Sad Clown
Fiction
One night, after the last commuter train returned to the city, Kat saw a man with a knife in her front yard.
Hers was a small, single-story, two-bedroom house in the suburban sprawl of a major city. She commuted a few times a week to attend graduate school.
Finally, a few months into the spring semester, Kat could open her windows and enjoy the warm breeze.
Kat’s favorite part of the house was the small seating area facing the front yard. It formed a kind of fishbowl, surrounded by big windows, providing plenty of morning light. She filled the little space with houseplants and set up a big chair and a reading light so that she could curl up and burn through her backlog of books.
But tonight, after a glass of wine and a few hours of reading, she began to flutter in and out of consciousness. When she could no longer deny that she was losing the battle to sleep, she closed her book, finished her wine, and turned off the reading light.
Her living room nearly blacked out, except for a glimmer from the outside streetlight. As she closed the frontmost window, the curtains billowed into her face, blurring her view of the man standing in the yard, only a few feet from the window.
She batted the curtain away.
A giant chef’s knife glinted at his side, which winked in the night like a beacon. She’d hoped someone else would see it. But some deep part of her knew she was alone with him.
He wore white pajamas with red polkadots, faded, but not to a friendly pink. Each red polkadot instead bled down, like a million bullet holes all over his body. He wore a ragged clown mask. Its expression suggested aged sadness that immediately spoke in Kat’s mind: it’s time I put you out of your misery. I’ll put us all out of our misery.
She screamed, surprising herself. She was watching her own reaction. She’d always wondered if she would scream in a moment like this. Now she knew.
She shut the window. He handed his knife over from his left to his right and switched from a chef’s grip to a reverse, edge-in grip, like Michael Meyers. He started walking straight toward her. She placed the little block of wood she used as an anti-lift bar to keep intruders out, but she knew she wouldn’t have time to close the other windows in the room. So instead of trying, she ran to the back of the house, pulling out her phone and dialing 911 with shaking hands.
She plastered herself against the back door in the kitchen, which was the farthest distance in the house from the window where she saw him.
With one hand, she smashed the phone to her face, and with the other, she grabbed a knife from the counter, watching and waiting. If he came through one of the windows, at least she could see. Of course, there were other windows in the house. And doors. Did she lock the front door?
“Please state your emergency,” she finally heard.
“Someone’s outside,” she said to the operator, and stuttered her address.
The operator stayed on the line, assuring Kat that she’s doing exactly what she should be doing, and should stay where she is if she is safe in this moment.
The minutes ticked by.
Kat always expected that if she faced a horror movie moment like this one, she’d be smart: anticipating the enemy’s actions, staying ahead of danger. But her heart beat so hard that it seemed to take the reins, barreling her in one direction, pushing her harder and harder, helplessly, against the door. There was no planning, no adaptation or responsiveness. She followed the operator’s instructions and trembled.
Disgustingly weak. Whatever that clown’s got planned for her, she deserves it. He chose such a soft target.
Purple flashes appeared through the windows of the reading nook. Kat finally saw a figure appear in the window: a police officer.
Part of her was disappointed for the clown. He missed his chance with Kat.
A knock on the kitchen door behind her was followed by an announcement: “We’ve circled the house and no intruder is on the outside premises. Would you like to open the door, ma’am?”
Around 2:00am now, Kat sat sipping chamomile tea and processing what had happened. An officer was carefully filing a report. He offered to stay posted outside for the rest of the evening.
When he left, the sun peeked above the house across the street. She wouldn’t have to survive any more night time.
The next day, Kat reported to school.
“Fucking traumatic,” said Rune, the closest friend she’d made in grad school. Rune was holding Kat after hearing what happened. Rune had a pentacle tattoo in the corner of their left eye and their lips were speckled with steel studs.
“What are you doing here? You should be resting,” they said.
“Where? Home? I don’t want to be there,” Kat’s voice broke and Rune enveloped her once again.
“Please stay at my place for as long as you need.”
Rune was a total badass. A no nonsense queer punk who studied LGBTQ literature. Rune made Kat feel safe.
Kat’s plan was to apply to law school after getting her Masters in Women’s and Gender Studies. She hoped someday to represent women survivors of domestic violence. To her parents, pharmaceutical executives, Kat’s interest in the humanities looked like running off with the circus. Kat often thought, with some bitterness, that if her parents met someone like Rune, they’d thank their lucky stars that their daughter had a clear career path in mind. Even if it was to become a feminist lawyer.
“Maybe just tonight,” Kat said. “I don’t know if the person is still out there, or if it’s a stalker, or what.”
