My name is Tyler, and I'll never forget the terrifying incident that happened to me and my friends 19 years ago. I was 13 at the time, and it was an experience that would haunt me forever.
I had begged my parents to let me attend George's birthday party, and eventually, they relented. My three best friends, Josh, Sarah, and Jake, who were also my neighbors, were going, so I convinced my parents to let me join them. My mom dropped me off at 6 pm with a stern warning to return home with my friends by 8:30 pm.
The party was a blast, and we had a great time together. But as the evening drew to a close, we realized it was getting dark, and the narrow street we had to walk back home was eerily silent. The forest on either side of the road seemed to loom over us, casting long, ominous shadows.
As we walked, we heard a blood-curdling scream from the bushes. We froze, our hearts racing, and listened intently. The scream sounded like a woman's voice, and I could swear I heard a faint humming noise coming from behind us. Jake tried to brush it off as a bird or something, but I knew what I heard.
We continued walking, our senses heightened, when we heard maniacal laughter echoing from the forest. It sent shivers down our spines, and even Jake's bravado couldn't hide his fear. The laughter grew louder, closer, and we could feel eyes watching us.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the bushes ahead. It was a person dressed in a clown suit, walking towards us with an awkward gait. My heart skipped a beat as the clown smiled and laughed maniacally, holding a large machete with blood dripping from it.
We were trapped. The road was too narrow to escape, and another clown appeared behind us, wielding an axe. We were surrounded, with no way out. Jake made a desperate attempt to get past the first clown, but it was a futile effort. The clowns attacked him, their weapons glinting in the faint light.
We ran for our lives, the sound of Jake's screams and the clowns' maniacal laughter echoing through the forest. We didn't stop until we reached our homes, breathless and terrified.
I ran to my dad, begging him to call the police. But when I asked about my mom, he seemed confused, saying she hadn't come home and wasn't answering his calls. The police arrived, and I led them to the scene of the horror. They found bloodstains on the ground, but no sign of the clowns or Jake. It was only later that they discovered Jake's body, along with my mom's, in the forest.
I never went back to that city, except to visit my dad and friends. The memory of that night still haunts me, and I can't shake the feeling that the clowns are still out there, waiting for their next victim.