Tales From Twistwood

It's Too Late For You

I woke up at 3 am for probably no reason at all, completely covered in sweat, my heart pounding. I was panting, too, and I started to wonder if I was about to have a heart attack or something. After all, I was middle-aged and fat, so it wouldn't be that improbable.

My eyes were barely open, but they started to adjust to the dimness of the room. I was about to get up for a glass of water, when I froze.

There was someone standing at the foot of my bed.

I slowed my breathing and closed my eyes almost all the way. Was it a murderer? After all, I lived alone, so it couldn't be someone living with me. I opened my eyes a tiny bit so I could see them better.

Whoever it was, they were wearing a clown costume. One of the creepy ones, too. Huge, fluffy red hair, completely white makeup, an unnerving giant smile - the works. They looked like Ronald McDonald, if Ronald McDonald was a serial killer. Their huge smile even had that weird quality you only see from clowns in horror movies. That oddly sad look, like the smile that was painted on couldn't mask the actual sadness. If real clowns (you know, like the birthday party ones) had that smile, they'd be fired within a day.

I tried not to start shaking. After all, who knew they were even going to hurt me? They were just sitting there, staring at me with black eyes. When I looked in their face, the shadows from the room made it look like their eye sockets were completely black holes. Even though I knew they did have eyes, that seemed to make it creepier.

A car passed by, and through the blinds the light from its headlights flashed into the room. There was a glint of light from something in the clown's hand. A knife? I wasn't sure.

I swallowed. There was a lump of anxiousness in my throat.

Well, if I was going to die tonight, I could say that I had a good life. Sure, I never settled down and raised a family, but I didn't have a bad life. I had family and friends who loved me. A good job, a good house.

But God, please don't let me die like this. I don't want to die like this.

The clown stepped forwards and raised whatever they had in their hand. Looking closer, I could see it was a knife. A butcher knife too, like they use in slasher films. Their breathing was erratic and heavy. It was like they had ran a marathon before coming to my house to chop me up.

Why me, of all people? I wasn't special. I didn't stand out.

Suddenly, their breathing stopped. They turned around, as if someone was behind them.

"Yes?" they said. "I know. I know. I'm almost done here, I promise." their voice was strange. It sounded like multiple people talking, instead of just one. And who were they talking to?

If I jumped out of med while they weren't expecting me, maybe I'd stand a chance. But what if they turned around? I was old and 60 pounds overweight. I wouldn't stand a chance, not against someone with a knife. Not to mention someone at least a foot taller than me with a knife. Now, I kind of wished I had listened to my mother when she told me I should try to get into shape. Maybe a six pack could save me from a killer clown.

They were still turned around, listening intently to whatever imaginary friend they had been talking to.

Quick as a flash (well, quick as I possibly could) I jumped up, flicked on the lamp, and grabbed the closest thing I could find on the dresser. Unfortunately, that turned out to be my phone.

Slowly, the clown turned to me. Now that I saw them in the light, they were even scarier. Their costume was splattered with blood and covered in dirt, and their makeup was flaking off. Creepiest of all, even once the light was on the darkness that was their eye sockets didn't change. They had no eyes. There was just... nothing. It wasn't even a hole, it was just complete darkness.

"It's too late for you," they said. "You can't save yourself. I need you."

Then the light went out, and I was submerged in darkness.