I Was Forced to Work With Clowns — And No One Believed What I Saw

The moment the lights went out, I knew something was wrong, but when I told the others in the circus, they all laughed. They advised, "Don't be soft; it's just a little bit of darkness." I just felt it. That oppressive, thick fear. The kind that gets into your bones and under your skin. I ought to have left as soon as they gave me the red nose. ---
Clowns were never my thing. Not even when I was a kid. My stomach always twisted because of the painted smile and the way their faces never revealed their true emotions. I almost said no when a traveling circus offered me a job after I lost my job. However, rent was past due. My refrigerator was empty. I was forced to act. They said I would sell tickets. Simple work. In no costume No clowns! They deceived. ---
My first night was spent in Tent Nine, also known as the "Clown Wardrobe." It smelled like old face paint and sweat. The mirrors were stained by greasepaint. Wig stands lined the shelves like severed heads.
Windows were not present. curtains made of thick velvet. Additionally, there was a smell that resembled rotten food and burned sugar. I tried to make light of it. I told myself that it was just work. But then the lights started to move around. I also heard it. Laughter.
Not content. Not amusing. It was modest. Raspy. like something that tries to sound human but doesn't. ---
I told Mark, the manager of the tent. He grinned. "Clowns enjoy tricking people. It will become second nature. However, I never did. I slept in the caravan behind the main tent that night. The windows were shook by the wind. The tin roof shook as the rain fell. I choked when I awoke at 3:12 a.m. Balloons. Numerous of them. Red, yellow, and blue are taking up space. One slowly deflated over my mouth. I screamed as I tore it away. Nobody arrived. The balloons were gone by morning. The caravan had no filth. Mark gave a head shake. "Yes, rough dream?" However, I wasn't dreaming. My throat continued to burn. ---
Three nights later, the worst happened. We were in the vicinity of Sheffield. A chilly, muddy field No crowds. Only the crew I had been asked to assist them with the clown tent's late-night packing. I declined. They demanded it. I made my way inside. Alone. Overhead, only one dim light. The costumes were dangling like bodies. Metal, paint, and sweat all permeated the air. When I turned around, I saw it. a ghoul. Eight feet in height. Like cracked porcelain, pale skin. It had a mouth that was too big. Real teeth, yellow and razor-sharp. It remained still. However, its eyes were on me. I mumbled, "Who's there?" It laughed. Not joking. Giggled.
I stepped back. It made one progress. The weight made the floor squeak. I veered off and ran. I collapsed outside, shaking. Mark was present. As I wept and pointed at the tent, I begged them to believe me. He showed up. walked out with a smile. "Love, there's nothing there. You require sleep. I was not believed. ---
The following morning, I quit. I took a train, packed my bags, and never looked back. But I was followed by something. I occasionally hear it outside my apartment window. That guffaw. Slow and soft. I wake up sometimes to find balloons attached to my bedpost. Nobody else can see them. I'm stressed, according to my mom. I need to rest, my friends say. But I'm aware of the truth. The monster recognized me after I looked it in the eye. And I'm the only one still alive who can recall that night.

Thank for reading,

fear, horror story, UK horror, haunted circus, nightmare, clowns, terrifying night, psychological horror, darkness, alone, working at a circus, clown phobia, true horror, urban horror, creepy clowns, short horror story, haunted, late night terror

#UKHorror #Coulrophobia #ShortScaryStory #CreepyCircus #TrueFear