Prancer | A Scary Clown Creepypasta Story

Original Story
Music by Myuu

Superstition is the bedrock of my family’s beliefs. Ghosts, demons, monsters, etc. It’s the dogma of the Miller family. I so envied the logical thinkers of the world who saw past such shams, but it wasn’t until I’d aged that I came to the jealousy. I grew up in eastern Kentucky with the other corn-husking hill-jacks and rednecks. The Miller farm was passed from generation to generation, each devout in its religious practices and beliefs. So naturally, we went to church every Sunday morning and evening, we said our prayers before dinner and bed, and we read our Bibles in our free time. We even had a big statue of Mother Mary in our front yard.

Mom and Dad were very strict. We weren’t allowed to watch scary movies, read scary books, or really anything that had to do with the supernatural. If I had to blame anyone, it would be them. Anyone who is forbidden to do something will only want to do that very thing more and more. I suppose that’s why I desperately craved to explore what was in the dark.

Wireless internet arrived at my house when I was ten years old. At first it was monitored in the house, and advertised by Dad as a privilege. But as time went on, years passing by like nothing, my parents grew more and more relaxed. I suppose I had gained their trust after playing the role of the goody-goody in the house so well. Nobody suspected that I was surfing the web, searching some of the strangest things.

I had had Facebook for four years by the time I was a senior in high school. I was never addicted to social media like most people my age. I used it mostly to keep up with what was going on with family members who lived out of state, or the occasional funny picture or video I’d share on my wall. Nothing major. And I kept it on the down-low purposefully, as to lay under my parents’ radar and evade provoking their uptight wrath.

But around September something began to catch my attention in my news feed. Story after story and news report after news report about strange sightings at night. Sightings of people alongside the road dressed as clowns. At first I didn’t pay much mind to it, thinking it to be some kind of pre-Halloween college prank. But the fiasco had evolved quickly and substantially. Schools were being locked down and people sent in panic over clowns with machetes and guns. It was… weird. But I found it fascinating, to say the least. I followed all of the pages I knew would keep me updated on the clown sightings. Like after like after like. I was never so active on the internet. The sightings had started in South Carolina, I later discovered. They were an epidemic spreading all across the country, and I was drowning in interest. Eventually a story rolled past my widened eyes informing me of a clown sighting in my area, and my chest pulsed with a strange adrenaline-powered excitement.

It was the twelfth of September, I remember exactly, on the day of my greatest boredom. It was the weekend and the day after I had my predilection denied harshly and cruelly. I was kind of a geeky girl―and shy in every sense of the word. I guess it was because of the guilt I felt when flirting with boys, given that my parents forbade a boyfriend. That, and I am not the prettiest, nor do I try to be. I’ve always prided myself in being intellectual, studious, and hard working. I worried about those things rather than on boys or love. But human nature is human nature. There were some boys I couldn’t help but develop feelings for. And Jake Harvey was one of those boys. I spent several weeks low-key crushing on him, devising how I might ask him out, until I finally said something to him. And that was when my heart was broken. Humiliation was the devisee of all of emotion to me thereafter.

That Saturday, I found my finger bounding through the list of suggestions on Facebook. I didn’t have many friends, not ones I could trust to talk to about my feelings. On top of that, I was too full of pride. Honestly, I hated to expose any morsel of negative emotion to anyone. All I wanted was someone to talk to. Of course I’d never actually message anyone I requested, but the imaginary thought of talking to one of them was somehow comforting. Then―wham―my finger halts above a strange profile picture. It’s a clown. A white-faced, red-lipped, bushy-haired clown. His name on Facebook was “Craig Klown”. I hesitated, but only for a second before I sent him a request. I kept flipping, trying not to think of any consequences for what I had just done. The next suggestions were also clowns. Many with colorful or dark profile pictures, each with a clever name. “Queen Klown”, “Samwise Klown”, “Kenny Klown”. They were in my suggestions by the thousands. I frantically requested each of them, excitement pouring into my gut like an electric circuit springing to life. It was a rush. A bad one, though.

