It was all meant as a birthday gift to Jake, my boyfriend. He had always been a big fan of escape rooms, and when I found The Clown Room on the internet, I knew it was the perfect gift for him. The website was a blast from the past, with neon fonts and pixelated gifs all over the place. It looked like it was designed by someone who hadn’t updated their website since the 90s, which only added to the allure. In the middle, there was a poem:

Welcome to The Clown Room,

Where laughter turns to doom.

Can you escape the jester’s grin,

Or will you meet your end within?

Beneath it, there was a form that allowed you to book the room. I thought it was a no-brainer and filled in all the required fields—my email, my full name, and my phone number—and pressed send. After that, nothing happened. No thank you message and no confirmation email. I thought it was a bit strange, but I assumed that maybe the website was just old and outdated and that the venue wasn’t around anymore. I put it out of my mind and didn’t think about it anymore, trying to find another gift for my boyfriend.

A few days later, I received a strange call from an unknown number. When I answered, all I could hear was static on the other end. I was about to hang up when I heard a faint whisper.

“The Clown Room awaits you,” the voice said, before hanging up.

The voice unsettled me, but I couldn’t deny that I was also impressed. It was as if the people behind The Clown Room were taking their immersive experience to the next level. I couldn’t wait to see what they had in store for us. Only a week later, perfect timing for Jake’s birthday, I received a brown envelope. It was addressed to me, and there was no return address or postage stamp. Curious, I opened it up and found a key inside that looked like an ordinary apartment key. Attached to it was a note with an address printed in all the colors of the rainbow. It looked like someone had drawn the letters in MS Paint. The note smelled awful, like a mixture of decay and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

A smile appeared on my face. This was it, I thought, the key to The Clown Room. I put the key and the note in my purse determined to surprise Jake by bringing him to the room without telling him what it was.

***

It wasn’t difficult to convince him to go with me to the mysterious address on the note. He was always up for a good adventure, and the fact that I was being secretive about it only made him more excited. As we made our way to the address, however, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. The area was run-down and filled with dilapidated buildings. We walked for what felt like miles until we finally came across a large, run-down residential building. By now the sun had already set. We walked up to the entrance of the building. I double-checked to see if this was the right place, and sure enough, the address on the note matched the one on the building. I hesitated for a moment before using the key to open the door. It smelled terrible inside, like a mixture of mold and mildew.

I didn’t know where to go from here, but I noticed a building directory on the wall. It was an old, yellowed piece of paper with names written in faded ink.

“Come on, Liz,” Jake said. “What are we doing here?”

He was growing a bit uneasy, which—if we could just find that room—was a good thing. I turned around with a sly smile and told to him wait.

Inspecting the directory on the wall, I noticed an old, faded clown sticker next to one of the names—Zeke Crenshaw. I immediately realized I had found the room, and according to the list, it was located on the sixth floor.

I walked up to the elevator, only to discover that it was out of service.

“We’ll have to take the stairs,” I said, my heart pounding as I led the way. The stairs were dimly lit, and the murals on the walls were peeling and covered in graffiti. I could hear dogs barking on one floor, and on another, a couple was arguing loudly. My unease grew with every step. By now, I had started having second thoughts. None of this seemed right, but I could see that Jake was getting excited and decided to ignore my gut feelings.

Finally, we reached the sixth floor, and there it was: Zeke Crenshaw’s apartment, with a large clown sticker on the door. I took a deep breath before using the key to open the lock.

“Seriously,” Jake said, “what is this?”

“Y-you will see,” I said.

“We aren’t buying drugs, are we?” He laughed.

My hand trembled as I inserted the key into the lock. The door creaked open, and we stepped into what turned out to be a small, cramped studio apartment. As soon as we entered, the door slammed shut behind us, and I heard a mechanical lock engage. I spun around, trying the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“We’re locked in,” I said, my voice shaky.

“O-okay?” said Jake and tried the door himself. “What—”

“Relax,” I said. “It’s an escape room!”

“Oh,” Jake said. “That’s what this is about?” He smiled.

“It’s called The Clown Room,” I said. “I found it online.”

“I don’t know,” he said, “it doesn’t look like—”

“Happy birthday!” I said, but it didn’t come out as enthusiastic as I wanted.

He smiled and kissed me. “Thanks, babe… This is— I don’t know what to say, it’s either genius or some kind of cheap scam. I mean, look at this place!”

He was right. This was nothing like I had imagined it. Aside from the lack of someone greeting us and explaining the rules, the room was decorated in a way that was more creepy than fun. The walls were dirty and painted white, and on one of the walls there were some black graffiti that read: “To escape this room, a price must be paid, a sacrifice made, a life to be slayed.”

