3 True Clown Horror Stories

[Music] This happened when I was 12 years old—an age old enough to be aware of my surroundings and have a pretty good sense of danger, but also still around that age that attracts a certain selection of creeps. We lived in a decently busy neighborhood; however, we were on a dead-end block near Forest Preserve, and across the street from us was a sump. If you were to go through the Forest Preserve, you would find yourself in a small community park.

There was this one Saturday night when a mini carnival was being held in the park, and since I wasn't doing anything with friends, my mom suggested that I go check out the carnival. She isn't the kind of mom who tells her kids not to go out past dark; she always let me do my own thing, so I ended up going. I crossed through the forest with a flashlight and eventually passed the fence that led to the park, and there I lit up carnival rides everywhere: a Ferris wheel, a mini roller coaster, some of those big spinning rides, and, of course, concession stands and carnival game booths.

It was late enough that it wasn't very crowded. There was also a big circus tent with red and white stripes where I saw some people entering. I poked my head inside and saw four rows of people in the audience.

On this mini stage were three clowns performing tricks: one was on a tricycle, one was juggling, and the other was just dancing around. Then, the dancing one noticed me poking my head inside the tent, and he skipped over closer to me, waving his index finger, signaling for me to come closer or to come onto the stage. I didn't really know; all I knew was that I didn't want to do either, so I walked away.

I ran into a friend at one of the carnival games and hung out with him for about half an hour. Pretty soon, the carnival was closing down, and everybody was starting to leave. I said goodbye to my friend and made my way towards the woods again.

I was near the fence when I heard it come from behind me. It was one of the clowns—the clown that had been waving me over earlier. He asked me if I wanted to check out the backstage area of the circus tent and see some of the cool things the guests cannot see.

I said no very quickly and walked into the forest, looking back every few seconds to make sure I wasn't being followed. I wasn't; the clown just stood there watching me with the painted-on smile on his face, making the situation even more disturbing. When I was out of view, I began to run for a bit before I was confident he wouldn't be able to find me.

I was not going to tell my mom what happened because I loved being allowed out whenever I wanted, and I feared that this might ruin that. It's a half-mile walk through the woods, and I was probably three-quarters of the way there when I heard it again. This time, I immediately felt sick when I heard it.

I turned and saw the same clown walking out from the darkness of the woods into the light of my flashlight. When he was close enough, I threw the flashlight at him and ran in the direction of my house. I heard him close behind me until the road was visible, and then I heard him turn around.

When I got home, I was breathing like I had just run a marathon, and my mom was, of course, concerned. I still didn't want to tell her what happened, so I lied and said I jogged the whole way back. After that, it never came up again.

[Music] Up until the age of 14, I always had a fear of clowns. Ever since I was first greeted by one at the age of five at a County Fair on a cold Tuesday night in November, during break, my parents were on vacation, and my sister and brother were out for the night. My friend, who I will refer to as B, wanted to come over so that we could walk to the fair a couple of blocks away.

So he did. We walked to the fair, which happened to be in a big empty parking lot. We walked around for a little while and played some of the carnival games.

Then we ran into a clown. He didn't speak; he just smiled, bopped around, and made silly hand motions. He resembled more of a mime than a clown, and he seemed to inch his way closer to us every few seconds.

B and I left; he patted him on the shoulder, and we walked away. "That was weird," I told B. "It's more creepy than weird," said B.

We were walking back to my house now on the sidewalks of the quiet Tuesday night neighborhood roads, and that's when we heard something from behind us. It was a pair of footsteps. We turned but didn't see anyone.

This continued for another few minutes. B said he was freaked out and was going to go home, but I convinced him to stay with me and hang out at my place, honestly because I was scared. Now we were sure we were being followed.

We made it to the front of my house. I dug through my pocket, took out my keychain, and started looking for the right key out of the three in the dark. That's when B nudged me to turn around.

There was a clown hiding in the next-door neighbor's bushes, and he was staring at us. When he noticed that we had spotted him, he emerged from the bushes and started walking over to us. I began to panic, trying each of the three.

. . Keys until the door finally opened, we entered and slammed the door behind us.

I called my parents right away, who told us to arm ourselves and hide upstairs. We went up to my little brother's room and looked out the window. There was the clown standing in our driveway, looking up at the window.

We were as if he were waiting for us. I shut the blinds, and we both ducked down, breathing heavily and panicking. Within ten minutes, he was gone.

I guess he gave up, or at least we think he was gone. For all we knew, he could have been hiding somewhere on the property all night. I'm just happy we made it home in time.

