This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/windslept on 2024-11-26 01:13:41+00:00.

Many years ago, I was walking home from school after basketball practice. I finished late, so it was almost midnight by the time I headed home. It was one of those eerie, quiet nights when everything felt off, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Then, I saw it—a clown. But not a normal clown, like the ones at birthday parties or circuses. This one was bloody.

I froze. The clown didn’t move at first; it just stood there, grinning at me, as if waiting for me to make a move. Then, it opened its mouth wide, far too wide for any human jaw, as if it were about to devour me whole. It looked incredibly hungry, and I completely freaked out.

I ran as fast as I could, like my life depended on it—because, at that moment, it sort of did. When I finally made it home, I was shaking so badly that I could barely fit my key in the door. I slammed it shut behind me, and when I looked out the window, the clown was gone.

I immediately told my parents what happened, but they brushed it off. “You were probably just tired,” my mom said. “You’ve been practicing basketball for hours; maybe you were just seeing things.”

But I knew what I saw. I wasn’t imagining it. That clown was real. However, as time passed, I convinced myself that maybe I had just imagined it too.

Years went by, and I eventually moved away for college. Life continued—until two weeks ago.

I was driving home late from work one night, a little after midnight again, when I saw him: that same damn clown. It was standing by a storm drain in a parking lot, blood dripping from its hands and mouth.

I froze, staring at the clown. It did the same thing it had all those years ago: opened its mouth wide, that same hungry, terrifying grin spreading across its face.

I don’t know how I managed it, but I forced myself to turn away and get into my car. My hands shook as I started the engine and sped back to my apartment. I locked every door, double-checked every window, and spent the night terrified that I would wake up to find that clown in my bedroom. But nothing happened.

The next morning, I thought I’d overreacted, that it was just some weird coincidence or a figment of my imagination. But then things started to get stranger.

That evening, when I returned from work, I noticed something alarming: my living room window was shattered, the glass scattered across the floor. I checked the rest of the apartment—nothing was missing, no signs of a break-in. I called the police, but they didn’t find any evidence of an intruder—no fingerprints, no footprints. Just a broken window.

In the weeks that followed, things worsened. I moved back in with my parents, thinking it would be safer. At first, everything seemed normal. I nearly convinced myself that I had imagined the clown; maybe it had been some kind of stress-induced hallucination. But then the weird occurrences started happening again.

It began small—little things, like hearing strange noises from the cellar at night when everything was quiet. I told my parents about it, but they just stared at me, as if they didn’t understand what I was saying. That’s when I started to feel like I was losing my grip on reality.

Four days ago, I woke up to find every single window in the house wide open. I was sure I had locked them all the night before—I know I did. When I asked my parents about it, they just stared at me with vacant expressions. Neither of them would admit to opening the windows. The look in their eyes was… wrong. Empty. It was as if they weren’t really there.

That same day, I found our family cat dead.

Then yesterday, I came home after visiting a childhood friend and saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table, eating raw chicken. The way she looked at me when I screamed at her to stop was just… wrong. She didn’t even react. She didn’t move.

Right now, I’m locked in the attic. I’ve been up here for 26 hours with no food, no water. I hear my family downstairs, knocking on the door and calling my name. They keep saying they’re worried about me and that I need to come out. But I’m not sure I can trust them anymore.

Please, if anyone reads this, tell me I’m not losing my mind. Please tell me that I’m not the only one who can see it.