“As long as you need,” Rune repeated gently, holding Kat again, stroking her hair.
After a week staying with Rune, Kat learned that other clowns had been spotted in peoples’ yards. Just like the one in Kat’s yard, they disappeared quickly.
“What a bunch of assholes!” Rune said, slamming their coffee cup down at Willie’s—their favorite cafe. “At least this means we’re not dealing with some stalker. It’s just pranksters.”
“Right,” Kat said. “I can’t believe I let them scare me.”
Kat returned to her house that afternoon. It was her first time alone in the house since that night. She kept seeing the outline of the clown beyond her billowing curtains. She closed the windows and blinds.
After she dragged her favorite chair from the nook into the kitchen so that she’d still be able to sit in it while reading, she stared helplessly. How stupid is this? Letting pranksters get to her head? She had to get her shit together.
The next day, she met a counselor named Andrea at campus mental health services. Andrea had neat, high bangs and long auburn hair. A few years older than Kat. Barrel legged jeans and New Balances. A cool therapist. Kat sat stiffly on a two-seat couch crammed against the window.
“Tell me about what’s brought you here,” Andrea said, crossing her legs, sitting in an office chair across from Kat.
“Well, a man,” Kat said. But then she suddenly realized she didn’t know if it was a man. He was tall, but that’s all she knew. She paused.
“Take your time,” Andrea said ever so gently.
This irritated Kat, since she knew Andrea thought she was reliving some kind of horrible trauma, but it was only a prank.
Kat started again, simpler this time.
“I got pranked by one of those guys dressed like clowns. Did you hear about them?”
“Yes of course,” Andrea said, nodding with a tight smile, as though she’d received special training to treat victims of clown pranks.
“So this clown stood outside my window with a knife and pretended like he was going to break into my house.”
“What did he look like?” Andrea asked, almost interrupting Kat. Kat knew Andrea was supposed to ask her questions, but something about how she asked felt nosy.
Kat couldn’t blame her. It was a pretty compelling story. And yet, when the grizzled frown flashed before Kat’s eyes, she physically shook her head trying to unsee it.
She looked down at the coffee table, covered with fidget toys. Magnetic rainbow balls, made to be manipulated, reshaped. Toys that exist to sponge up silence. She picked one up and tried to mime her feelings into a shape for Andrea. When she failed, she started talking again.
“I feel stupid for saying this because it was just a prank, but I just can’t stop thinking about that fucking mask.”
“Of course not. That was an extraordinary experience.”
“But it wasn’t trauma right? It can’t be trauma. Nothing bad actually happened. In fact, we know for sure it was just a prank.”
“Why does that matter? We’re talking about how you feel.”
Kat sat in this for a bit. In the feeling.
“You’re right,” Kat said. “The problem is that I know it can happen now. I know someone dangerous can appear in front of me. Those intrusive thoughts women have aren’t necessarily always fiction. It’s really possible for someone to terrorize me just because they want to.”
Kat finally met Andrea’s eyes. She seemed to be wincing at Kat. Kat suddenly felt guilty, like she’d ruined Andrea’s day.
But Andrea wasn’t deterred.
They made a few follow-up appointments.
Eventually, Andrea helped Kat work out a plan that helped her feel safer, which involved a home security system, aromatherapy, and, bizarrely, redecoration.
She moved her chair back to the reading nook.
Kat liked to talk to Andrea her workout regimen, raving about how much stronger she’s felt since she started exercising after the clown prank.
Andrea humored her, but it was clear that she had a different agenda. Something called EMDR.
She’d ask Kat to sit and reimagine that night.
“Think back to yourself sitting in your chair that night and tell me what you believe about yourself,” Andrea said.
“I thought I was going to be attacked.”
“State it as a belief, in the present. For example, ‘I can pass this test,’ or ‘I am not good enough for this relationship.’”
This felt like nonsense.
“I felt weak.”
“Try to state it in the present. Do you feel weak now?”
“No. In fact, I feel stronger than ever.”
“Well then try saying something that feels true now.”
“I feel fine.”
Andrea sat quietly, crossing her legs, the gentle sound of denim rubbing.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I’m cured, Andrea. I really appreciate your help but I think I just needed to straighten things out in my mind. I’m not traumatized, and frankly, I’m starting to worry that I’m taking up your time when you could be helping someone who really needs it.”
Andrea’s head bounced a bit from side to side at first, but then straightened out to an affirmative nod. Her lips shut tightly. Kat stood up and Andrea did the same.
