Chapter 426

The painted grin stretched unnaturally wide, a grotesque parody of joy. Patches, they called him, a clown who had appeared in the city a few weeks prior, with no real history to find. He was like a bad dream that had somehow learned to walk.

Children were drawn to him, they always were, he presented them with small toys, ones that would surely be in the trash by next week. Parents, for the most part, were a bit wary. They felt something was off with him, like a silent alarm inside their gut. A dread that made the hairs on their necks stand up.

The first child vanished near the park, right where Patches usually performed, with balloon animals and weak jokes. The parents were panicking, screaming for police, but nothing of substance was found, no clues or traces were left, it was like she'd evaporated. Another child, then another, each disappearance near one of his awful shows.

Detective Miles Corbin, a man nearing his breaking point, found himself assigned to the case. He'd seen terrible things during his time on the force, but this…this felt different. There was a wrongness to it, like a violation of something sacred.

He poured over reports, finding a connection with the clown, one that was much too frequent to dismiss as a coincidence.

He began his investigation by visiting one of the performances. Corbin stood at the edge of the crowd. The other adults nervously laughed at Patches' attempts at humor. Patches' eyes, though, were not on the children, but on him. Miles felt a cold hand grab at his soul. Miles watched the clown.

"He's not funny." Miles murmured quietly to a woman near him, who had a small child, tightly grasped in her hand. Her eyes widened, she didn't say anything, but pulled the child closer. It was like he had confirmed the dread that she already felt deep within her. He felt the city begin to shake in fear.

Miles spent his days interviewing parents, each story echoing the same chilling dread and the same description of the clown and the performances.

One mother sobbed, clutching a picture of her son, a boy with bright eyes that were no more. Miles looked around the room and felt as though the very walls seemed to close in on him.

He discovered the clown wasn't using a stage, but a park, an abandoned building, and even a vacant parking lot. It was always different, and always where he found himself a new victim. The clown wasn't trying to hide, almost inviting the police to come and try to stop him, taunting the very foundation of law enforcement.

Miles started noticing things too. At every location, a faint scent would remain, a mix of cotton candy and something metallic, a smell that made him gag. Miles began to have nightmares, his sleep was haunted with grotesque clown faces. He could feel the madness begin to seep into his bones.

He poured over crime scene photos, each one more disturbing than the last. There were no signs of struggle, no forced entries. The children simply seemed to vanish, as though they had walked into another world. It was like a ghost story that had come to life. Miles could barely keep his head on straight.

One evening, Miles received an anonymous message, a location scrawled on a piece of paper. He knew it was a trap, but he was too far gone to care. He drove to the given address and pulled into the parking lot. It was pitch black, the sky was angry and violent. The parking lot had an odd glow, like the moon was too strong.

Miles stepped out of his vehicle and into the darkness. He pulled out his pistol, the metal felt cold and familiar in his grasp. He heard a noise, like a child's laugh, echoing around him. Miles walked forward, knowing he was making a mistake, but unable to stop.

"Looking for me, Detective?" the clown's voice said, it came from everywhere at once. Miles spun around, trying to find the source, but there was nothing. He could feel Patches' eyes on him, watching him, playing a game of cat and mouse. Miles felt as though he was drowning in dread.

"I know what you are." Corbin responded, his voice shaking, but full of resolve. "You're not a clown, you are a monster." Patches let out a cackle, the sound was grating and unnatural. It clawed at the sanity Miles was desperately trying to hold onto.

"Oh, but I am a clown, Detective. The best there is," the clown's voice grew closer, Miles saw his form slowly emerge from the darkness, it was like a painting coming to life. His colors were too vibrant, and his smile looked like it was made of blood.

Miles took a step back and raised his pistol, pointing it at the clown's heart. "Stop it, right now! This is over," he said, his voice trembling, the gun shaking in his hand. But the clown didn't seem phased by this, in fact, he laughed even more. It sounded like a death rattle.

"Over? Oh no, Detective, it's just begun!" Patches seemed to glide towards him, each step was deliberate, like a predator approaching its prey. Miles fired his gun but the bullets passed through him, as if he wasn't truly there. Miles felt himself start to lose his mind.

The clown seemed to move faster. Patches danced around Corbin, as if he was mocking him. He took a step back again, trying to keep a line of sight, but Patches danced around him. The clown's laughter was too much, it echoed in Miles' ears, making his head pound.

Miles felt a searing pain and looked down to see a large red balloon in his hand, as if it had just appeared there. He tried to drop it, but he was unable to, it was stuck to his flesh, like he was in a horror movie. He could hear the voices of children, quiet and broken.

Patches stopped in front of him. The painted grin widened even more, it looked like he was trying to tear his own face. "They all float, Detective. Do you want to float too?" He asked, his voice was calm, but his eyes were full of a sick and twisted glee.

Miles tried to scream, but no sound came out. He looked around, but saw nothing but darkness, he was lost in the void. He tried to move, but he was stuck, almost like a fly caught in a spider web. The children began to laugh with the clown, it was a beautiful, yet terrifying chorus.

The balloon in Miles' hand began to grow hotter, like it was burning, slowly melting his flesh. He felt the bone start to burn, like it was being burned to charcoal. He didn't have any options, he was at the mercy of the clown.

Miles began to feel like he was being pulled up, but not by any rope or string. He was just being pulled up, like gravity was broken. Miles was screaming in his head, but no noise came from his lips, only a gurgle of blood. He knew this was the end.

He looked up and saw hundreds of balloons, each one was a different color, all of them slowly pulled upward, into the sky. The children continued their song, as Miles was ripped apart, limb by limb, each piece slowly turning into a balloon, and joined the rest.

The city never found the clown, and the children's souls were carried away on the wind, never to be seen again. Miles' remains joined them, forever floating in the sky as a reminder of what happens when evil is allowed to walk among us, as the sky was forever tainted.