Original Works

Clown | Balloons | Chuckle

“It’s just a movie,” they said. “What’s the worst that can happen—a nightmare?”

Alas, they didn’t know—a nightmare was what I was truly afraid of. It wasn’t because I was a child—I was old enough to handle a disturbing dream. It was because, unlike everyone else’s harmless night terrors, my dreams weren’t mine alone—my dreams shaped a world.

“I hate horror movies,” I stated.

“It’s not that scary,” Rich replied. “It’s more of a… psychological horror.”

“Come on, Bill,” Bev pleaded. “It’s the last weekend before school starts.”

“Fine,” I acceded. What was the worst that could happen? A nightmare. Thankfully, there was a way to prevent nightmares.

After learning what my mind could do, I scoured for ways to stop dreaming. Unfortunately, against most of my efforts the foreign world prevailed. The second I departed from my reality, I am swept into another realm without a choice and without reason. Thus, the only way to keep myself away—lest I hurt anyone else—was to take naps. And so, I had a plan to set an alarm at every hour, until I was sure no monster would invade my overdue rest.

My friends were right—it was just a movie with a few jump-scares. If I cupped my ears—dulling the intense soundtrack, the sudden bangs, and sinister chuckles—it wasn’t as scary as I had anticipated. But, I wasn’t risking it. The last time I watched a horror flick, eight people died.

“I killed them,” I remember telling my mother. “I didn’t mean to but I did. I brought it in.”

“It’s just a dream,” my mother said. She couldn’t understand—nobody could. And if I ever tried to explain, they would think I had lost my mind. “Go back to sleep,” my mother prompted.

Alas, I couldn’t return to sleep. In fact, I couldn’t sleep every night after for a week. It was the first dream that had ended with death. And though it happened two years ago, I hadn’t forgotten—it was almost Christmas and my brother suggested a satire holiday film about a murderous half-goat demon.

On that chilly night, I returned to the same place where my dreams often took place. It was a world on its own with the same high-rise buildings, pristine sidewalks, and ordinary-looking people—people who weren’t from my waking moments. But as I stepped through, the clouds darkened and a foreboding iciness settled in the air. Winter had arrived ahead of schedule. And before I could warn anyone, I heard the jingle of its bells.

“It’s just a dream,” Ben echoed. My best friend, too, didn’t believe me.

“It’s the same place almost every night. The same people. The same shops,” I stated during our lunch break. “Do your dreams happen in the same place too?”

“No. But-”

“After the demon killed those people, they were gone. I couldn’t find them. And the dream people… they said a demon had murdered them.”

“That’s some extensive dream plotting,” Ben said, almost sounding impressed. “You should be an author.”

“I’m not joking, Ben.”

“Fine. Let’s just say it’s real—what can you do about it?” Ben asked. “Do you know how to stop it?”

“No. I wouldn’t be telling you if I did.”

Ben nodded, and silence ensued. He didn’t utter a single word until the lunch bell rang. And when we spoke again, it wasn’t about my dream. Ben never spoke about my dreams from that moment on.

So that night—after witnessing an eldritch clown terrorise a group of children—I set eight alarms until dawn. I expected a dreadful following day, with fatigue weighing down my eyelids, but that was the price to pay for yielding to my friends. Hopefully, when the sun rose, there won’t be any blood on my hands.

“You’re early,” Ben said.

After the sixth round of beep-beep-beep, it was almost impossible to return to sleep. Deciding to take a short nap before class, I made my way to school earlier than usual.

“Can you wake me up before the bell rings?” I asked, seeing as Ben had found me in the cafeteria.

“Sure,” Ben replied, plopping onto a neighbouring chair. “What did you do last night?”

“I watched a movie,” I muttered, as I folded my arms on the table. “Stupid horror movie about a child-eating clown and red-”

“Balloons,” Ben interrupted.

“Yea. Have you seen it?” I asked.

“No, balloons,” Ben repeated, raising his finger toward the doorway.

Turning toward our only exit, obscured with floating, bright red balloons, I frowned. Was I dreaming? No. That notion didn’t seem possible. “Ben,” I prompted. “Is this a prank?”

Then, as if a thought had just struck him, terror glazed across Ben’s formerly placid mien. With eyes wide in horror, Ben asked, “Did you say the movie was about a child-eating clown?”

“Yea. Why?”

“You need to wake up, Bill,” Ben replied. Rising to his feet, he pulled me up and added, “You need to get out of my world.”

“I… I don’t understand. What-”

“You need to wake up, right now, before you kill us too.”