“You are always welcome to come back,” Andrea said. “It doesn’t matter why.”
“Thank you, but I’m really okay. I’m glad you’ll have more time now for the women who need you.”
Kat began to run every morning. Eventually, she could go for miles without stopping—the best shape she’s ever been in.
“Damn, girl,” Rune said. They were meeting at Willie’s to work on their term papers. The first glimmer of summer heat descended on the city and Kat showed up in a t-shirt. “Are you joining the marines?”
“Maybe,” Kat said, smiling widely, proud that her change was noticeable.
“What brought all this on?”
“I’ve just been thinking about getting tougher. So I can take care of myself.”
“Is this about the clown thing?”
Rune’s signature raised eyebrow bore into Kat. Kat stared back. The clown thing? Was Rune judging her?
“No. It’s not like I’m traumatized or something. It was just some stupid prank.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say. Talk about first world trauma.”
Rune laughed. Kat smiled and thought of Andrea, relieved she had broken it off with her. Kat didn’t need trauma therapy; she just needed a way to show everyone she wasn’t a weakling.
After submitting her papers, the summer began, and the intensity of Kat’s workout regimen increased. She got a set of weights and lifted every evening until her arms shook. Her belly and biceps gained definition. She stopped eating desserts. She started drinking whey smoothies.
One hot summer day, she ran into Rune again at Willie’s. She realized she hadn’t seen Rune since the last day of Spring semester.
Kat was wearing a Pixies shirt that she’d recently cut the sleeves off of. She and Rune bonded over the Pixies when they started graduate school. “Hey” was playing in the background the one time she and Rune hooked up. The sex was obviously mediocre. It became an inside joke. “Hey,” was always the first thing they’d say to each other, and they always shared a giggle. Only they knew what it referred to.
“Hi, Kat,” Rune said.
The cutoff shirt showed off Kat’s toned arms.
Kat had joined a Muay Thai gym, where she learned to flinch less at the prospect of physical conflict. She learned to wrap her hands in tape, to stretch her limbs, to get her blood pumping.
Her previously unshaved armpits were now smooth. It was easier this way. Since she spent so much time at the gym, she wouldn’t have any bros bothering her about being a lesbian. She even grew her hair out to blend in better as a “normal” woman—whatever that was. Her hair could now be pulled back into a short ponytail.
She’d made these changes to feel less self-conscious around her new gym friends, but here, in front of Rune, she felt more naked than ever.
“Want to join me?” Rune asked, nodding to the chair.
“I’ve got a few minutes, sure.”
They sat for a while, sipping their drinks. Rune brushed back their black hair with their hand, a new tattoo spiderwebbed across it. Their hair poofed back up to its signature pompadour shape.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” they said. “You’ve been distant lately. Why?”
“I just decided to get in shape.”
“Well, you’ve been fighting, too, right?”
“Only at the gym. It’s for self-defense.”
“Does this have to do with...that night?”
“What night?” Kat asked, though she knew what Rune was talking about.
Rune’s eyebrow lifted.
Kat rolled her eyes in submission.
“Rune. I’m not traumatized. Women of color survivors of domestic abuse are traumatized. Trans men who’ve been correctively assaulted are traumatized. I’m just a white girl with rich parents who was scared one night by a stupid prank.”
A corner of Rune’s mouth raised, in a quiver, as though they found something Kat had said to be funny. But their friendship had lost the ease of laughter.
“Look, Rune. I love you. Always will. But I don’t think you understand what I’m going through right now.”
“But you’re not telling me what you’re going through! I’m right here!” Rune said, voice raised, drawing a few looks.
“No you’re not,” Kat said. “You’re here,” she said, pointing to a stack of books next to Rune’s teacup.
Kat got up and walked out of the cafe.
That summer, a week before classes started back up, Kat received a text from Rune.
Kat was on her third set of pushups. She paused, pulling up into a cobra pose so that she wouldn’t fully interrupt her workout. She checked her phone.
“Did you read the message from campus police?”
“Of course,” Kat replied.
“So you know about the clowns showing up again?”
“It’s just one sighting. It’s probably some stupid kid.”
“Are you okay, Kat?”
“Yup.”
She turned off the phone and continued her pushups.
The following week, on her way to class, Kate was approached at the train station by a canvasser—a woman with a baby strapped to her chest. A tiny infant’s head poked out of its tight wrap.
“Do you have a moment to chat about the coming city council election?” she asked Kat.
“Uh...” Kat looked up at the marquee. Train late again. “Sure.”
