The Clown in the Corner

House-sitting for my aunt and uncle is a piece of cake. After I water the plants, feed the cat, and take the garbage out, all that’s left to do is watch TV in the basement. I take a bowl of popcorn downstairs, flick on the big screen, and put my feet up to watch a movie.

It seems their taste in décor has changed since the last time I visited; in the corner of the room stands a life-size clown statue. I’ve been afraid of clowns since I was a little kid, and this one is particularly unsettling. It’s so real-looking: tall, with curly purple hair, a white painted face, slick red lips, and an oversized bow tie.

I try to concentrate on the movie, but I can’t shake the feeling that the clown statue is watching me.

I pick up my phone, turn my back on the unsettling clown, and call my uncle. He picks up right away; it sounds like he’s at a party.

“Hey Chris! How’s everything going at the house?” he shouts.

“Hi! Um, sorry to bother you, Uncle Henry, but I was wondering . . . could I move the clown statue in the basement into the cupboard? It’s erm, nice and all, but it’s kinda creeping me out.”

My uncle is silent for a moment, and I can hear him move to a quieter room.

“Chris, buddy, what are you talking about?” he says, his voice serious. “What clown statue?”

“The big, life-size one in the basement,” I say.

“We don’t have a clown statue,” Uncle Henry says, and my blood runs cold. “Get out of the house, now!”

My heart pounding, I look back at the clown statue, but it’s no longer in the corner.

That’s when a yellow-gloved hand taps my shoulder.

“Wanna play?”