My eyes flickered up to the clock on my wall. Tiredness welted my eyes shutting just as I took my gaze off my phone’s screen. At two o’clock in the morning, my mind was in shambles. I pounded my pillow to a comfortable shape and laid my head down, setting the phone off to the side for tomorrow.

Ding. My phone sounded, perturbing my gentle slumber. My eyes flashed open and with a confused moan I rose from the body print I had left in the mattress to flash on the screen of my iPhone. Someone sent me something through Facebook Messenger. Odd. Really odd. I didn’t talk to anyone. Through my blurred gaze I didn’t pay much mind to the notification, but went straight to open the quaint little app. I was taken to a message sent to me by someone I had never met before. Their name at the top of the screen read “Prancer Daklown”.

PRANCER: “Hi there Adrian! :D”

I deduced that, like most of the clown accounts, it was just some teenage punk looking for attention or trying to scare people. I took a look at his page, finding his profile picture to be some ugly looking clown with big purple hair. Inevitably, as I began to awake my hurt emotions flooded back into my being. My will to live was remembered back into its faint state. So, in my loneliness, I made a foolish mistake.

I replied.

ME: “Uh, hi. Who are you?”

PRANCER: “My name is Prancer! I saw your post where you said you were feeling down so I wanted to cheer you up! We can be best friends!”

There was something unnerving about him right off the bat. Maybe it was just the odd friendliness. I couldn’t really tell, but then again I didn’t care as much as I should’ve. I continued to type to him.

ME: “Aight.. so whats up?”

PRANCER: “Just klowning around! Aahahahaha! Why?”

ME: “Just sitting here.”

PRANCER: “Boo! Sounds boring! >_<”

ME: “It is.”

PRANCER: “Well allow me to enthuse you! Do you like clowns?? :P”

ME: “Idk. Never really met one…”

PRANCER: “Oh goodness! Well I will make sure I give a good first impression! Ahaha…”

ME: “Ok.”

ME: “Where you at?”

PRANCER: “In the woods! They’re wonderful you see! My favorite place to be. Especially at night. All sorts of things happen there. From campfires to hiking to deer hunting to four-wheeler riding to sex to forest fires to homicide to cult gatherings! Ahahahaha!”

At this point I was sure he was just trying to scare me. Sighing, I aggravatingly typed back, “not buying it”. I could see that he was typing and I waited impatiently for many long moments. I figured he was coming up with some clever comeback or something. I really wasn’t sure. But the silence was broken by a loud ding as his next message appeared on my screen.

PRANCER: “Buying what?”

ME: “I’m not scared of you”

PRANCER: “Ahahahaha, I’m not trying to scare you! That may come alone the way though, my sweetheart. Scaring is easy. Humans are so ignorant, so low on the evolutionary tree. Incapable of perceiving the workings of filth, darkness, evil. You are scared of what you cannot understand. And I understand it―that savagery is intellect.”

ME: “So what are you trying to do…?”

PRANCER: “Do you like games????? I like games!”

ME: “I guess. What kind of game?”

PRANCER: “A guessing game. You will love! Here are the rules: Ask a question, then the next person does. Answer honestly. No running away. I’ll start.”

PRANCER: “What’s your favorite color?”

ME: “Blue. What’s yours?”

PRANCER: “Black! What’s your favorite song?”

ME: “bad romance by lady gaga. What’s your favorite movie?”

PRANCER: “Stephen King’s It! Do you have any pets?”

ME: “Two dogs. What’s your real name?”

PRANCER: “Calamity Alaric Prancer! 😀 Are you a virgin???????”

My chest began to throb. I felt my fingertips go numb for a second. This was beginning to feel more and more like one of those news stories, or an episode of Dateline. Why would he ask that kind of question? That was no concern to a total stranger, unless they were looking for some kind of promiscuity from me. I should’ve closed the phone right then. Blocked him. Something. But for whatever reason I didn’t. Looking back, I guess it was just too much of a thrill. I kept replying, ridiculously interested and appalled at the same time.

ME: “What the hell? Why do you care?”

PRANCER: “I’m just wondering what your soul would taste like ahahaha. No worries!”