“Do you want a neighborhood that is more diverse and friendly to walkers, bikers, and public transport riders? Because Liz Bancroft is working hard to increase affordability!”
“Sounds okay I guess,” Kat said, accepting a pamphlet and looking through it. A smiling blonde woman sat on a bench with a bearded man and their two dogs.
“Does this Liz Bancroft have a plan for public safety?” Kat asked.
“Of course! Housed people are much more likely to live longer and healthier lives.”
“But what about criminals on the streets? Like, what’s to stop someone from coming up and knifing me?” Kat said.
The woman’s smile was bashed inward into a nervous grimace. Her voice cracked. Kat’s eyes were trained on her, unrelenting.
“Well, uh, I guess if housing is more affordable, then crime rates will go down. People don’t have a reason to commit crimes if they have everything they need!” Her smile fluttered back tentatively.
“Well what if they’re not committing crime out of lack? What if they’re just bad people who want to know what it feels like to slide a knife into a human body?”
While Kat knew she sounded creepy, as she asked the questions, she gained resolution. This woman should be thinking about these things, too. They’re her streets, too. Her daughter’s streets.
The woman frowned and shrugged. She turned to a new audience.
People like this lady are living a fantasy, Kat thought as her train to campus arrived. It’s not that Kat didn’t believe in equitable housing—she was a Women’s and Gender Studies graduate student, after all. She was a democratic socialist.
But Kat no longer had the luxury to think so theoretically about the world.
“Is it true?” Rune texted Kat a few weeks later. They hadn’t seen each other in a while; no classes in common this term.
“Is what true?”
“What I heard about you leaving the program? About the Police Academy?”
Kat had passed the Police Academy’s written exams. But, more importantly, she crushed the physical exams, too. She could take down any man in her class. Sometimes she’d wondered if they were going easy on her, but if they were, she made them regret it.
“I’m leaving the women’s and gender studies program. I’m beginning to find it all so out of touch. I want to do something to keep women safe.”
“But the police, Kat? Really?”
Kat rolled her eyes all the way to the back of her head, as though Rune was there and could see her. Kat was liberal too, but Rune’s vendetta against the police was complete nonsense. She still remembers how good it felt to see those purple lights—to have the squad car posted outside of her house.
“Don’t worry, Rune. I discontinued my training at the Academy. I’m not going to become a cop.”
Then, she added: “I found something more worth my time.”
Immediately, Kat worried she’d said too much.
“Wait, so does this mean you’re finally applying to law school?” Rune asked.
Kat exhaled.
“Sure.”
Kat had bought the clown mask months ago, after her last session with Andrea. She told herself it was exposure therapy. But when she picked up the Amazon package from her front porch, she tore it open like it was tissue paper. It didn’t stand a chance against her triceps. She started getting other ideas.
What if other women could tear things open with their bare hands, just like Kat?
She tried the mask on.
She started going out late at night. She tried a few different spots: bus stops, the stoops of abandoned houses, public stairwells. She hid carefully, waiting for lone women. When they came, she would emerge, sending them bolting from her, screaming.
It hurt at first to scare them, but at the same time, she knew these women needed to toughen up if they were going to survive this world.
Kat found a traffic light on a sleepy street where cars sat for long and lonely waits.
She sat behind a tree near the light.
She brought a small switchblade with her. The classic chef’s knife was a tired horror trope. Her small knife is scarier. Less expected.
When she spotted a soft target, a single woman driving a Subaru hatchback—a teacher, maybe—she flipped the knife out. The light had just turned red. Kat had about a minute to make contact before it turned green.
When she reached the car, the woman still hadn’t noticed her. She was belting some inane pop music.
Kat tapped her switchblade’s sharp edge on the glass of the passenger’s window and leaned down to stare across at the woman in the driver’s seat. The sight of the woman, young, dark skinned, long black hair, was overlaid by Kat’s own reflection on the window: a white face, red around the eyes, and big black frowning lips. Just as she noticed a wisp of her own blonde hair coming down in front of the left eye, the woman screamed and slammed on the gas, shooting through the red light and down the empty street.
Kat’s heart pumped against her stomach, harder than last time. Harder, even, than the night in her kitchen—knife in one hand, phone in the other.
For a moment, Kat was worried the woman would hit oncoming traffic. But it was a quiet night. No harm done.
Kat could still see her in the distance: two red pinpricks shrinking down the dark road. She took off her mask and smiled.
She envied the woman.
This will make her stronger.
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Really enjoyed the story! Good twist. Weird amc creepy in the best ways.
Oh WOW, this got me.