The furniture was all colorful miniatures as if the room was designed for a child, and the floor was covered in broken, stained, and old toys. I noticed a toy phone with a clown face on top of the miniature desk and a small, worn teddy bear in the corner with its eyes ripped out. Worst of all, though, was the upside-down clown in the ceiling, sitting in a lotus position looking straight at us—that, and the fact that there were no windows.

As we continued to search for clues, a feeling of dread washed over us. The creepy atmosphere of the room was becoming more and more unsettling. I picked up the toy phone and tried to make a call, but all I heard was hysterical laughter coming from the receiver. It sent shivers down my spine.

Jake checked his phone, but it had mysteriously died. The same thing had happened to mine. We were completely cut off from the outside world, and at the realization of that panic began setting in.

“This is just a bunch of junk, Liz” Jake said. “I don’t see how—”

“Wait!” I said and pointed at the wall. “There’s something here.”

I had spotted a plastic, blue lock on the wall, hidden behind a pile of old toys. I approached it and examined it carefully. It seemed to require a plastic key.

“I think we need to find the key to this lock!” I said. “You see, there’s definitely going to be a way out of here. We just need to focus.”

We began searching for the key, turning over every toy, searching through every nook and cranny, and inspecting every piece of furniture. But our search was fruitless. The only thing we found was a strange handheld game console that looked to have come straight out of the Soviet Union, with a childish and colorful game installed on it called The Snorbees. The purpose of the game was to find keys that would unlock different doors.

As Jake was trying to figure out how to beat the game, hoping that it could possibly spit out the key we needed, I found something in the bathroom adjoining the small hallway. The clown-themed decorations in it were unsettling enough, but when I looked in the bathtub, I gasped in horror. It contained two mummified people, embracing each other.

“Jake!” I yelled out.

He ran up to me. “What? Holy shit! They aren’t real, are they?”

“I don’t know!” I said. “This isn’t fun anymore.” I went to the room and looked up at the clown in the ceiling. “Let us out of here! Do you hear me? It’s not fun anymore!”

Nothing happened.

“I think they’re real!” Jake shouted from the bathroom. He then ran to the front door and banged on it, begging for us to be released. I joined him, pounding on the door and screaming for help. But our efforts were in vain. The door remained firmly shut, as if mocking us.

Feeling helpless, we collapsed onto the colorful miniature sofa. I put my head in my hands and cried. Jake tried to comfort me but didn’t know what to say other than that we would find a way out. He then returned to the game and continued to play it, sweating profusely as he jumped between the platforms and tried to avoid the pitfalls and cute little enemies.

I went up to the phone again and picked up the receiver. “Let us the fuck out of here you piece of shit!”

The laughter on the other end grew louder as if it was more than a recording and someone actually sitting on the other end laughing.

“It’s not funny!”

It felt like I was losing my mind. I sat down on a small chair, my mind racing with thoughts of how we could escape. The game console in Jake’s hands was our only hope, and he played it with a feverish intensity, determined to find a way to beat it. As the hours went by, I lost track of time. My stomach grumbled with hunger, and my throat felt dry and parched. I tried the tap in the small, empty kitchen, but the water was turned off. It was the same in the bathroom.

There was nothing in this apartment except for the toys and the strange decorations. I tried the phone again, but it was still useless, the laughter on the other end a constant reminder of our captivity.

I wondered if anyone was searching for us, if anyone knew we were missing. But the more time that passed, the more hopeless I felt. It was as if we were completely forgotten, left to rot in this clown-themed prison.

As night fell, the room grew darker and colder. Jake and I huddled together for warmth, our spirits sinking with every passing moment. We whispered to each other, sharing our fears and doubts, but deep down we both knew that we might never make it out of here alive.

“Will we end up like those two people in the bathtub?” I asked. “They must’ve gone through the same thing, right? I’m so sorry I brought you here.”

“We don’t know that, those people could’ve been placed here,” Jake said. “And I think there’s a way out… I just have to finish that damn game. I just need to rest a little, and then—”

He was interrupted by a noise above us. We both looked up. Slowly, the clown sitting on the ceiling turned its neck toward us and began crawling in our direction. I let out a scream, and we both rushed up to our feet. Jake grabbed the nearest object he could find, a small plastic stool, and hurled it at the clown. I followed suit, throwing alphabet blocks at it.

The clown dodged the objects with ease, its movements quick and fluid. It seemed to be enjoying our fear, relishing in the power it had over us. As it got closer, we could see its face more clearly. It was painted white, with black lines around its eyes and mouth. Its grin was wide and twisted, its teeth sharp and jagged. And even though it moved just like a human being, there were no signs of humanity in its empty eyes.

We ran into the bathroom, only to realize that the door didn’t close properly and couldn’t be locked.

“What do we do?” I cried. “Jake, what do we do? I don’t want to die here!”

“Keep it distracted,” Jake said. “I’ll finish the game, and you just keep it from stopping me. Do whatever you can!”

