In “Everyone Is Afraid of Clowns,” a chilling childhood memory unfolds as two young siblings, left alone in a familiar neighborhood park, encounter a horrifying clown in the woods. What begins as a playful day of building a dam with friends turns into a nightmarish chase.
I promise this isn’t just another of those cheap Halloween horror stories. This story is real, and it happened to me, my brother, and our friends.
We grew up in a cozy neighborhood where every road curved into a semicircular park. Past the park stretched a patch of woods and an old railway line.
As kids, we loved playing in the front section of those woods. We never wandered too far in. That spot was our playground for years, a scenic, sun-dappled area where we never encountered any trouble or fear.
On October 30, 1994, my brother Jimmy, my best friend Sarah, and Jimmy’s pal Ian were constructing a dam in the little stream that ran through the park and into the woods. The boys decided to head to Ian’s place for some snacks, leaving Sarah and me to finish setting up our “campsite.”
While we lugged stones around, an odd feeling crept over me, a nagging sense that someone was observing us. I shrugged it off, assuming the boys were trying to scare us, and continued working.
Sarah and I carried some heavy stones back to the stream and placed them at the dam. That uneasy sensation struck me again, and as I stood up, I spotted something about thirty feet away, straight ahead. A shrub partly hid it, but I could discern a pattern of red and blue.
I knew the boys weren’t dressed in those colors, so I squinted, trying to make sense of what I saw. As my gaze moved up the shrub, I realized it was a clown. My pulse quickened. The clown’s eyes met mine, his red-and-blue hat matching a jumpsuit in the opposite pattern.
I clutched Sarah’s shirt, pulling her to her feet, and she saw him right away. His face was fully painted, his grin broad, and he gripped a large knife in his hand.
We didn’t say a word—we just ran, as fast as our legs could carry us. He started chasing us, the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching underfoot echoing behind us. But we were sprinting.
We tore through the front of the woods, cut through the side of the park, and raced up Sarah’s dead-end street. Ian and Jimmy, who were two houses up, saw us running and shouted, asking what was wrong. As we sped past, we screamed about a clown, and they burst out laughing.
Still running, screaming for our lives, we reached the middle of the street where Sarah’s dad, Danny, came running out of the house, alerted by our cries. We met him at the edge of the neighbor’s yard, trying to explain what we’d seen.
He cut us off, saying, “Girls, enough! This is absurd. What are you talking about?”
We struggled to catch our breath.
By then, Jimmy and Ian had caught up. We were crying, pointing, and repeating that we’d seen a clown with a knife. Jimmy and Ian kept laughing, and Danny asked if they’d played a prank on us.
Just then, an old yellow Pinto-like car pulled out from the dead-end near the park and stopped right by the sidewalk where we stood. Clear as day, there he was—the clown. No hat this time, but still holding the knife, beckoning us to come closer.
Danny started pushing us toward the house, his own fear evident as he ran with us. The car sped off down the street. We got inside, and Danny called the police.
We gave statements, and the police patrolled the neighborhood and park for weeks. We were never allowed to return to the park. A few months later, the city began clearing the woods, cutting down trees, and creating a walking path that allowed for clear views through to the train tracks.
Sarah and I talked about that day often until her passing. No one would have believed us if they hadn’t seen it too. It was terrifying. They only saw him because he had to drive down the dead-end street to leave the neighborhood.
That man wasn’t fazed by us or the small crowd that gathered from our screams. He boldly stopped right in front of us as Sarah’s dad tried to calm us, all while brandishing his knife.
I feel lucky to be alive. If it had just been one of us in the woods, which sometimes happened, I don’t think all four of us would still be here. Sarah’s dad quit drinking that day.
Everyone is afraid of clowns now.
