Because the clown wasn’t thinking—I can’t see the nightmares the clown most definitely summoned up, the nightmares blocking its weakness from view. All I can see are the pink threads connecting the kids to the clown.
For once, being left out was a good thing.
“Cover me,” I say.
As the kids turn their attention to chasing after Deshaun, I run after them.
And, one by one, I snatch the threads stretching from the back of their heads to the clown’s clawed fingertips.
First, the girl with pigtails: The moment my hand latches onto the sticky pink thread, terrible images shoot through my mind. The girl—Eliza—cowering on her bed while spiders scurry around in the shadows, wrapping her in a tight web and scuttling across her arms and legs and lips.
Then the thread snaps, and when it does, she collapses to her knees. I don’t have time to question if she’s okay. I run toward the next boy, the redheaded twin Kevin.
When I grab his thread, I see him trapped in a closet, while outside, skeletons slam their bony fists on the wooden slats, and he watches between the cracks, terrified, waiting for someone to save him.
He falls to his knees too, but when he does, his sister, Kerrie, turns, her blue eyes widening as she realizes what I’m doing. She lets out a terrible howl—and I race around her, grabbing the cotton candy thread.
In her nightmare, she runs through a dark forest, fleeing from bats that swoop and swarm, the gnarled trees around her drooping with their heavy, winged bodies.
She falls to the ground, but now I’m discovered.
Jeremy’s younger brother turns from Deshaun and starts to chase me.
I dart under his outstretched arms and grab his thread—
—and am in a pit, buried under a pile of scratching, heaving rats. They suffocate me, their tails poking into my nostrils, their tiny teeth biting my skin—
and he falls to his knees.
One more to go.
But wait, where’s … ?
Arms clamp around me, binding me tight. I kick and scream and struggle, but Jeremy has me locked to his chest, his arms squeezing. Stars explode across my vision. In the distance, I see Andres and the others running toward me. But they’re fading, fading …
My only thought before darkness closes in is the hope that, if I die, they’ll still manage to escape.
“April!” I call out.
I watch in horror as her eyes flutter closed, as the mind-controlled Jeremy squeezes her tight, suffocating her. She gasps in fear. I don’t think she inhales.
I try to run forward, try to help her, but the ground beneath all our feet has become quicksand. The more I try to move, the deeper I sink. Already it’s up to my ankles, and Deshaun is up to his knees. The only bright side is that—with every thread severed—the other nightmares disappeared. The other kids are still crumpled on the ground, hopefully asleep and not hurt.
It’s just us and Jeremy and his quicksand.
And, towering behind all of it like a monstrous puppeteer, the clown. It glares down at us, angered at Deshaun’s quick thinking. But it wasn’t quick enough.
“I’m done playing,” Jeremy growls. His voice isn’t his own—it vibrates with the clown’s anger. I struggle. We all sink deeper. “This one has always been troublesome. I think I’ll kill her first.”
Jeremy squeezes harder. April calls out.
“No!” we all yell at the same time. Jeremy just laughs.
“This isn’t you, Jeremy!” I call out. “Come on, I know you’re in there. You can’t let your fears overtake you. You’re a good guy. You’d never do this.”
“That won’t work,” Jeremy replies with the clown’s voice. But I catch it—the slight fear, the slight twitch in Jeremy’s face when he heard my voice.
“Yes, it will,” I continue. “I know Jeremy. He’s a good guy, and he’d never hurt anyone. He’s my friend. He knows we’re here for him.”
“You don’t know his fear,” the clown says.
It’s from the clown’s lips this time.
Before us, Jeremy still holds April tight. But the blue blaze in his eyes is dimming.
“That’s not important,” I say. “Everyone’s afraid of something. Those fears don’t define who we are. What matters is how we face them. And I know Jeremy. He’s strong. He’ll never stop fighting. And he’ll never lose to a monster like you!”
The clown howls with rage, and not just at my statement.
Jeremy’s arms twitch.
Loosen.
April collapses to the ground in front of him.
Jeremy reaches up behind himself and grabs the thread on the back of his head.
It snaps.
The blue in his eyes blinks out, and he falls to the ground.
As the clown yells out, the quicksand around us disappears. We stand on solid ground. The moment I can, I run forward, toward April, the others at my side.
She’s breathing.
Thank goodness, April is still breathing. We gather around her, kneeling at her side. Jeremy is unconscious on the ground, but April’s eyes flutter open the moment we near.
“What happened?” April asks.
She pushes herself to sitting, and I help her the rest of the way.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. Come on.”
Deshaun loops her arm around his neck and helps her stand.
Because this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The clown is no longer howling, but it still towers above us. Its eyes burn, but the light is frantic. It looks like a cornered dog. I know that’s when dogs are at their most dangerous.
“You horrible children,” the clown growls. “I’ll make all of you pay. I’ll make each of you suffer.”
“No,” I call out. “We’ve already suffered. And you know what? We’re still here. We’re still fighting. We’ll always fight. You know why? Because we have friends in our life. We have love. And you? All you have is fear.”
“But fear is what makes you,” the clown growls. “Fear is the worst thing in the world. You should be ashamed of your fear. You should feel horrible.”
