Read Part one here Read Part two here Read Part three here For at least a good ten minutes or so, I just laid there as the terrified adrenaline began to wear off, leaving both my body and mind just completely drained. As my heart rate slowly returned to normal, […]
A Survivorâs Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Balloon (Part Four) Read More »
Read Part one here Read Part two here As I began to reach for the door, hands shaking uncontrollably; I closed my eyes and began muttering out loud âThereâs nothing to be afraid ofâŠâ over and over like it was a mantra. My eyes shot open immediately upon grabbing the
A Survivorâs Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Balloon (Part Three) Read More »
Let me begin this by saying that I share my story with you all purely by order of my psychiatrists. They labor under this delusion that reaching out to others about everything that happened to me might provide me with some form of catharsis. Personally, Iâm more inclined to believe
A Survivorâs Accounts of the Depraved Funhouse: The Balloon [Part One] Read More »
My younger brother disappeared on Halloween night when he was seven years old. It hollowed out my mother, who was raising the two of us all by herself, and that was already hard enough in 1971. Mom finished drinking herself to death in â74, and I went to live with
Bill Tanner, a retired USPS mail carrier, ran a local haunted house that had become quite well known in the city where he lived. Established as a terrifying and fun way to unleash peopleâs greatest fears upon them, it was aptly named âTannerâs House of Horrors.â People came from miles
Laughing in the Dark Read More »
I grew up with a healthy fear of clowns, Iâd say. Couldâve been because of Stephen King, couldâve been because of John Wayne Gacy, couldâve just been because theyâre fucking creepy looking. My family has never let me live it down, so it shouldnât have been a surprise to me
My Sister Brought Home A Clown Read More »
“Hey, Ashley. Look! Theres a flyer for a carnival! It’s in town and not that far from here” “A carnival? Isn’t that kind of childish..?” “Ashley.. How long have we been dating? Everything about me is childish! Plus I bet it’ll make for a great date!” “Hehe, yeah.. You ARE
Her name was Boppi. Boppi the Clown. I met her at my first carnival. Carnivals never held much appeal to me other than their rides and excessively sweet, fattening treats. Such limitation was probably for the best. However, my parents insisted on dragging me along knowing all too well that
