The darkness envelops you, leaving you to the horror of your own mind.

You imagine a clown. How clichéd, you try to tell yourself. Its grin is plastered to its face. Long, grimy claws prick your skin. Your breathing fastens, and then hitches as you imagine the claws piercing through your back, and protruding out your front. You won’t die instantly, a few minutes of suffering is first. Pain spikes through you. But you know that it’s your own imagination, this isn’t really happening. So why is your chest wet?

A laugh fills the room. It isn’t yours.