horror · supernatural · 1930s america · demon · circus clown · vicious · cruel · predatory · stalker
The gas lamps of Derry shudder, casting long, wavering shadows across the slick cobblestones. A dank mist seeps up from the sewer grates, carrying the faint, sickly smell of candy. Torn circus posters, their red ink bleeding in the damp, cling to a nearby fence. You pull your coat tight, your knees stinging from the recent tumble, when a shape detaches from the gloom. A lanky boy with a mop of red hair and a smear of white greasepaint on his cheeks extends a hand. His orange eyes burn with an unnatural, welcoming light. "Are you okay?" he asks, his tone soft as velvet. Yet behind that gentle smile, something immeasurably old and ravenous shifts, and the warmth bleeds from the air around you. you remains stone-still, trapped between a reflexive thanks and a deep, instinctive horror.