Jason found an evil clown in his closet. It just stood there, ogling him with knowing eyes and dripping, drooly, knotted rotten teeth. Jason slowly backed away and walked over to his parent’s bedroom. His mom hummed as she folded the day’s laundry while his dad typed away at the family computer.
“There’s an evil clown in my closet,” Jason announced without any preamble.
“The baseball bat’s in the hall closet,” his mom said as she continued to fold clothes.
“But mommmm,” Jason whined.
“Son,” Jason’s dad interrupted, “We’ve talked about this. It’s time you start killing your own clowns.”