I screamed at the clown, making it follow me instead, and ran around in circles. Jake sat down on the floor and continued to play. Chaos ensued. Jake screamed at the game in frustration, and the clown chased me around the room, its twisted grin never leaving its face.

Maybe after half an hour, Jake finally reached the end of the game.

“Fucking yes!” he yelled out. “I fucking did it, Liz, I beat the game!”

The clown stopped in its tracks, and to our surprise, it puked a green sludge down on the floor. And in its vomit, I could see a blue plastic key.

“The key!” I said and picked it up. “Finally!”

I ran to the lock in the wall and turned the key. At first, nothing happened, but then a small white hatch in the wall that we hadn’t spotted earlier slid open, revealing a hole the size of a soccer ball.

“What’s that?” Jake said.

We walked up to the hole. All we could see inside it was darkness. I reached down and picked up a colorful, plastic ball, and threw it down the hole. We could hear it fall down a shaft, but we never heard it reach the ground. The clown, now looking at us, let out a strange sigh of disappointment.

“What are we supposed to do?” I said. “There must be something—”

The toy phone rang. I felt a shiver crawling up my spine and slowly walked over to it, picked up the receiver, and held it against my ear. At first, I only heard static, but then a voice began whispering.

“One of you must stick your head inside, for the door to finally unlock and slide. Who will it be, who will it be, to take the risk and set you free?”

I froze, unsure of what to do. “It says one of us must put our head inside the hole for the door to unlock,” I said.

“What happens to the one with the head in the hole?” he asked.

“It didn’t say but look at the text on the wall. According to that, one of us will have to sacrifice—”

“Right,” Jake said. “Well, there’s no way in hell we’re doing that then.”

“Of course not,” I said. “We’ll find another way.”

We searched for hours, but with no luck. I could see the frustration and despair building up in Jake’s eyes. He looked defeated, broken, and lost. We both sat down on the cold floor, our backs against the wall. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly.

“It’s not fair,” Jake whispered, his voice breaking. “We had so many plans. We were supposed to travel the world, get married, have kids. I always wanted to be a father, you know?”

Tears streamed down his face, and I could feel his pain as if it was my own. We talked about our relationship, our hopes and dreams, our fears and regrets. It was a heartfelt conversation, filled with raw emotions and honesty.

“I love you,” I said, wiping away his tears. “We’ll get through this together.”

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice no more than a whisper.

We stayed there for what felt like hours, holding each other, talking, and crying. But eventually, we had to face reality. We had to make a decision, one that would determine our fate. I could see the fear in Jake’s eyes, but I also saw the determination.

“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’ll stick my head inside.”

“No, Jake,” I protested. “We’ll find another way. We’ll figure something out.”

“There’s no other way,” he said, his voice now firm. “We can’t stay here forever. We have to take a chance. I think this was how the other two died.”

I knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. I held him tightly, kissing him gently on the lips, and then I watched as he walked up to the hole. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then he stuck his head inside.

As soon as his head disappeared inside the hole, he screamed uninterrupted, guttural screams of terror. His body convulsed violently, and I could see the muscles in his neck bulging as he tried to pull his head back out. But it was too late. Something had a hold of him.

I tried to pull him back, but it was like he was glued to the hole. The clown danced behind us, singing Happy Birthday To You with a foul, diabolic voice. And then, while Jake was still screaming his lungs out, the front door whirled and opened up. The clown stopped singing and began counting down from ten.

Fear washed over me as I realized that I had to leave before the clown reached zero. I tried to pull Jake away one last time, but his head was completely stuck, and I knew there was no hope for him.

I cried violently as I ran out of the apartment, the door closing behind me with a loud bang. I stumbled down the staircase, my heart racing in my chest, and began banging on the neighbors’ doors, desperate for help. But no matter how hard I tried, not a single one of them opened their doors.

I eventually made it home and called the police, telling them everything that had happened. They were skeptical, but I pleaded with them to check it out. When we returned to the apartment, it was as if it had never existed. The door was gone, and the wall in its place was smooth as if it had been there for years. The police officers looked at me like I was crazy and refused to believe my story. They told me to stop wasting their time and left me standing there in disbelief.

I came back a few times by myself and tried to break the wall down, but no matter how much I banged on it with a sledgehammer or how deep I drilled into it, I could never reach the door.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Jake was still trapped somewhere behind that wall, even though it seemed impossible. Eventually, I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. And then, a year later on Jake’s birthday, a video was sent to my phone.

It was from an unknown number, and when I clicked play, my heart sank. It was a video of Jake, still stuck in the hole. He was naked, dirty, and fat. The clown was standing behind him, tickling him and laughing hysterically. Again, more devastated than I’d ever been before in my life, I went back to where the apartment had been. But the result was the same as before. The Clown Room is gone, but somehow, it’s still there at the same time. And I don’t know what to do.

X