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

The Night He Comes for Them

The heavy, sterile air of the police station pressed down on you, thick with tension. You sat frozen in the chair, the rattling chain still clinging to your ankle, but your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and terror. Art was out there. You had seen him, standing under that flickering streetlight, grinning like the monster he was.

The officer who had helped you was barking orders into his radio, calling for backup. The sound of his voice barely reached your ears, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. You were safe here, or at least that’s what everyone kept telling you.

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair, the faint echo of Art’s mocking horn still lingered in your mind. He had let you run. He had let you come here. And now, he was waiting.

The station lights flickered again, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. Two other officers hurried past, guns drawn, their faces tense. You could hear them talking quietly, something about a break-in, about searching the perimeter. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

You wanted to scream at them, to warn them, but your voice was trapped in your throat. You were still paralyzed, your mind spinning as you tried to process everything. Why had Art let you go? Why was he toying with you like this? And why did you feel that strange, awful pull toward him, even as you knew he was the reason everything had fallen apart?

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the back of the station a sound of glass shattering and something heavy hitting the ground.

The officers spun around, their radios crackling with static as they rushed toward the noise, weapons ready. The air became charged with tension, thick and suffocating. You could feel it the anticipation, the fear that rippled through the room like a dark wave.

You knew what was coming.

Seconds later, the sound of gunfire erupted from the hallway, followed by screams. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as a chill ran down your spine. The officers outside were shouting, but the chaos was growing louder, more frantic. One by one, their voices were silenced.

And then, the unmistakable horn filled the air.

Your heart stopped.

Art was here.

The remaining officer at the front desk cursed under his breath, gripping his gun tighter as he moved toward the hallway, his eyes flicking nervously between the door and the darkened corridors beyond.

A shadow moved at the edge of the room.

Your breath hitched, your pulse racing as you tried to make sense of what was happening. The officer never saw him coming.

Art stepped out of the shadows, his pale face split into that grotesque grin, his eyes gleaming with sadistic joy. He moved faster than you could process, his silent form a blur of darkness and white as he lunged at the officer from behind.

Before the man could react, Art’s knife plunged into his chest with a sickening squelch. The officer’s body jerked, his eyes wide with shock, before he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him as Art stood over his lifeless form. His mocking silent laugh filled you with fear.

You were frozen in your chair, staring in horror as Art wiped the blade clean on the dead officer’s uniform, his head tilting in that familiar, unsettling way. For a brief moment, you thought he’d move on, go after the others, but then his dark eyes flicked to you.

He started toward you, slowly, deliberately, the blood streaked knife swinging lazily in his hand. Every step he took seemed to stretch out, a surreal nightmare playing out in slow motion.

Your body screamed at you to run, to do something, but you couldn’t move. The chain around your ankle clinked softly against the floor as you watched him approach, helpless and terrified.

And then, just as he reached you, he did something you hadn’t expected.

He crouched down, his face mere inches from yours, that twisted grin never fading. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You didn’t dare move. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin, cold and unnervingly intimate. He tilted his head, his dark eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There was something more in his gaze now, something that went beyond the simple thrill of the kill.

It was dark, yes, and deeply unsettling, but there was also something almost… possessive about the way he looked at you.

Your heart raced, every nerve in your body screaming for you to get away, but you couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. There was a terrifying intimacy in that moment, as if he were silently claiming you as his own, even as the bodies piled up around you.

And then, without warning, Art reached into his pocket.

You flinched, expecting the worst, but instead, he pulled out something small, something that glinted faintly in the dim light. He held it in his palm for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours, before he slowly, carefully, slipped it into your hand.

Your fingers instinctively closed around it, your mind too numb with fear and confusion to process what was happening. Art’s cold fingers lingered for a moment longer, brushing against your skin with that same grotesque parody of affection.

Then, without a sound, he rose to his feet.

You sat there, breathless, your hand clenched tightly around whatever he had given you, as Art turned and disappeared into the shadows. His horn echoed faintly through the station as he vanished into the chaos, leaving you alone once again.

The screams started up again, followed by more gunshots.. Art was finishing what he’d started, taking down the remaining officers with his brutal, silent efficiency. But you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe.

You just sat there, your mind spinning with confusion, fear, and that horrible, sickening feeling of something deeper, something that scared you more than anything.

Slowly, your eyes dropped to your hand.

You opened your fingers, the cold metal pressing against your palm.

And there, sitting in the middle of your hand, was a tiny, plastic toy ring.

The kind you’d find in a quarter machine. Cheap, childish, completely out of place amidst the carnage surrounding you.

You stared at it, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind struggling to understand what it meant. Why had he given this to you? What was he trying to say?

And then it hit you.
It wasn’t just a game to him.
He wasn’t just playing with you like the others.
This was something else entirely.

The terror in your chest tightened, and for the first time, you realized something horrible...

Art wasn’t going to kill you...

He was keeping you.