When I was 10 I watched at a friend’s birthday sleepover. That night I feared every rustle or hum of the house was the psycho clown making a move to strangle me. Would anyone hear me scream? Would I be able to fend him off? Should I wake the others? I lay frozen, heart pounding and breathing in shallow bursts, fervently wishing I had devoted more time to acrobatics than books so I could deftly
