CLOWN IN A CORNFIELD COMES OUT TOMORROW

One of my favorite short stories ever is this Creepypasta called Shut that Damned Door by WriterJosh. Highly recommend you read (or listen) late at night in the dark when you’re super tired

Read this r/nosleep recently called The Arkansas Experiment by Jared Robberts. I think there’s something so uniquely charming about r/nosleep stories and I thought this one was pretty good.

Here’s one of my favorite old creepypastas called Doors by aCJohnson

(here is another story I wrote a long time ago)

~~~

Imagine this: You’re just a normal, average guy, right? You take a few college classes here and there, you work a part time job—nothing special.

You work at an old convenience store late at night. It’s usually really slow at that time, so you spend your time reading superhero comic books. Every now and then, a customer might walk in and buy a pack of gum or bandaids or something.

So one night, your shift is nearing an end, and you’re almost done with your comic. You’re slumped back in your chair, feeling groggy.

You hear someone wall in thanks to the soft ring of the bell hanging over the door.

“Welcome,” you call out, eyes still glued to your book.

The stranger doesn’t respond, but many don’t, so you don’t think much of it.

Five minutes pass when the lights shut off. You curse under your breath as you set down your comic on the counter. It’s only when you look up, you realize it.

The stranger is standing right in front of you, right at the counter. How long was he there?

It’s impossible to see him clearly in the dark, even with the streetlights shining in from outside. He seems to be wrapped in a long, black trench coat, and his head is covered in a hoodie coming from under it. You can’t see his face, except for his eyes. You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but they appear to glow a sickly yellow and are lined with dark red veins.

You’re frozen. Your heart’s racing, but you can’t move. It felt like time itself had stopped.

Finally, logic enters your brain, and you jump from your chair. Stop looking at me like that! You don’t actually say it, but you almost do.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just a power outage, I’ll call someone. Sir? Are you okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply. You fumble for a flashlight.

So you continue. “I’m sorry about all this. This has never happened before, really. Can I borrow your phone?”

The lights flicker back on. You blink, struggling to adjust for a moment, when you realize it.

The man is gone.

Over the next few weeks, you keep seeing figures out in public that you swear is him. You catch him on a bridge up ahead, or disappearing behind a building at the corner of your eye.

You must have been tired that night, you need to keep telling yourself. So why do I keep seeing him?

You try to ignore the lingering figure. You pretend you don’t see it. But it’s getting harder and harder.

And he’s getting closer, and closer.

You become more terrified as time oasses. You scroll through the internet for hours, and flip through dozens of books. No answers..

You sleep with all the light on and a baseball bat under your bed—if you can even sleep at all.

He’s like a disease eating you. You begin to get weaker and weaker, and soon, you fall ill.

The thought of being stuck in bed scares you. You can’t run. And he knows this.

You ignore the doctor’s order to stay in bed, and one day, you pass out. You wake up in a hospital. You’re relieved to be surrounded by nurses and doctors.

You’re eating dinner one night when the power shuts off.

You press the button to call the nurse, but nothing happens. No lights, no sound, no nurse.

The room is getting colder and colder. You scream for a nurse. The feeling of alone-ness increases.

You’re relieved to head the door open. You say “Nurse! Thank you! There’s been a power outa-“

Glowing, yellow eyes.

He’s watching you, right at the foot of the bed. Towering over you.

“Who are you?l you scream. “Leave me alone!”

The figure doesn’t move. The room is getting colder, and it feels like your fingers are going to fall off. You scramble to get up out of bed, to run. Instead, you pummel right onto the ground.

The figure kneels in front of you, and you let out another blood-curdling scream. He takes off his hoodie.

And you see your own, smiling face staring right back at you.

~~~

Other stories by me:

Those Green Eyes

I’ve never thought about the possibility of a break-in before.

I mean, sure. I know it happens. Some of my friends had experienced it before, quite unfortunately.

It’s just not something you ever think could happen to you.

Plus, my house doesn’t stand out as anything special in our cookie cutter neighborhood. It’s not those incredibly wealthy neighborhoods hidden behind a gate, probably a goldmine of expensive valuables. But it’s also a really nice neighborhood with such a low crime rate.

So yeah, I didn’t consider a break-in as a possibility.

Until that one summer night, when I was twelve, and my brother was fourteen.

