Schooled [Laughing JackxReader]

7

After Brian disappeared, you decided to go home. You had too much on your mind to return to the party.

Brian knew something. There was no denying that. He knew something and he was keeping it from you.

"And forget about that clown." That phrase stood out to you in particular. You were pretty sure you hadn't mentioned a clown when you were describing your dreams. Probably because there wasn't a clown at all. Of all the things you'd seen while dreaming about the carnival, clowns were notably lacking. You wondered what he meant by 'that clown' as you changed into your P.J's. There was no way you would sleep tonight with your mind running at a million miles per hour, so you took a few storebrand sleeping pills before you crawled into bed.

At around 2:30 in the morning you were finally ready to admit the sleep aids were useless. You sighed and rolled onto your back to stare up at the dark ceiling. How could Brian know something about your nightmare carnival anyway? Wasn't it just that, a nightmare? A manifestation of your fear and guilt over the murder of Laurel Anderson. The dead kids probably represent Laurel. You reasoned. And it's a black and white carnival because....because....
Suddenly it dawned on you. There was a clown. Not in your dreams, no, but in Laurel's drawings. Laughing Jack. Laughing Jack was a clown.

Your sudden realization was interrupted by a rustling sound coming from the living room. Your imagination maybe? You held your breath and listened again. Another rustle. Definitely not your imagination.

As quietly as possible you slipped out of bed and wrapped your hand around the baseball bat you'd taken to keeping by you at night. The whole 'murderer at large' thing had been a pretty good reason to. You noticed your bedroom door was open. Had it been like that when you went to sleep?

Taking the bat with you, you crept down the short hallway, stopping just short of entering the living room. You were so scared you had to remind yourself to breathe. Cautiously you peered around the corner, cast a quick glance around the room and hid yourself again. Someone was sitting on your couch. Their back was to you, so after your heart slowed back down a little (it was still beating absurdly loud, but it'd have to do), you peeked into the room again. From what you could see the intruder had a head of chin-length, fluffy, dark hair. You could see a bit of pale skin on the back of their neck, and the tips of what might have been feathers sticking up over the back of the couch. Every few moments there was a rustling noise, which you recognized as the sound of a page turning. Someone had broken into your apartment, and now they were....reading a book?

You didn't have time to think very carefully on that, because the loud, obnoxious ring of your landline cracked through the heavy silence. You flinched, and so did the intruder. Their head turned to the side, looking directly at your phone, which sat on the kitchen counter across the room. You could now make out a few of the stranger's features from their profile. Their face was thin, and pale like their neck. They had black lips, and a long cone-shaped nose that looked...striped?
So you now apparently had a makeup-wearing stranger who had broken into your home to read a book. Could it get anymore nuts? Apparently it could. The intruder's lips twisted into a frown as they looked at the phone. Then, much to your horror, their arm stretched out (striped sleeve and all), and they hung up the phone without ever having the leave their seat. Your mind reeled as you watched the arm return to it's original size like a loosened rubber band, and the stranger continued reading like nothing had happened.

You must be dreaming, you concluded. That phone was a good 8 feet away from the couch. There was no way they could...it couldn't be real...and yet you could feel the carpet on the soles of your feet. You could grip the wooden baseball bat and feel the smooth surface on your palms. Insane and impossible as it was, that had really....really just happened. You felt like you were going to hurl. That wasn't a person sitting on your couch. It was a monster.

You leaned against the wall, keeping out of sight, and took a moment to pull yourself together. You were afraid. Very afraid. Maybe that's why you hardly felt it when your feet started to take you towards the intruder, creeping stealthily on autopilot. And maybe that's why, when the stranger turned and your eyes met theirs, you brought the baseball bat down on their head with shocking velocity. Maybe people do crazy things when they're afraid.