Chapter 1

Hey to whoever is reading this, I don't know if this is creepy enough to post here but I randomly remembered this weird memory from when I was 10 and it caused my parents to divorce.

I tried to ask my mom about it but she just said with a sour expression that “I don't want to think about it.”

It was 2006 some time in March I think. I was coming off a fever, and got to stay home from school.

My mom checked my temperature and placed the thermometer on my dresser next to my favorite blue lamp.

A faint glow from the TV, stacks of DVDs my dad brought me resting next to it, and Nightmare on Elm Street playing. If I remember right it was kinda boring but what else can you do when you're sick.

About an hour or 2 passed and I scanned through the DVDs Cannibal Holocaust, Pulp Fiction, The Toxic Avenger, Battle Royale, Hostel and Madagascar.

Before I could pick a loud rustle came from behind me and I turned to see a large stocky clown was standing behind me. He had a grimy cheap look to him, like he was supposed to be performing on the street barely making rent.

“Hey there kiddo what's your name? Mines Dare, Mr. Dare the clown!”

He was all upbeat and positive, but had a raspy low voice. I did think a random clown coming out from under a little kid’s bed was weird but weirder things have happened.

“Are you gonna molest me?” I was pretty confident he was.

“JESUS, I'm a clown not a weirdo? I swear that fuck Gacy fu-”

He stopped himself putting back that upbeat raspy clown voice.

“No I'm not, I'm Mr. Dare, so let's play a game!”

His voice got grating and annoying, but I bite my tongue.

“Sure I'm bored, why not?” I say a little intrigued.

Mr. Dare reaches into his pants cartoonishly digging around. Faint cartoon clown sound effects came from him.

The clown suddenly pulls out a large box placing it down with a thud on my floor.

No idea how he did, his pants were baggy but not nearly baggy enough to hide a 5 foot by 5 foot wooden box.

“There kiddo, let ol’ Dare teach you how to juggle.” Mr. Dare's still having that goofy raspy voice.

Dare crouches holding out a bunch of knives. A big grin on his pure white face and painted black lips. I remember feeling uneasy; it felt like a dumb idea to juggle knives.

“Uh… no I’m good, How about balls or something?” I asked.

He looked shocked at me, shaking the knives seemingly trying to entice me; I just shook my head.

He drops the knives in the box and stands up straight.

“W-wadda you mean no, You serious?” His voice now all raspy, no hint of pretending.

With a sigh he ran a hand over his face. The paint either put on perfectly and unyielding or the paint was part of him.

“Fine, let's see what else this old egg has to play with.”

That dumb fucking voice is back.

As Mr. Dare digged through his wooden box I thought “What a fucking dumb looking clown.” Like a gay hobo clown, balding, and orange hair only on the sides, so maybe god didn't love him enough to give him hair, that why dad said he was bald. My thought interrupted by him pulling out a gun.

The gun was a revolver with a ridiculously long barrel, like the ones that when you shoot it a small flag with “BANG” written on it sticks out. He grabbed the barrel, and pointed the grip of the gun towards me obviously wanting me to do the bit.

“No, I'm good. It's definitely just a gun isn't it?”

I said not trusting this suspicious fat clown.

He threw his head back pissed I won't play along. He drops the gun and rubs his temples accidentally forcing his nose to honk.

“MY GOD… Will you just fucking kill yourself kid? You are making this so fucking difficult. What do you have to lose, you're ten?”

His large clown shoe tapped in impatience.

“I have xbox.”

My words must have pissed him off and he got in a squat to talk to me face to face, I could notice how much uglier he was up close, he needed a tic-tac.

“Listen you little motherfucker! I am a deity and I'm not taking shit from some brat, you're home alone and no one can help you.”

Mr. Dare's voice low and angry, a gloved white finger tapping my chest to accentuate his point.

“No, my dad's passed out wine drunk.”

I said pointing to the door the news loudly playing, suffocating any noise that wasn't in my room. He shakes his head and pulls his hands back.

“I’m done fuck you and this dumb fucking room.”

He turned packing his stuff into his box before kicking it under my bed where it disappeared in a faint red glow. Mr. Dare's escape would be short lived as my mother just got home, and stood in the doorway.

“JESUS CHRIST GET THE FUCK BACK TOMMY!”

She shouted and swung her bag at the clown, Mr. Dare blocked it but my mom cocked a leg back and kicked him in the chest with a painful sounding crack, all air ripped from his lungs as her heel hit his diaphragm directly. His back snapping back on my dresser.

The clown groaned in pain.

He tries to get up but my mom grabs the lamp, and all star baseball swings it into Mr. Dare's face.

The bottom of the lamp forced its way past his lips and into his mouth bending the incisors, tearing the gums alongside it.

HIs head crushed between the dressing and the lamp, his nose crushed and broken under the swing.

Teeth flying out to the floor followed by screams.

Ceramic glass exploding in pieces, the weird clown man writhing on the floor yelling and covering his face.

“STOP YOU CRAZY BIT-”

His desperate pained pleas went nowhere as my mother grabbed his orange hair and pulled his head back a few feet and swung his head into the heavy wood dresser, teeth dropping to the floor with each swing. Crunches switch to dull thuds as there isn't anymore bone to crack, now just frail bruised muscle slamming against a blood soaked dresser.

My mother showed mercy letting him go and his body dropping to the floor.

“GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I KILL YOU!”

Mr. Dare scuttled hurriedly under my bed and disappeared with a red glow. My mom looked under the bed just to double check. She turns to me checking to make sure I'm ok.

“Are you ok sweetie?” I nod and she hugs me.

That's about all I remember; she divorced my dad shortly after.