“No,” Kyle says. “Fear is just an emotion. But it only hurts if we face it alone. We have each other. You can’t hurt us. You’re nothing. Because every time we face our fear, we become stronger. You thought that meant you could make stronger fears, but you were wrong. The stronger we become, the less room we have for fear.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You wanted me to feel like my mother’s death was my fault. You wanted me to feel ashamed of that fear. But I’m not ashamed—I loved my mother, and I know her death wasn’t my doing. You won’t shame us anymore for being afraid.”
The clown begins to shrink. This time, though, I know it’s no trick. The clown’s eyes are wide.
“You wanted me to fear that my friends were moving on without me,” April gasps. “But even though friendships change, the love between us remains, no matter how far apart we are.”
“You wanted me to feel helpless,” Deshaun says. “But I know I don’t always have to have the answers. Sometimes, just existing in someone’s life is help enough.”
“You wanted me to think Kyle didn’t like me,” Andres says, taking Kyle’s hand. “But you’ve only proven the lengths we’ll go to for each other.”
“And you,” Kyle growls. He steps forward until he’s only a few feet from the clown, just within reach. But he doesn’t seem afraid. Even as the clown shifts and twists. Even as the clown becomes the perfect image of his father. “You wanted me to think I was like my father. You wanted me to believe every horrible thing he ever said to me. But I know better. I’m a good person. And unlike you, I have friends. Unlike you, I deserve love.”
“But, Kyle—” the clown begins.
Kyle cuts him off. “No,” he says. “I’m tired of your lies. You are nothing, you hear me? All you have in your life is fear. And that fear can’t touch us. Not anymore.”
And he turns his back on the clown.
&
nbsp; The clown growls angrily. The image of Kyle’s dad disappears, replaced with a horrible version of the clown—razor-sharp claws and long needle teeth, burning eyes and a snakelike tongue. It lashes out, scratches toward Kyle’s back, and I have just enough time to scream—
I feel it.
The gust of air.
But the clown’s claw doesn’t connect.
I watch it in the mirror in front of me. Watch as the clown rages and tries to slash at me.
But it can’t hurt me. It can’t touch me. Ever again.
I’ve done more than faced my fear—I’ve admitted my deepest shame: that my father had hurt me, that he had made me believe I wasn’t worth love or friendship, that I was just like him. But in admitting that, in still having the love of my friends, I’ve made myself untouchable by fear.
No matter how hard the clown tries, no matter how long its fangs or talons, it can’t leave a scratch.
I don’t have to say anything. One by one, my friends turn around. Turn their backs on the clown. Turn their backs on fear.
The effect on the clown is instantaneous.
It wails, flicking between shapes, trying to find something—anything—to scare us. It becomes a zombie, a demon, a giant spider, an enormous blue snake. We watch it in the mirror, holding hands, as it becomes more and more terrifying, as it plays to all our fears and more.
But none of us turn around. None of us cower. None of us let fear, or shame over having fear, take us over again.
It summons other fears. Bats swarm around it, mummies rise from the ground, snakes and rats and centipedes writhe at its feet.
Still, we stay strong.
It’s okay to feel afraid now and again, I tell myself. That fear doesn’t define who you are. Love does.
I squeeze Andres’s and April’s hands. I let myself smile. Showing them that I care. That I’m here. And that I know they’re here for me too.
“It must be terrible,” I tell the clown’s reflection, “to only have fear in your heart. You think you were scaring us, that it made you powerful, but we know the truth. You’re scared yourself. You filled your life with fear. And that made you afraid. More afraid than we’ll ever be. Our fear doesn’t define us, but that’s because we have love. We’ve faced our fear and shame. But you can’t do that. All you have is fear. I feel sorry for you, clown. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so afraid.”
Something happens then.
The clown stops flickering between shapes. Stops summoning monstrous nightmares. Though the nightmares don’t fade, even as the clown changes.
The clown becomes the clown again—the original clown, the one that haunted our lives two years ago.
Only this time, the clown is the one that is afraid.
“No,” it says. “No, you can’t do this.”
“We’re not doing anything,” I say. “You did this to yourself. And now, you have to face it.”
“You’re supposed to fear me!” the clown howls.
I laugh.
“Fear you? How can we fear you when you’re scared of yourself?”
And in the reflection, the clown starts to back away. Not from us, but from the horrible creatures it summoned.
The horrible nightmares that turn on their former master.
The clown howls in fear as it backs away from them. It turns and runs—only to slam into a mirror.
I do turn around then. The clown is no longer in the center of the room. And the room is no longer ringed with mirrors. Just shadowed darkness and a single mirror in front of us.
The mirror holding the clown.
I have an idea.
“Come on,” I tell my friends. “Let’s go. There’s nothing to be scared of anymore.”
“How?” Andres asks.
I reach down and take off my shoe. I look to Andres and wink.
“I may not be good at balloon darts, and I didn’t win you that giraffe. But I’ll win you this. It’s the least I can do.”
I chuck my shoe at the mirror.
