I finally clocked out after overtime. Exhaustion weighed on my shoulders like molten lead. All I could think about was payday finally arriving so I could buy those things I'd been putting off for months.
Then I felt it.
That prickling discomfort that makes your skin crawl. Like someone was watching you from way too close.
I stopped for a second. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
"What the hell…?" I muttered.
I instinctively changed directions, heading toward a street with more people. But the feeling didn't go away. If anything, it grew stronger. Closer.
I glanced back.
A man dressed as a clown was walking a few meters behind me.
I almost let out a nervous laugh. That trend was ancient history now. You only saw it on Halloween or in some viral prank for TikTok or social media. The outfit was over-the-top, completely out of place on an ordinary night in 2026.
"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual. "Halloween's still three months away, you know. Plus, that whole killer clown thing is long dead. We're not in 2016 anymore—we're in 2026."
I figured it was just some prank for views on social media. Big mistake.
He didn't answer.
I kept walking, but the unease only got worse. Then, something impossible happened.
The clown appeared right in front of me.
He didn't run. Didn't make any sudden move. He was just… there.
I stumbled back a few steps on reflex. The clown started laughing. It wasn't a cheerful laugh. It was rough, broken, like something scraping inside his throat.
Then I saw him pull out a knife.
For a second, I thought it was part of the act.
"Nice trick," I said, my voice shaky. "That retractable knife really sells it."
The clown swung his arm.
I felt a sharp thud.
Then the pain hit. Impossible. Unbearable.
I looked down at my left hand.
Blood was gushing out in hot spurts, the metallic smell filling the cold night air. My fingers were gone. They lay on the ground like lifeless chunks of meat.
"AAAAAAGHHH!" I screamed. "My fingers! MY FUCKING FINGERS!"
My voice cracked as the pain tore through me like liquid fire. This wasn't a joke. It was real. That lunatic had just severed every finger on my left hand.
The clown let out a laugh that echoed through the empty street.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
I ran.
The fear was real now. This psycho meant business. I ran like never before, praying a police cruiser would show up out of nowhere.
"Let's start the game of chase and kill!" he shouted from behind.
I just ran.
Damn it. I wished I had two extra legs right then. A safe place. Anywhere. Time. I just needed time.
Suddenly, a brutal kick to my right side. The impact launched me into the air. I slammed into the cold asphalt.
My ribs cracked.
I spat blood. Hot. Bitter.
"This is fear and terror," the clown said, his voice echoing in my skull. "Keep running if you want to live. The rules are simple: get to safety… and I'll let you go. I won't even kill you in your own apartment."
I forced myself up and ran again. The pain was unbearable. Broken ribs burned inside me. Blood filled my mouth. My hands.
Why was this happening to me?
I was just a junior systems engineer. I couldn't remember wronging anyone. Was it the company's fault? The bosses? They had enough money to ruin lives… but not me.
"Giving hope to someone you're about to kill… is exciting," the clown whispered.
I stumbled.
The pain in my left leg was strange. It didn't hurt. I couldn't feel anything.
I collapsed.
I looked down in horror.
The clown was holding my left leg in his hand. Torn flesh. Exposed bone. Blood dripping.
No. This wasn't happening. Legs don't just get ripped off like that. They can't.
"G-get away…" I begged. "Please… don't come closer."
Tears and snot streamed down my face uncontrollably. I dragged myself backward with my hands, leaving a red trail on the pavement.
His footsteps approached. Slow. Deliberate.
"It doesn't matter if you crawl," he said. "You're going to die anyway."
"No!" I screamed. "I'll give you money, company info, anything you want… just don't kill me, please!"
The clown stopped.
For a moment, I smiled through the tears. He'd take anything if it meant I lived.
But then he vanished.
And reappeared right in front of me.
He grabbed my throat. Squeezed.
"I don't need… those mundane things," he whispered. "Money? I can rob any bank… without anyone noticing."
I couldn't breathe.
"You said our trend was over…" he continued, his voice growing more twisted. "Ten years have passed. Back then… I killed without anyone knowing. It was beautiful. But now… we've been replaced. Reduced to Halloween costumes… and cheap horror movies."
"I think I need to take one more piece of you… so you understand… I'm not just some clown from a forgotten fad."
I was broken. Couldn't move. I'd lost too much blood… why wasn't I passing out?
"I used magic… to keep you from dying too quickly," he said. "But I'm getting bored."
Magic? That stuff only existed in anime or cheap stage tricks.
He suddenly stopped laughing.
"You don't want to die like this? Then…"
He leaned in close.
"Let's start the show."
I started shaking. I struggled uselessly as he gripped my right hand.
"Fear… to warn.
Terror… to paralyze.
But horror…
Horror is the final message."
"Remember this in your next life, Ryan.
Make sure this is the message written in blood."
And with one final laugh that echoed into the darkness, that damned psychotic clown ended the show.