Dark Tales

The Clown Statue

A teenage girl is asked to babysit for a wealthy family. The parents were going out for a date night, and the father told the girl certain rules she should follow, one being that once the children are in bed she should stay in the family room to watch television. He'd rather not have her wandering the large house.

The parents took off, leaving the babysitter to watch over the kids. She soon got the children into bed and wandered throughout the house, looking for the biggest room. Upon finding it, she sat in front of the television and watched it for a while, flicking through channels without interest. With the volume low as not to wake the children and the lights turned off, her gaze begins to wander about the room, admiring the expensive electronics and lavish upholstery. She wonders if the parents would mind if she nodded off for a while, feeling sleep tugging at her vision.

It was then that she saw it. In the corner of the room, half-tucked in shadow, was a statue dressed as a clown. 

She stood from the couch instantly, feeling chills crawl down her spine at the sight of the stature next to the wall. She almost began walking backwards in an attempt to get away from it, but then she realized how silly she was acting. It was only a statue. After a moment, she sat back down on the couch, examining it from a distance.

She wonders how she didn't see it before, considered how incredibly creepy it was–with bulging eyes and a sagacious painted smile. The colors on its face and clothes were so diluted it appeared to be blending into the darkness. Several parts of its costume appeared to be ripped or faded. It must have been old–the parents might have pulled it out of the basement after many years. 

She forced her gaze away from the statue and back to the TV screen, trying to ignore the clown's stare at the back of her head. She couldn't help herself from looking back again and again at the clown, half-believing that if she looked away for too long, it would be right behind her. She rubbed her arms, feeling suddenly cold. She felt as if those eyes were looking right at her.

She then decided she could stand it no longer. 

Her fingers fumbled for the phone on the table, and she punched in the father's cell, holding it up to her ear with trembling hands. It took three rings before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sir. The kids are in bed and everything is fine. It's just–well, is there any way I can switch rooms? The clown statue you guys have is really creeping me out." She was drumming her fingers on her thigh.

There was a pause. Too long.

Long enough she thought he'd hung up. 

Then the father said, very seriously, "Listen, get the kids."

"What?" She shook her head. "I don't understand–"

"Listen to me." He sounded urgent. "Get the kids, go next door, and call 911."

She felt panic rising in her throat. "What's going on?"

He responds, "Just go next door," he stops and it sounds as if he had turned away from the phone, as if to speak to someone very quickly. When he returns, he breathes, "Once you call the police, call me back right away."

The line goes dead. Without a second's thought, she leaps from the couch and sprints up the stairs, turning on the lights and shaking the children from their sleep. The kids rub their eyes sleepily and ask what is going on. With no time to spare, she pulls them out of bed and pushes them down the stairs and out the door. She did as their father asked and ran with the kids to the neighbors, banging on their front door and begging for their phone.

When she finally called the police and told them to come to the house, she called the father back and asked what has been going on.

He replied, his voice tinged with alarm, "We don't have a clown statue. There's someone there."

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Source Adapted From: "The Clown Statue," Retold by Chase Young