanted, why it was following me, but all that came out was a pitiful squeak. I turned heel and ran in a panic until my lungs burned and my side started screaming at me. When I stopped, I scanned the street, checking for it. Checking to see if it had followed me. I was alone, thankfully.

It took me an hour to walk home. I'd dropped my purse as I was fleeing, so I couldn't call anyone to come pick me up. I looked for it as I was walking, but it was nowhere to be found. Oh well, I need a new ID and debit card anyway. I also have insurance on my phone.

I'm in my room now, typing this all out. I don't know why. Maybe so that when it finally gets me, my family will know what happened, even if they won't believe it. Maybe so I can read this and realize how insane I'm becoming and convince myself to check into a mental hospital. Do we even have one here?

Anyway, back to the clown. I can feel it long before I see it. I can't describe the feeling exactly, but my palms start tingling, my stomach feels heavy like it does when I eat a lot of greasy food, and I get goosebumps all over the back of my head and neck. I try not to look for it, I really do, but I can't control my head. If I fight it too hard, my neck hurts and my head turns on its own like I'm struggling against someone much stronger than me.

I wish I knew what it wanted. Why it picked me. Why its tormenting me. Where it came from. What it really is. I haven't slept in a week. I keep thinking it's going to follow me into my dreams like Freddy Kreuger. I keep thinking it's going to slash met throat while I sleep. I stopped going to work. I stopped bathing. I stopped eating. I only left my house tonight because I wanted to convince myself there is no clown. I made it a block before that horrible, stinking thing appeared behind me.

Oh god. I have that feeling. My hands are tingling and I can feel the goosebumps pop up one by one on my neck, working their way up to my scalp. Oh god. It's in my bedroom. I know it is. I can smell its putrescence. Oh god. I think it's laughing. Its wheezing sounds like my grandpa when he laughed, right before his emphysema threw him into a coughing fit.

Oh god. My head is turning. I don't want to see it. Please don't make me look.