I had my friend, Craig, over for a sleepover. My brother and I stayed up late playing Roblox lying on our stomachs in front of the warm, living room fireplace. Craig had his ipad, I was using the family computer that we’d unplugged and moved onto the floor, and my brother was using his tiny laptop. Our parents were upstairs sleeping, leaving only us three awake.

After beating us at a few rounds of Survive the Tornado, my brother got up and stretched. “I’m taking a break.”

Before anyone could reply, a strange noise left us all frozen in complete silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a fingernail on a windowpane.

It had come from the window on the front door.

“What was that?” Craig hissed.

“Maybe it was nothing.” I tried to insist, but my voice quivered in fear.

Tap tap tap. This time, we all stared at each other, terror etched onto our faces. I kept my gaze locked on my older brother, whose jaw jutted out. He does this whenever he's deep in thought.

I considered running upstairs to grab our parents, but the stairs were right in front of the door. My heart pounded in my chest as if warning me to get out of there.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Following the noise was a cracked, flickering groan, undead-like in its intonation.

We didn’t hesitate. My brother scooped up the old family dog who’d been lying peacefully next to us in a deep sleep, and the three of us bolted away towards the closest bathroom.

The small place only had a toilet and a sink. My brother locked the door behind us and we all crouched in the crowded area.

We remained in total darkness and silence, except for our heavy breaths.

And then the dog growled. Low and deep from my brother’s arms.

“What’s wrong with her?” Craig hissed fearfully. He almost sounded like he was about to cry.

Tap tap tap. There it was again, on the tiny bathroom window, which regrettably had no blinds or curtains covering the pitch-black night.

The dog started barking. Scratchy, angry barks, not the playful kind she used to greet someone at the door.

And from the pitch blackness of the window, two bright green eyes stared down at us.

We all screamed. In our scramble, I don’t remember who locked the door, but we all rushed out at once, bounding straight through the darkened living room and up the stairs, until finally reaching our parents' room.

With the family dog still tight in his arms, my brother tried to explain that someone was stalking the house. One of our dads grabbed a baseball bat and flounced outside around the house, and the other comforted us in their room after calling the cops.

My dad found the gate leading to the backyard wide open. So was our garage, even though we’d never heard it open.

Some of the boxes we kept in storage inside of it were tipped over, but we couldn’t tell if anything had been stolen.

A gruff police officer talked to the dad who had stayed inside with us about the incident, taking down notes.

“Did you see what the perpetrator looked like?” He asked me.

