I was at the gas station when the clown approached me.
He was of average height with a pale, painted face, a big red nose, stringy blue hair and a mouth smeared with what looked to be blood.
His eyes were far too beady and dark, no whites showed. It was like they were tiny holes in his face instead of eyes.
I crossed my arms and stood my ground as the clown came closer, his shoes squeaking. it was almost midnight and no one but us and the attendant was out.
I gave the clown my meanest look, ready to defend myself. He stopped moving once he was a couple feet away and cocked his head before giving me a rotten toothed grin.
“Jokes on you asshole,” I said. “I’m not afraid of clowns.”
And then he looked at me, more intensely, as if studying me. He nodded his head and spoke for the first time.
“Oh, sorry,” he said in a deep, rough, duo tone voice. “I read you wrong.”
He then raised a hand, grabbed the flesh of near his jaw and chin then pulled it up, ripping his face off like a mask.
I backed up, a scream bubbling up my throat as his clown face came off to reveal the giant head of a spider. Its black glassy eyes stared me down.
Its mandibles moved and it cocked its head and took a step forward. I trembled and fell backwards, scrambling to get to my feet.
“Is this better?” it asked.