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

The Darkness Returns

Your heart raced as you stared at the figure under the streetlight. Art's presence, impossibly still and looming in the shadows, sent a wave of dread crashing over you. It was like a waking nightmare, the kind that makes your body freeze while your mind screams at you to move. But you couldn’t. You were rooted to the spot, your limbs trembling, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

This can't be real, you thought, over and over again, like a broken record playing in your head. It's just a nightmare. He's not here. He can’t be.

But he was. Art had returned, just like you had feared all year. And you knew, deep down, that this was never about whether he would come back. It was about when.

Your gaze darted back to the open door, searching for Jake. The panic clawing at your chest worsened when you realized he was nowhere in sight. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to take a shaky step toward the door. “Jake?” you called out again, your voice barely more than a whisper, fragile and trembling.

No answer.

You glanced back toward the streetlight, hoping, praying, that maybe Art had vanished into the night, that maybe your mind was just playing tricks on you.

But no.

He was still there, watching. Waiting.

A chill ran down your spine as Art took one slow, deliberate step forward, his black shoes crunching on the pavement. His gaze never wavered from yours, his wide, unblinking eyes filled with that same twisted glee. He didn’t need to speak to let you know what was coming. You could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, the inevitability of it all.

You stumbled backward, your pulse thundering in your ears. Where’s Jake? The question kept repeating in your head, a rising panic building in your chest. You needed to find him. You needed to get out of here, but every instinct told you it was already too late.

With shaky hands, you slammed the front door shut, your fingers fumbling with the lock as you twisted it into place. The solid click of the deadbolt should’ve brought you some comfort, but it didn’t. Not when you knew what kind of monster you were dealing with.

Your eyes scanned the room, the horror movie still playing in the background, its screams and eerie soundtrack doing nothing to distract you from the terror seeping into every corner of your mind. You reached for your phone, but your hand froze.

The doorbell rang.

It was a soft, innocent chime. But in the stillness of the house, it felt like a death knell.

You slowly backed away from the door, your breath catching in your throat. He was toying with you again, just like before. The sick little game he loved so much. You wanted to scream, to break the silence, but fear had your throat in a vice grip.

Don’t open it. Don’t even look at it, you told yourself, but your body betrayed you. Against all reason, your feet carried you to the door, as if drawn by an invisible force. You peered through the peephole, holding your breath, half-expecting to see Art's twisted face staring back at you.

But instead, you saw a child.

A small boy dressed as a pirate, clutching a candy bucket. His tiny frame stood alone on the doorstep, looking up expectantly at the house, his plastic sword dangling from his side. He was just… standing there. No parents. No group of kids.

Just him.

The confusion hit you first. Why was he out here, all alone, so late? Then, a wave of instinctive dread followed, gnawing at the edges of your mind. Something wasn’t right.

You turned away from the door, your heart pounding. You couldn’t let him in. Not now. Not when he was out there.

But then the boy knocked.

Three soft taps, gentle but insistent.

“Trick or treat?” His voice was muffled through the door, but you could hear the innocence in it, the sweetness that tugged at your heartstrings despite the fear coursing through your veins.

You hesitated, torn between the terror creeping through you and the maternal urge to help the child. What if he really was alone? What if he needed help?

You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Slowly, you cracked it open, just enough to see the boy standing there with his hopeful eyes and candy bucket. “Hey, where are your parents?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.

The boy looked up at you, his eyes wide and dark. Too dark. A flicker of something unsettling passed over his face, something that made your stomach drop.

“They’re close by,” he said, his voice still too sweet, too innocent. “Can I come inside?”

Your blood ran cold.

Before you could react, a figure stepped out from behind the boy, silent, looming.

It was Art.

He had been there the entire time, hiding just out of sight, waiting for you to open the door. His grin stretched impossibly wide, his eyes gleaming with manic delight as he waved at you, the playful gesture so absurdly out of place in the situation that it made your skin crawl.

You slammed the door shut in a blind panic, your heart hammering in your chest. You twisted the lock back into place, stumbling away from the door as fast as you could, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the air too thick to breathe.

Art’s giggles echoed through the door, muffled but unmistakable, sending chills down your spine. You backed away from the entryway, your mind racing with frantic thoughts.

Where was Jake?

The sudden sound of something heavy scraping across the floor behind you made you freeze. Your body went rigid, and slowly, you turned around.

Jake was there- collapsed on the living room floor, unconscious, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him.

“No… no, no, no…” The words tumbled from your lips in a strangled whisper as you rushed toward him, falling to your knees beside him. Your hands trembled as you pressed them to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too much. Too fast.

You could barely breathe, your world spinning as you realized the full horror of the situation. Art had gotten to him. He’d been inside your house this whole time.

“Jake, please,” you sobbed, shaking him, trying desperately to wake him. But he didn’t move. His skin was already cold to the touch.

A soft, silent breathy giggle echoed through the room, pulling your attention back toward the open doorway.

Art stood there now, in the middle of your living room, his head tilted, watching you with that same twisted grin. His white face paint gleamed in the dim light, his eyes wide and filled with cruel amusement as he took in your horror.

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your body frozen in place. There was no running this time. No escape.

Art took a slow, deliberate step toward you, his silent laughter filling the room like a terrible, mocking quite lullaby.

And you knew.

This time, he wasn’t going to let you go.