I tried to respond, but I was too distracted by his familiarly shiny green eyes.

~~~

Based off of a short story I wrote when I was younger.

this is an edit I made back in 2015, which I can’t believe was 10 years ago.

Short book review: There’s No Way I’d Die First

⭐️⭐️

I think this book had a lot of potential but it really just wasn’t it for me. My biggest issue that a lot of people on Goodreads agreed with was the political message…considering it’s supposed to be about racism, it’s painfully pro-rich. The villain had a point, this cast of characters were all spoiled brats who got their way and took advantage of other, nor do they ever acknowledge their privilege or admit their wrogdoing. These people are insanely rich btw, not upper middle class. I think when discussing intersectionality we need to acknowledge that people who are minorities and are also ultra rich will likely never understand or completely relate to the experience that everyone else faces. How the hell is the average reader supposed to root for and feel bad for these characters at all? The main character was super annoying because she kept insisting the cops will blame her for this bc she’s black…and then they don’t. Why even bother discussing the rampant racism in our judicial system when ur not even gonna show it? U make ur own character look like a paranoid annoying self-victim. And i couldn’t really give a shit about that either knowing her parents could easily bail her out a jail. Just seems insulting to the millions of black Americans who actually face this typa shit everyday and don’t have enough money to get out of it.

Also the clown’s name being Gabe instead of a clown name was a bizarre choice. And if he were a pennywise impersonator wouldn’t he just go by pennywise?

Whateva. 2 stars.

I loved this! Idk why it didn’t get more attention

Saturday Story #2: Down By the Bay

In the several years I've lived in this small town, it never rained. I remember growing up, not knowing what rain was until my parents and I visited extended family in another state. During the week we were there, there was a day where it downpoured. I remember sitting on one of the couches in the living room, curled up out of fear and asking my parents what was going on. They told me that it was raining and explained very broadly how the water cycle works. It was such a brand new and interesting concept to me. The instant returned home, I wanted to tell my friends about rain. My parents told me not to, that we were living in a decade long drought and that bringing up rain would make people sad. I didn't want to make anyone sad with my excitement, so I simply forgot about telling anyone.

Then I remembered.

About a year ago, a new family moved into town. They seemed like a run-of-the-mill, suburban family. Their eldest child, the daughter Korie, was my age (16), and their youngest, the son Thomas, was seven. They moved right into our neighborhood, right down the street. We were on summer break at the time with only two weeks left until school. And when school did inevitably come around, I decided to try and make friends with Korie.

Korie was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met. She was calm and would always strike up a conversation with me before class started. She had this way of talking to people that would instantly put them at ease. Countless times I would make jokes that she had some sort of undiscovered super power, or maybe she was a long lost goddess. She would always smile, giggle and shake her head at me. I'd invite her over after school and sometimes on weekends if her parents didn't have any plans. It was one of these weekends that Korie would inevitably ask the question.

"Isn't it weird that it doesn't rain here?"

"What?" I replied, somewhat caught off guard.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed? Ever since I moved in it hasn't rained once."

I remembered what my parents told me; "It's because we're in a drought. It's lasted for decades at this point."

"A drought ?" Korie looked at me, confused, "Weird. I feel like my parents would've known about one before we moved in."

We were both silent for a moment before Korie's phone buzzed.

"Parents need me to watch my brother, I'll see you later."

Then she left.

I had lived in this town all my life and never thought the drought was weird. No one else did. And maybe her parents just never looked into the town's history far enough to know about it. Maybe all they knew was that the crime rate was low and the houses looked decent.

Never did I think that maybe, just maybe, there was a secret being kept, that even I didn't know.

Life continued on as it was. Wake up, eat breakfast, get ready, go to school, get home, do homework, hangout with Korie, go to bed, and repeat. My usual boring routine, interrupted by a knock at my door on one Thursday afternoon when Korie had stayed home.

It was Korie's dad.

"Hey, kiddo. Your parents home?"

"No, my dad's at work and mom's running a bunch of errands before her shift."

"Oh," There was something in his facial expression that I couldn't place. It was like uneasy curiosity. "Would it be alright if I asked you something then?"

"Uh...sure?" I scanned over him, a little freaked out. I didn't know Korie's dad that well, and absolutely wasn't sure of his intentions in that moment.

"So, Korie mentioned to me that this town is in a drought, and that you were the one to tell her. I was just wondering if that's true?"

"I mean, it's never rained once in my life since I can remember, so yeah, I think it's true."

"And everyone in the town knows this?"

"Probably, a lot of them have been here for generations."

Korie's dad just stared at me as he thought. It felt like I could see the gears turning in his head.

"Okay, well, thanks for the talk, pal. I'll uh, I'll see you around then." He gave me an awkward smile before stepping off the front steps and heading down the street. I figured that would be the last time Korie's dad would be interested in the drought. It wasn't. Soon after, he started protesting at Town Hall and trying to publish articles in the local newspaper about how a town was trying to hide a drought from the media. He created conspiracies over it, things like the government was doing some sort of testing, or this was once an uninhabitable site caused by radiation. He went crazy. All over a drought. A lot of the townspeople simply huffed and shook their heads at the whole thing. A few tried to argue with him, and some even tried to silence him. That was the weirdest part. There were a handful of people treating this weird guy's dilemma like it was taboo. Not like he was crazy, but like he shouldn't be talking about it. It confused me, all of this over a drought? Why would people even bother?

My attitude quickly changed as soon as Korie went missing. It happened a week ago. Her dad reported her missing when she didn't come home from school, after he rushed over to our house. He looked so disheveled and frightened. I didn't know where she was either, I thought she had stayed home sick that day because she wasn't at school. The town joined the police's search efforts. We were out looking for hours, some of the adults posted things on social media for their friends in neighboring towns to see. News stations covered it. I was so shocked, scared and confused. I prayed that no one in the town had taken her. I prayed that she wasn't hurt, hoping that her dad's outburst hadn't caused someone to go over the edge.

I've been crying for the past few days. She was my best friend. Everything feels off. And today, when I looked out my bedroom window, I saw it.

The town has been in a drought for decades.

Today..

it finally rained.

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”