Glass shatters. The mirror explodes outward, the shards shooting in all directions. But before it can hit us, it freezes. Pauses. In the shimmering pieces of glass I can see it—the clown, trapped in its own nightmare, terrorized by its own fears. Then the glass shoots back in, sucked in like an implosion.
Light flashes.
My ears fill with the sound of shattering glass.
I take Andres’s hand once more.
I don’t let go.
“What do you think?” I ask my friends after school. “Should we watch a scary movie tonight?”
Andres groans. “Who would have thought that you would become such a horror fan.”
Kyle just chuckles.
I shrug. “Not much scares me anymore,” I reply.
Deshaun rolls his eyes. “That’s why I love you,” he says, and kisses me on the cheek.
It’s Friday. A week after we defeated the clown at its own game. A week after Kyle reinforced what I’d always hoped was true—and feared wasn’t: that we were a team. A family. And we were always going to be there for each other.
We’d each gone back to our own families that night, and the story was the same each time. We got back to find our parents and siblings sound asleep in their beds. When they woke up the next morning, they didn’t remember a thing. There wasn’t even anything to remind them—the moment our vision cleared, we were back on the hill in the graveyard.
The clown’s grave was no more.
The amusement park had vanished without a trace. Which just made me wonder if that too had been the clown’s creation.
Even the streets had been cleared. No more haphazardly parked cars or signs of panic.
Life returned to normal.
Well, a new normal.
“You sure you don’t want to have the sleepover at my house?” Caroline asks. “Dad’s been begging me to have you guys over again. He feels bad about the whole rat thing.”
Okay, so most signs of the clown had disappeared. Caroline’s dad still remembered seeing the rat. But hey—maybe it was a real rat, after all.
“Nah,” I say. “Let’s go to my house. Mom already ordered pizzas.”
“I’m in!” Andres says.
We start walking to my house, passing by Jeremy, who gives Andres a wave.
After the clown disappeared, Jeremy and his group had also woken up in their beds, unable to remember anything that happened. None of us tried to remind them.
“What do you think happened to the clown?” Deshaun asks.
“Dunno,” Kyle replies. “I think it just … vanished.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It can’t hurt us anymore. Not while we’re together.”
“And we’ll always be together,” Deshaun says. “Even as we get older and things change. We’ll always be there for each other.”
I nod, hope and love filling my chest.
As we make our way to my house, I know deep down that soon Kyle and Deshaun will graduate. We’ll go to different colleges in different states. Our lives and our relationships will change.
Once, that would have scared me. But now, all I can feel is optimism.
Change isn’t scary. Fear isn’t forever.
The clown is gone. Our town is safe.
And even though I know, at some point, I’ll feel sadness or fear or pain again, I’m not scared of it, not like I was before.
Our friendship has seen us through sharks and ghosts and killer clowns. It can last through anything, even something as mundane as college.
“Hey, look,” Kyle says. He pauses and reaches down into the grass.
And picks up a tiny garter snake.
“No way,” Andres says.
Kyle holds the snake up to his face. The thing is the size of an earthworm.
“I can’t believe I ever let these scare me,” Kyle says. Then he chuckles. “But I also can’t see why my dad was obsessed with them. I think he thought they were scary. But they aren’t, are they?” He
holds it out to Deshaun. “Kinda cute, huh? Think your parents would let us keep him?”
“Not in a million years,” Deshaun says with a laugh.
Kyle smiles and gently places the snake back in the grass. We keep walking.
Toward my house. Toward another night of bad movies and great junk food. I know we don’t have many of those nights left.
Everything changes.
And for once, I’m actually pretty excited about it.
It’s rare for me to remember the precise place a book was born, but this one was created on a bus in Iceland, heading toward the airport and a new phase of life. And all the fears that go along with big changes. So my first and dearest thanks goes to Jana Haussmann, for all her support, and for her well-timed news on that Icelandic bus that The Fear Zone 2 was going to be brought into the world. I owe so much to her and the entire Scholastic Book Fairs team—their hard work and passion for these books has changed my life.
My deep thanks, too, to David Levithan, editor-extraordinaire, for continually pushing me and these books to be their best versions. One day, you won’t have to remind me how much I overuse pet phrases—what a blood-chilling notion.
My thanks as well to my colleague and friend Will Taylor, for always providing a keen eye. And my family, for their continued love and support no matter where my path leads.
And finally, my thanks to you, dear readers, for joining me on this zany ride. The world can be a scary place, but hopefully, through these books, you’ve found some humor, some thrills, and the strength to face what comes.
K. R. Alexander is the pseudonym for author Alex R. Kahler.
As K. R., he writes creepy middle grade books for brave young readers. As Alex—his actual first name—he writes fantasy novels for adults and teens. In both cases, he loves writing fiction drawn from true life experiences. (But this book can’t be real … can it?) Alex has traveled the world collecting strange and fascinating tales, from the misty moors of Scotland to the humid jungles of Hawaii. He is always on the move, as he believes there is much more to life than what meets the eye.
You can learn more about his travels and books, including The Collector, The Collected, The Undrowned, The Fear Zone, and the books in the Scare Me series, on his website cursedlibrary.com. He looks forward to scaring you again … soon.
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