If you've seen the news lately, there have been many reports of clowns luring children into the forest. I was one of the first to experience this, and it was utterly terrifying. I want to remain anonymous at the moment, just in case the clown finds out who I am.

Anyway, here's what happened: I am 14 years old and live in a small town in South Carolina. The town has a population of around 130 people. Summer was just about over, and I had a summer job working at the local lumberyard.

It was a great place to work. I helped customers load lumber into their vehicles, a pretty mindless job. Plus, I was able to stay physically fit because of it.

The best part is that my house is exactly one mile away; walking to and from work was a daily occurrence. I spent a long day hauling and moving lumber, and when I worked, it was pretty much complete. It was about 9:30 p.

m. when I started to walk home. The moon was just starting to light up the road, and the sun had completely set below the hills.

There were no other houses between the lumberyard and my house; our town is very rural. The road home has hills that peak high enough that you're unable to see what's on the other side until you crested them. The road is skinny with no shoulder, but it was freshly paved.

The trees stacked one by one behind each other in a row, and vegetation was thick, with a few game trails coming out to the road. Crickets and frogs sounded like an orchestra. The walk home usually takes about 30 minutes.

I've done it so many times that I entertain myself with music. I put in my earbuds, threw on some tunes, and away I went. I was about halfway home when I heard what sounded like high-pitched cackling laughs.

"What the hell was that? " I said to myself out loud. I took out my earbuds and stopped.

I thought maybe it was part of the music, but something about it didn't fit into the song. I stood there, motionless, looking to hear the same sound again; however, the frogs croaking were so loud that not even a scream could be heard. I thought nothing of it and continued on home.

The next day, I started my shift at 2:00 p. m. I began my walk to work around 1:30; nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was a beautiful day. I usually looked down at my feet and kicked any rocks that I saw, having them skip across the fresh pavement—it was oddly satisfying. I kicked a rock, and it skipped across the pavement, landing next to something strange lying in the dirt on the side of the road.

It looked to be a bright red ball. I picked it up, gave it a little pressure, and it squeaked. Immediately, I knew what it was.

"This is a clown nose," I said to myself. "What the hell is this doing out here? " I kept it and carried it to work to show the other staff members.

I even put it on and gave it some honks; it got a few laughs. The day went on as usual, and around 9:30 p. m.

, I clocked out and began my long walk home. I forgot my earbuds at home, so I was unable to listen to my usual music on the way back. As I walked, I was able to make out a faint image of a figure about 150 yards away that looked like a deer standing in the middle of the road.

It was hard to make out as the fog covered the ground, and the moonlight backlit the animal. As I got within 100 yards, it must have gotten spooked, as I could see a rough outline scamper back into the forest. Little did I know, this was not a deer but something more sadistic.

I passed the spot where the deer had taken off back into the woods. As I walked by, I heard footsteps about 20 yards behind me. I thought this was strange, as I'd never seen a deer come back onto the road once it was scared off.

Before I could look back, I heard, "Hey there! " I turned my head to see a clown standing in the middle of the road with his hands behind his back. He wore baggy pants and a baggy shirt that was obviously meant to be a clown costume, but it was very dirty—so dirty that the colors faded into stains.

His makeup ran down his face, and his eyes were black. He tilted his head to the side and said, "You have something of mine. I need it back.

" He let out a small laugh after he spoke. "I don't have anything of yours," I said as I started to walk backward. My house was still a quarter-mile away.

This was when the situation went from odd to terrifying. He said, "Well then, if you don't have my nose, I'm gonna need yours. " He pulled something out from behind his back, and I'm not gonna lie; it looked like a machete.

I turned. . .

Around and with all my might, I take off running down the middle of the road. I could hear his bare feet running. I didn't look back, as it could slow me down.

The blades of what I assumed were two machetes dragged on the asphalt. I was in great shape, but I could still hear his footsteps getting louder, signaling he was getting closer to me. He would even let out a little giggle that would feed my adrenaline even more.

My lungs started to burn as I began to crest the hill. At this moment, I could hear him almost right behind me, just about touching me. Then, out of nowhere, a truck crested the hill with its headlights shining on me.

I waved my arms in sheer panic; he stopped. I quickly looked behind me to see nothing—no clown. I told the man in the truck what happened, and he called the police.

I will never make that walk again. I have no idea how the clown got to that location and why he waited for me. I have never seen any vehicles parked there, nor are there any other houses besides mine for miles.

This was my worst nightmare come true. Now I found out that this is happening to more people—clowns hiding in the woods and stalking people. Is this a cult?

A group of scary clowns with a goal to terrify people? I have no idea, but I do know that I'll never be able to walk in the dark or see clowns the same way again.