What? I didn’t understand. Was that some kind of sexual slang that I didn’t know about, or was he actually talking about eating my soul? Either way, it was repulsive.

ME: “My soul?”

PRANCER: “Why yes! You see, every soul has a different taste. Through the coppery taste of blood and flesh, there’s always an exhilarating hint of a supernatural force, the soul. Sometimes it’s blueberry, sometimes vanilla. Momma always told me the purer the person, the tastier the soul. And she was right! For some odd reason the souls of virgins tend to have a hint of raspberry in them. Delicious!”

ME: “You’re saying you EAT people??”

PRANCER: “Oh yes! Don’t you?? D:”

ME: Hell no you sicko

PRANCER: “Oh cmon! A guy has to get by”

ME: “By eating people? Have you really done that or are you still just trying to scare me?”

PRANCER: “Heavens no! I’m all serious, Adrian! Believe me. But to answer your question, yes! It’s how I survive, donchaknow. I usually go for the little children who are too young yet to perceive actual sin. But when I get the chance I slash open a tummy or two and take a fetus! Those are to die for..”

ME: “okay, that’s too far. Leave me alone.”

I put my phone on airplane mode and went back to sleep, confident that it would’ve been buzzing all night. Teen prankster or not, that guy needed professional help. The rest of the night went by painfully and without rest, for with each passing moment I felt nonexistent eyes running down my entire body. Their gaze I worriedly felt caressing every inch of skin and article of clothing on me, running against my bed sheets, and fingering my long hair. In the last hour of the night was when I finally drifted off, only to have light pull my eyelids apart like pliers just sixty minutes later. I had forgotten about last night’s creepy exchange until I set my phone off of airplane mode and watched a swamp of messages from Prancer flood my phone like Katrina.

I decided to take a look at this guy’s page again and inspect it closer. His posts caught my eye immediately. Some of them expressing his frustration with humans beating up people who dressed as clowns at night. One of them started off abruptly and without context, giving what appeared to be a spinoff of the Ten Commandments. “Thou shalt love all clowns, for they are thy kin. Thou shalt not harm other clowns. Thou shalt not betray thy kin. Thou shalt not reject the clown name.” The list continued, and with each commandment I felt more on edge.

The top of my screen flickered down with a ribbon displaying his latest message, which I tapped to read it in its entirety.

PRANCER: “Adrian… I’m sorry about what I said last night. It was uncalled for. Please message me back.. I miss you!! D: I know you don’t understand me, but I really want you to… So I talked to my brothers and we’re gonna let you come see our secret pages, if you want. Just click this:”

What followed was a long URL of random numbers and letters. I didn’t understand what it was, and at first I figured it would’ve been some kind of screamer. Totally typical of someone like this, right? But after clicking it, I was brought to a black screen with blocky, bright purple text. The top of the screen displayed the title, “KLOWN KINGDOM”. Underneath it was a navigation bar complete with a portal, forum, chat room, gallery, blog, and what I presumed was a video service, as it were titled “klowntube”.

The front page was plastered with pictures of clowns. Clowns everywhere. Clowns in the woods. Clowns by the road. Clowns indoors. Clowns with people. And layers upon layers of text which I skimmed over, documenting ideologies and religion, and hate towards the mainstream religions. I remember saying to myself, “This… this is serious.” All of the funny moments―the feelings of childish thrill in the face of the spooky shapes against the wall―were gone. My stomach turned over as I flipped through the gallery. Those… those images will never leave my mind. I see them every time I look into the dark.

I cleared my browsing history. I closed all of my tabs on safari. No more. God, no more. I was done. I placed my phone back on my desk. I had spent all Sunday staring at it and now my head was throbbing with that stale needle-drawn pain between my eyes. The glow of the digital screen still present when I closed my eyes. I tried to cool down by watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, even though it hurt my eyes. It would still help me unwind. Anything to get my mind off of clowns.

Ding.

I grabbed my phone.

PRANCER: “What a pretty statue!”

What?

Tap, tap, tap.

