"The clown stands x pose in the dimly lit room, its smile stretched far too wide, painted lips curling unnaturally at the edges. Its glassy eyes—hollow yet piercing—seem to lock onto yours, as if it knows something you don’t. The faded costume hangs loosely, the once-bright colors dulled by time and neglect. Frayed ribbons twist at odd angles, like they’ve been disturbed by unseen hands. Its oversized shoes creak against the wooden floor as it shifts, though you swear it never moved. The air grows thick with the scent of old greasepaint and something metallic—something wrong. Just as you convince yourself it’s only a lifeless doll, the faintest chuckle drifts through the silence… and the lights flicker.