Clown, balloons, and chuckle were words given by Aaron Kwan on Facebook.

With IT being in theaters, I thought it would be fitting to write something inline with it. Oh, and have you seen the satire holiday film with the half-goat demon? I actually enjoyed that one.

Now, it’s your turn! Write a story with the three words given. Perhaps now is the time to write that IT fanfic you’ve been thinking about! Also, if you have three words you’d like to challenge me with, be sure to leave it in the comments below.

*To download the banner, left-click then right-click to save.

3 Words, 1 Story © 2019 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for a list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Original Works

Down The Stairs

Winter had arrived again, but this winter was different than the others. This winter, my aunt and uncle decided to go on a ski trip, leaving their house for me to look after. You would have expected me to grumble and moan with the additional chore of checking in on a relative’s house every day, but I told myself not to, after all, I was being paid. Yes, they decided to pay me a hefty amount just to look after their house and pay attention to their most precious possessions for them. What was so precious to them that needed the extra care? Their carnival equipments stored in their humongous basement.

You see, my aunt and uncle owned a huge piece of land behind their house, which they used to generate most of their yearly profits off carousels, unbeatable ring tossing games, and candy floss. When winter came, the rides were covered with huge canvases and the little stores were stored in the basement. Some of the arcade machines had to be brought in too, because they did not want them to get rusty. Hence, everything I would consider fun were now stored in the basement for me to play with.

The day after my aunt and uncle left for their ski trip, I headed to their house in the morning to give it a check. Typically, the first place I headed to was the basement. As I paid my first visit to the crowded yet neatly organized store room, if I can call it that, I noticed a clown statue positioned right in the middle of the stairs heading downwards. That was a rather odd place to place a clown statue, and maybe it was a way of telling people not to go down to the basement. But surely that rule did not apply to me. So I made my way by squeezing pass the statue, careful not to touch it because, honestly, it scared me a little.

After I had made it past the clown statue, I spent the entire day playing all the arcade games with the bag of coins I found in one of the drawers. I left reminding myself to find the key to the machines to collect the coins from them before my aunt and uncle returned.

Days passed and the arcade games got boring. The time finally came for me to start grumbling about this extra chore, which I was still being paid for, but things changed when my friend begged me to show her the house and the basement.

She wanted a free ride and I thought why not. If the two of us were to game together, it wouldn’t be so boring.

One afternoon, I decided to invite two of my friends to come over, and when I showed them the way to the basement, one of them asked, “Why is there a clown statue in the middle of the stairs?”

“Yea, it’s creeping me out,” my other friend added.

“It’s nothing, just walk around it,” I said.

“Can’t you move it? It’s taking up more than half of the steps, and I’m not as skinny as you,” the friend, who went on more diets than I did, said.

“You’re not fat. I’ll just call my aunt and ask,” I replied and left my friends.

Once I was at the kitchen, I heard the arcade machines starting up, and was sure they were having a blast already. Wanting to join them, I decided to just make a quick call to my aunt. The line was pretty bad that afternoon but I heard her well enough.

“Aunt Marge?” I asked, when I didn’t hear a hello when she picked up the line.

“Yes? Who is this?”

“It’s me, Jessica.”

“Oh! How is everything going Jessica? No troubles I hope?” Aunt Marge sounded clear even over the static in the background.

“Everything is fine. I was just wondering if I could move the clown statue down to the basement, it’s blocking the stairs right now, and it’s kinda hard to go up and down.”

“What?” Aunt Marge replied.

I sighed. Did I have to repeat everything over the bad line?

“I said, there is a clown statue blocking the stairs-“

“Honey, we don’t have a clown statue,” my aunt said, sounding not at all like her usual self.

“What?”

“I said, we do not have a clown statue.”

Oh, I heard her the first time alright.

Immediately, I shouted for my friends. No, I screamed for them. Moments later I heard them climbing up the stairs and running into the kitchen asking, “What’s the matter?”

“We got to go, now,” I said, as I hurried to the door.

Following behind me quickly, with so many different questions spilling from each of them, I only managed to catch one when we finally exited the house.

“So, where did you put the clown statue?”

I didn’t even bother to answer.

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This would be my first attempt at horror. I read a myth on a serial clown statue and decided to write another version of it. I submitted this to Creepy Pasta and they said it was a way better remake than the original that they had. Do let me know what you think!

Current rating on Creepy Pasta is 8.4/10

© 2012 Jeyna Grace

(For more short stories, click HERE)