My heart exploded. I felt the scratchy knocking against the window beside my bed. My head did a full ninety degrees as I saw the twiggy shadow passing through the curtains. Instantly I yanked them over and in the dim light of my night light I saw bushy, deep violet hair and creamy white skin. Black lips and dark shadows extending from primal, demonic, scarlet eyes. A big checker-pattern bow tie and a striped suit. A long, nimble, dark hand stretched towards my window and with an array of glossy black claws tapped against the glass. Seeing me, the wet black lips parted and the blood flow stopped within me as I spotted pointed teeth in its rotten mouth.

The giggling. God. Make the giggling stop.

PRANCER: “Glad you visited my site! Your IP was easy.”

PRANCER: “Why did your parents bring guns out in the yard the other night?!?!? You know I don’t like guns Adrian…”

PRANCER: “Adrian? Where are you!”

PRANCER: “Adrian?”

PRANCER: “Why did you kill yourself, Adrian? You know I loved you…”

The Grinning Man

The Grinning Man

by Anonymous

I have a story to tell you, but I beg you not to read it. Please, don’t. I know it sounds stupid, but by the time you understand why, it will be too late. I know this will not deter many of you, but without this simple warning to ease my conscience, I may not be able to go through with this. And I desperately need to go through with this. Let me start at the beginning.

I have an old friend, Joe, who I’ve known since grade school. I’m in my late twenties – so is he – and he’s been my friend for at least half of that time. I’d say that we knew each other pretty well after all of that time. This may seem irrelevant and uninteresting, but I have to stress this; I know him, and I know him well. What he did was… it was nothing he ever could have done without some outside influence.

On the night of Friday, January 23, I was driving to his apartment to pick him and his roommate up; we made plans to go out, hit a couple of bars, and generally have a good start to the weekend. When I arrived, there were a number of police cars and ambulances outside the complex. I was, of course, curious, as I, like many people, rarely see such sights. As I got closer, I noticed a body covered in a bag in the street, surrounded by glass and no more than a few feet from a badly dented car.

I’m rather horrified, coming to the conclusion that someone was hit by a car and killed right outside the complex. As I finished gawking, I made my way inside and up the stairs to the third floor. That’s where my friend’s apartment is, and that’s where I found it wasn’t a simple accident.

The police were upstairs as well, talking to residents and taping off one of the apartments. My friend’s apartment. Panicked, I asked one of the officers what happened, why my friend’s apartment was taped off. I told him I was supposed to be meeting them for drinks, and asked if they were okay. The officer told me that it appeared that Joe had butchered his roommate with a kitchen knife and thrown himself through the plate glass sliding door into the street below.

I was a ghost, shaken so badly I could barely answer the simple questions the officer asked me upon finding that I knew the victims. My mind couldn’t process it. I knew him. He’d never do such an atrocity. It didn’t make sense.

I made my way back to my car in silence and drove home as though on autopilot. I couldn’t get the shock of it all out of my head. My wife asked me what happened and I explained it to her. She was shocked as well, but… she didn’t know him like I did. I told her I needed a bit of time and went to my room. She let me be. Lost, I found myself at my computer. I’m not really sure why I did it, but I found myself checking his email.

I know the passwords he commonly used, so it was hardly an issue to find the right one. I thought perhaps he had friends online who I needed to tell, or maybe I thought I’d find a window into what caused this. I really don’t know. If I knew then what I know now; I would’ve never done what I did.

I scrolled through his inbox, looking for familiar names. Joe, I, and several friends kept in touch online, and I instantly recognized several of those names in the last few days. The most recently opened email was what looked like a spam email with an attachment and no other information. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. The file itself was a picture, named nothing but a seemingly random string of numbers. It was simply a man, seemingly normal at a glance, but the longer I stared at it, the more disturbed I became.

He stood, staring, with a grin, sinister and unsettling, with eyes that were both vacant and focused at the same time. That terrible grin seemed to widen the longer I stared, and for minutes I was fixated at that horrible face, eyes burning as they stared back at me with equal intensity. Finally, I tore my gaze away to find the only other thing in the email: a single word. A word I can’t repeat. Not yet. I need to tell my story.

