Every horror movie starts with a plot, but this wasn’t a movie, and there was no reason for those damn clowns to be on the loose. Everyone knows that the local amusement park for kids was built around those painted assholes who hid behind the mask. Even as a child Grayson hated that place. His parents would take him, well, more like drag him from the car to visit that place on opening and closing day. Most kids bolted from their seats to get closer to the rides. Not Grayson. He once wrapped the seatbelt so tight around his neck that it had to be cut from his body to save his life. Sadly, that didn’t stop his father from forcing him out by the back of his shirt, scolding him the entire way into the place. Was it the clowns or the music? Maybe, it was both. As he stood in the middle of the street, his eyes squeezed tight, off in the distance he heard that jingle.
“Pop goes the weasel,” whispered in the wind. It sounded like one of those hand cranked Jack in the Box toys made of metal and horror. Parents buy them for their kids as a torture device to ruin the child for life. Ringing in his ears, Grayson heard the sound closer each time the crank rolled round. His breathing quickened as the mist deepened its cover of the street, making him wish he would have never stopped and went home directly after work. Women ruin everything. “Who the fuck are you?” he screamed. “Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” adding. Slowly backing up, Grayson turned never stopping until he was in the front seat of his car and the doors clicked to the lock position.
“Well if it isn’t the little pussy scared of clowns,” the voice howled from the backseat. Frozen in fear, the seatbelt wrapped tight around his neck as the sound of the clown gave the advance warning of the pop. “You never did like clowns, did you, boy?” a mechanical voice rang out.