, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

You think you have a normal life. A safe life.

Until everything goes wrong.

I was the loving the husband of my wife. The loving father of my three children.

It was the year of our 15th wedding anniversary and me and my wife were heading out to a  special dinner to mark the occasion.

Our three kids, Jane, Ben and the youngest, Sarah, were still young and needed constant management and attention.

So, as per normal, we arranged for Amanda to babysit our kids while we were gone. Amanda seemed to be a sensible girl ; her head was screwed on right. She was a hard worker and didn’t party her days away, drinking and doing drugs, like most teenagers her age did. So we always felt safe leaving her in charge every time we had to go out as a couple. Plus the all three kids loved her, and her them, which was a big bonus.

I remember rushing around that night, trying to get dressed in time for the big night ahead. My wife, Lorna,  had left our bedroom TV on the background, and I listened in as I yanked on my suit trousers. The news anchor was talking about another murder that had recently happened in our city; the latest victim to be brutally murdered by a serial killer that was making his way through our city. The Clown Murders, they were called, as supposedly a certain clown was always seen on the scene just before the murders would take place ; leading the police to believe that he was the serial killer responsible.

This city is really going to hell, I couldn’t help but think to myself. It might be time to move a safer place. For all of our sakes.

Nevertheless my thoughts were interrupted as I heard my wife yelling at me from the bottom of the stairs.

We were going to be late. Or at least I was about to make us late.

Grabbing my Rolex watch as I ran out the door, I raced down the stair and into the car. As usual, Lorna was waiting for me, already seated and buckled up,  an anxious look plastered over her face. I couldn’t help but delay starting up the engine by a few seconds, as my eyes ran up and down her figure, admiring the way that it stood out in the tight black number that she was wearing. She truly looked exquisite.

Putting the pedal to the medal, I shoved my foot on the accelerator and the car shoot out of the driveway, and onto the road. We were on our way. Finally.

Twenty minutes later we pulled into the restaurant car park and headed inside. After a short wait, due to it being a busy night,  we were seated and began ordering.

Suddenly my pants began to vibrate, followed closely Mr. Bean’s  unique sounding voice.

“Pick up. Pick up the phone. Come on, pick up the phone. Pick it up. Pick it up.”

I tried to ignore the Mr. Bean ringtone, hopping that whoever was calling would get the message and just hang up. I just wanted to continue ordering, and not to ruin this lovely night by answering some bloody call to do with work.

However my phone kept ringing  and Lorna began to look at me with those eyes, the-why-didn’t-you-turn-your-phone-off-at-our-wedding- anniversary-dinnner eyes.

I quickly whipped out my phone, while cringing back into my seat, trying to miss her glare.


It was Amanda, our babysitter.

 I’m off the hook for sure.

“It’s Amanda. I better take it”, I announced happily to my wife.

Lorna’s eyes went from frustrated to concerned. Amanda rarely ever called us when she was babysitting. Something must have been up.

“Hello” I answered cheerfully, as Amanda had just saved my bacon.

“Hi Mr. Miller. It’s Amanda here.”

“Hi Amanda. What can I do for you? Is everything alright? Are the kids playing up?” I asked in quick succession.

“No, no. Nothing of the sort ” She replied. “I was just wondering… Umm…”

“Wondering what? Please spit out.”

“Well, I was wondering if you had ordered anything….unusual, recently. Because there is a life like statue of a clown that is on your front door step. And to be honest, its creeping the hell out of me, and the kids.”

I did not reply for a second, as my mind was lost in thought.

Could it be a prank by one of my friends? No, they all hate clowns.

A gift from my parents, or even worse, the in-laws? No, not like them at all.

Clown.. I’ve heard something about clowns recently… I just can’t quite rememb-…..

Oh God no. Please no.


“Amanda? AMANDA?” I shouted into the cell phone “Whatever you do, do not open the door! DO NOT OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR. Take the kids, lock yourselves in the upstairs bathroom, and call the cops.”

Time slowed almost a halt as I waited for a reply, fully knowing that my wife was staring at me in shock of what I had just shouted out in the restaurant, unable to understand what was happening. The seconds stretched into eternity as I still waited for to hear Amanda’s voice come through the cell phone speaker. But nothing came.

She must have put the cell phone down.

Why the fuck did she do that?

Suddenly, I had my answer as a bloodcurdling scream blasted out from the cell phone and into my ear. It was loud enough that even my wife heard it from across the table ; her eyes parting in horror at the sound of it.

The clown had somehow got inside, and was busy at work at creating the next Clown Murder.