I couldn’t take the sight of it anymore. I had to close it. The face was still looking at me; I swear I could still feel his grinning stare. As I went to log out of his email and put that horrid thing out of my mind, I noticed the time it arrived: January 23, 5:35pm. We were supposed to meet at six. He likely saw this less than a half hour before he died.

For the next several days, I tried to get it out of my mind. I attended my friend’s funeral. I tried to go on with my life, but I kept feeling uneasy. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like someone was watching me. At night, I started to have unsettling nightmares. I couldn’t remember much of them when I awoke, but they all had the same elements: that horrible grinning man, blood, violence, and death. I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. I was struggling at work. I kept feeling tense and on edge. I needed to know what was going on.

It was hard to really know what to look for at first; all I had to go on was that image and the single word that accompanied it. “Grinning man” is hardly a descriptive search and “haunted grinning man” or “cursed grinning man” wasn’t really any better. Still, I did what I could with my limited resources.

I actually found a reference to it, or what I thought was it, on a website dedicated to conspiracies and paranormal things and other things I’d normally dismiss as utter bullshit. Still, this wasn’t natural, and I was willing to try to open my mind to any explanation, since this seemed to defy anything conventional. What I uncovered about this “grinning man” was that it was an image that seemed to circulate among image boards and forums a few years back. The article said the picture was harmless, if not a bit creepy (though I strongly disagree on the term “a bit”), but it seemed that something about it, when coupled with a key word that was unknown, could trigger extreme psychotic bouts, irritability, nightmares, and hallucinations.

It seemed so utterly stupid – simple text and pixels causing such harm – and yet I was sitting there, realizing that I was experiencing those same nightmares, irritability, and hallucinations. Joe obviously experienced the psychosis, evidenced by his sudden murder-suicide.

I was stunned; I thought it had to be a joke, some kind of bizarre hoax, but I knew there was more to it than that. I knew what I was feeling and I knew my friend. That picture and that word… it had to be the keyword. What triggers everything? Oh, God, was this going to happen to me, too? Was I going to kill my wife and then myself?

I started to panic, but my rational mind won over. If it was just paranoia and hallucinations… those couldn’t hurt me, right? They only had power if I gave them power. I decided that I would end this, put it out of my mind, rationalize it away each time I felt it. That would be the end of it all.

As much as my rational brain helped me through the day, it couldn’t protect me at night. My dreams continued to degrade, ending in me waking in the middle of the night, cold sweats and heart pounding. I started taking sleeping pills, though I refused to tell my wife – I didn’t want her to worry, though I knew she could tell something was wrong with me. The pills did nothing, though; in fact, they seemed to make my dreams more vivid. I could remember everything when I awoke; every horrible, bloody detail, that grinning, inhuman face. I found I started sleepwalking. The first night I woke curled in the bathtub; then in the kitchen. Three days later, with a knife in my hand and the bloodied remains of our black Lab at my feet.

I can’t even remember the next things that happened after that. I know I cleaned up our dog, hid him in a trash bag, and said he ran off in the night and got lost. I was terrified. I had no idea what to do. I tried to medicate myself heavily. I locked up all the knives in the house. My wife knew there was something terribly wrong, but I refused to say anything. I don’t even know if I could at the time.

The only thing I can still remember clearly was the dreams. I was irate and easily spooked at the littlest of things. I thought it had to just be my nerves from all of this and lack of sleep, but… I remembered my friend, the website. I knew I was getting worse.

The thing I remember most about the dreams, aside from that horrible grinning man, is the emotions. I felt each death that was inflicted in the dream like it was real. Like it was my own hand disemboweling my friends, my family, and random strangers against my own will.

Like each death, each vision of terror he showed me, was not just a vision but my own work. Each horrible death in the dream made him grin a little wider. He wanted me to snap. He wanted me to become exactly what he was showing me. He wanted me to become him.

So, I come here to tell you this because I’m desperate. I need help. You see… I can’t bear the thought of harming my wife, the woman I love most in this world. Yet, I know it’s inevitable. He’s always there, watching and grinning, knowing I’m close to breaking, and nudging me ever closer to the edge. I know what he wants. I can’t let him have that. I don’t know any other way out.

