-A twisted Fate?- An Art The clown x Fem!Reader

The Calm Before the Storm

One year later.

Halloween night had returned, and with it, the inevitable buzz of trick-or-treaters flooding the streets. The faint sounds of laughter and excitement drifted in from outside, children dressed in costumes of witches, superheroes, and monsters knocking on doors for candy. The night had its usual charm, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant bonfires.

You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a warm, oversized blanket, nestled in the familiar comfort of your home. The glow of the television cast a soft, flickering light across the room as you absentmindedly watched an old horror movie, a slasher flick you’d seen dozens of times before. The irony wasn’t lost on you. Horror had once been just a fun thrill, a harmless escape. But after him, after what had happened last Halloween, everything had changed.

Still, you tried to settle into the normalcy of the moment. The bowl of popcorn sat untouched on your lap, but you pretended to eat, focusing on the movie to push away the intrusive thoughts. Your boyfriend, Jake, was by the front door, happily handing out candy to the steady stream of trick-or-treaters. His cheerful voice calling out, “Happy Halloween!” was a comforting reminder that the world hadn’t fallen apart, that life had gone on, even after the nightmare you had barely survived.

Jake had no idea what had happened to you last year. You had never told him. How could you? How could anyone possibly understand the terror you had faced? The helplessness? The way Art had broken you down piece by piece, until you had become nothing but a sobbing, hollow shell?

Your body tensed at the memory of his cold, mocking touch. The way his gloved fingers had wiped away your tears, the way he had toyed with you, never giving you the mercy of death. He had left you there, broken and alone, and somehow, you had found your way home, physically unharmed but forever changed.

“Hey, babe, you okay?” Jake’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. You hadn’t even noticed him come back into the living room. He was standing beside the couch now, his brow furrowed with concern as he looked down at you.

You forced a smile, even though it felt brittle on your lips. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

“You sure?” He sat down beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a comforting embrace. “You’ve been kind of quiet all day. You know, we don’t have to watch horror movies if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, leaning into him. “It’s fine. It’s Halloween. Just part of the tradition, right?”

Jake chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Okay, but if you need a break, just say the word. We can watch a rom-com or something instead.”

The warmth of his presence was grounding, a reminder that the world wasn’t filled with monsters. Not all of it, at least. Jake was your anchor, the part of your life that felt normal. Safe. You clung to that as the night wore on.

The doorbell rang again, and Jake groaned playfully as he got up to answer it. “Another batch of sugar hungry little gremlins,” he teased, tossing you a wink before heading back to the front door.

You watched him go, a small smile tugging at your lips. He really was trying to make the night as fun and normal as possible. And for a moment, you almost believed that it was.

But even as you tried to focus on the movie, a sense of unease settled over you. The house felt… too quiet. Too still. Outside, you could hear the occasional giggle of kids and the rustle of costumes, but inside, it was like the air had thickened, pressing in on you.

The movie flickered on, a violent scene playing out on the screen. A killer, masked and silent, stalking his victim through darkened hallways. You should have been desensitized to it by now. It was just a movie. But your mind couldn’t help but drift back to that night. To him.

To Art.

A chill ran down your spine, and you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to shake the creeping dread. It was over. It had been over for a year. You hadn’t seen or heard anything from him since that night. He was probably dead or locked away in some asylum where he belonged. But deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you knew better.

Monsters like Art didn’t just disappear.

The doorbell rang again, startling you. You hadn’t realized Jake hadn’t returned to the couch yet. You glanced toward the front door, wondering how many more kids could possibly be out this late. Jake’s laughter echoed from the entryway, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.

You tried to focus on the movie again, but something felt… off. You hadn’t seen Jake since the last group of trick-or-treaters. He had been by the door for a while now, longer than usual.

You frowned and shifted on the couch, the blanket sliding off your shoulders as you sat up. “Jake?” you called out, your voice echoing in the quiet house. No answer.

An uneasy feeling settled in your chest. You hesitated, debating whether to go check or just brush it off. But the silence was too heavy now. Something wasn’t right.

Slowly, you stood up, the soft fabric of the blanket trailing behind you as you made your way toward the front door. The faint sound of the movie continued to play in the background, but it felt distant now, like it was coming from another world entirely.

When you reached the entryway, your heart nearly stopped.

The door was wide open, swinging gently on its hinges, letting the cold night air seep into the house. But Jake was nowhere to be seen.

“Jake?” Your voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. You stepped toward the open door, peering out into the darkness beyond. The street was quiet, the trick-or-treaters having mostly cleared out by now. The only light came from the streetlamp at the end of the road, flickering weakly.

And then you saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat, every muscle in your body freezing as your eyes locked onto the figure standing under the flickering streetlight.

It was him.

Art the Clown.

He stood there, leaning casually against the lamp post, his head tilted at that familiar, disturbing angle. His costume was pristine this time—no blood, no dirt. Just the same black-and-white clown suit, his face painted in that grotesque, grinning mask. His eyes, wide and gleaming, were locked onto yours, and even from a distance, you could see the sickening amusement dancing in them.

He raised one hand in a slow, deliberate wave, just like he had that night.

Your body went cold. The blanket slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor as you took a step back, your mind racing.

He was back.

And this time, you knew, there would be no escape.