My son and I had just moved into a new house at a new neighborhood, thus beggining a new life with new friends to become. Peter, my son, got his own room and I too, had my own room. The rent had been surprisingly low here, so I decided to take the jackpot before anyone else did. After a few days of unpacking and moving things around, I was beggining to sense that Peter was starting to get bored. So, I decided to let his old friends come over and have a sleepover.
I heard the boys laughing and having fun at night, while I did the dishes. My neck got tired from bending down too much. I looked up to find a person dressed in a clown costume was standing right outside the window, holding a knife up. I screamed, dropping and breaking a dish.
"Mom! Are you alright?" I heard Peter's voice coming from his room.
"Yes, sweetie, I'm alright," I replied, even though I was still shaking. I didn't want Peter to worry about me. I looked up again, and was relieved to find that the clown was gone. I must have imagined it, I thought, going back to washing the dishes. I was much less scared now. I could still hear the screams of laughter coming from Peter and his friends. Then, all of a sudden, that laughing stopped. Alarmed, I went upstairs and knocked on his door.
"Peter? Is everything OK in there?" I asked. I heard some shuffling noises and some whispering, too.
"Yes, mother, we're ok!" he said in a dull voice. That's strange, I thought, He sounds so unhappy. Only caring if he was hurt or not, I went back to washing the dishes. Then again, I looked up, apparently not learning my lesson. The clown was there again, but the only difference was that the knife was covered in an inch of blood. I was horrified, frozen in place by the blood. I snapped back to earth and ran outside quickly, just in case there were any dead people. When I was certain that no people were dead, I sighed and went back inside. Frightened as I was, I had to do the dishes. This time, I didn't look up. Well, I tried not to. Something caught my eye in front of the window. Hey, you can't blame me, can you? Anyone would have looked! Anyways, I knew what was out there even if I didn't see it yet. The Clown. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the knife, covered with blood, dripping onto the clowns arm. I panicked. Quickly I ran up to the boys room and started knocking loudly.
"Peter? Andrew? Marc! Hello?" I yelled franticly. No answer. I busted in the room to find them dead, each with a knife stuck in their stomachs. They were propped up in 3 seperate chairs. With my tears pouring out, I called Peter's friend's mothers and said," I'm sorry, i'm so sorry." After I had explained everything, we sat there just crying. I finally managed to hang up and call the manager. I explained everything to him, and when I mentioned about washing the dishes and the window and stuff, he said," Oh no, that wasn't a window," he clucked his tongue when he said it," That was a mirror."
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