I’m reaching out to you in hopes that he’ll leave me alone. Maybe if you, the careless reader who I warned away, will give him what he wants, he’ll let me be. I have to try. I don’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive a man for acting in desperation.

Original Story

Boo! Said the Ghost – An Anonymous Creepypasta

 

It was around 3 AM, this June.

I was on Skype with this cute girl I encountered on a forum a month ago. We were discussing about strange things that happened to me recently: Doors shutting, lamps turning on and off, even objects falling from the furniture. She was talking about a ghost or a poltergeist, who might have fun with this kind of stuff. But even though I felt paranoid, being paralyzed by the slightest noise, I couldn’t believe in these stories. Well, that’s what I’ve told myself all along. Something I knew I could regret sooner or later.

I was in the dark and I felt a little uncomfortable after our long debate on the subject, I decided it was time to refresh myself.

I got up and entered my bathroom, then washed my hands to make sure the water wasn’t too cold… I stared at my reflection for a moment. After a brief hesitation I bent over and splashed water over my face. Then I felt something unusual. Like a slight airflow. I looked behind me, the door was closed.

Did I shut the door when I entered the bathroom? I couldn’t remember. I took a towel and proceed to dry my face, unable to see a thing. While doing so, I heard a knock on a glass-like object. At first I thought it was coming from the mirror, but there was nothing except my reflection staring back at me.

I put the towel back on the towel holder and opened the door, when I saw something in the corner of my eye and heard a little noise. Like something had moved behind me.

I quickly looked back at the bathroom. At first I looked at the mirror but I then noticed the towel was on the floor, right in front of the bath. I was about to pick it up but as I approached I felt more and more uncomfortable. I could not stop staring at the shower curtain. Then I heard a second knock, the same than before. But I realized it wasn’t coming from the mirror nor the bathroom.

I turned around and headed back to my room, letting the towel on the floor. Now almost back to my bed when I felt like something was watching me. I looked through the window but there was nothing unusual.

I took my computer and asked my buddy if she has heard the knocks on the glass or if it was her.

“Yes I did hear it,” she said, “you still do not believe in poltergeist stuff?”

I admitted having doubts about what I told her earlier. She then got up and said “I’ll be right back,” and left the room. She left the door slightly open, which made me uncomfortable for a moment. But then I heard this noise again, a knock on the glass of my window. I felt too paranoid at first and did not dare to take a look. I thought it was my imagination. But it knocked a second time.

I looked up from my screen only to find something was standing still, behind my window. Staring, grinning. I almost felt like it was laughing at me. My monitor being the only light source in the room, I could hardly see its face but its smile…its smile petrified me for a moment.

After a few second I heard a door open and footsteps. I could barely catch my breath when I heard: “Hey I’m back.”

I looked back at the screen and understood it only was my buddy that got back on her computer… I told her I had to show her the thing that was staring at me, but it had faded away before I could rotate my webcam. “Did it really scare you?” she said, ”I thought you didn’t believe in those things? Haha.”

Her reaction made me curious. Why was she so excited about this?

I was so lost in my reflection that I thought I imagined what she said next: “Boo said the ghost… and he disappeared.” Before I could even react, the screen went black for a moment. It soon got back to normal but something different was on the screen.

It wasn’t the excited girl’s face anymore. I saw a man sitting on his bed, facing the computer. In fact, the scene was very familiar, until I recognized it. It was my bedroom. On the verge of panic, I was still able to notice something odd. The angle from which was taken the image of my bedroom. It was as if… something was right outside of my window, filming that exact moment. I looked through the window for a second before turning around to face my screen again. The delay let me see myself stare back at me through the webcam.

The screen went back to the girl I’ve been talking to for the past month. Except this time, she was in near pitch black. She got closer to the camera and didn’t do much for a few seconds. Still frightened from what had just happened, I didn’t move, waiting for her to say something, but she remained silent. I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t understand, until she started grinning.