Killer Scary Clown Novels & Stories

Ever since I was little, I knew my mom didn't want me. My dad, though, kept telling me that she loved me, but some complicated stuff was keeping her away. He said that once I grew up, I needed to find her and claim my place in her life. I always figured he was just making things up so I wouldn't grow up resentful of the motherly love I never had. Then the debt piled up. Dad was scrolling through TikTok, looking for any way to drum up sympathy online, when he suddenly let out a wild yell. "Scrappy! Look, it’s your mom! Pack your stuff, we’re going to find her!" I stared at the screen. The woman in the video was stunning, effortlessly poised, and dripping in old-money elegance. A cold pi

The only scary I've known came in a 6 foot three package that promised only goodness in a fancy car. I unwrapped it like the hard-up eager naïve teenager I was. And it turned out to be a big fucking Monster that didn't just give me bad dreams but live fucking nightmares that still haunts me years after, wherever I go, reminding me that demons always come in the most appealing of packages. “If you gotta choose a name what will it be?” Killer asks, unaffected by the audience and my obvious inner battle I have going on inside me. My eyes snap off the older man walking closer to us and to Killer’s blue all-knowing gaze.

RYKER I looked up at Deacon, still stuck in fear in my mind. "Who? What?" I asked, trying to take in the words he was saying to me. "Claud, we know who he is. The man Ivy mentioned on the phone. He was one of the men, that followed the mob guys around back at the Punisher. He was a tag along of sorts back then. It sounds like he has made it up in ranks since then." Deacon said slowly trying to get the words to sink in. "Wasn't he older? Kind of a sad case. Wanted to be bigger than he was?" I asked, realizing who he was talking about. At the point, I was more worried than before. Claud was a follower, a showoff, he wanted someone to pay attention to him. He would be extra loud, a showboat, mo

She sat down as she took the journal she found in the house before she started reading it. "My name is Khloe, this is the day I will not forget in my life, the day that I bought my freedom from the two monsters I ever knew I won't miss them, how would I? Especially not after they burnt my expensive skirt. Do they know how much Jake spent on it? It was more than five thousand. Hhh that's what they don't know." As she was reading the delivery man had already arrived. She opened the door as she took what she ordered for before closing the door behind her. She was very hungry that worms in her stomach started making noises probably asking for food.

Her hand reached for my throat. "Please," I begged. "I didn't know." "Clara," she said. "My name is Clara. And those are my shoes. The ones I wore the night he killed me. He took them off my feet after I stopped moving. He left them by the door. He didn't know they would remember." "Who killed you?" She pointed at me. Not at my face. At my hands. I looked down. My fingernails were caked with something dark. Dried blood.