Smile for Me: Terrifying Clown Horror at the Merriweather Carnival (True Story)

Lena had never believed in curses, especially not ones whispered around carnival ruins. But when her cousin Jamie dared her to explore the old Merriweather Carnival Grounds, she couldn’t say no. Everyone in town avoided it, especially after the fire in 1986. The place had been abandoned ever since—rotting tents, rusted rides, and the crumbling remains of the clown-themed funhouse still standing like a decaying skeleton in the woods.

They parked the car a few hundred feet from the treeline. Lena adjusted her flashlight and zipped up her hoodie. The air was thick, unnaturally still. Jamie joked nervously as they walked through the overgrown path. “Heard the clown still lives there,” he said, nudging her. “Waiting for new guests.”

The joke didn’t land. Lena didn’t laugh. Something about this place felt… wrong. Even before they reached the gates, she could smell old smoke and metal. A tattered red-and-white banner still hung from a collapsed arch: “WELCOME TO THE MERRIWEATHER MIRACLE CARNIVAL!” The word “miracle” had faded into a dull stain.

They passed rusting rides: a crooked Ferris wheel, a carousel with horses missing their eyes, a popcorn cart full of dirt and spider webs. But it was the funhouse that drew them in — its facade was a giant clown’s face, its wide mouth serving as the entrance. One of the eyes had shattered. The other glinted red in their flashlight beam.

Lena hesitated. Jamie had already stepped inside. She followed, the smell of mold and something sickly sweet hitting her instantly. The air was damp and cold, like a crypt. Mirrors lined the first hallway, many cracked or warped. Their reflections moved strangely, lagging behind like echoes.

Jamie laughed. “This place is awesome!” He spun in a circle, arms out, his reflection multiplying around him. But Lena wasn’t looking at Jamie. She stared at one particular mirror where a figure stood — a clown in faded yellow and blue, its red smile painted too wide. It wasn’t Jamie. And it wasn’t her.

She turned around. Nothing was there. When she looked back at the mirror, the clown was gone. “Jamie…” she said quietly. He didn’t notice. He kept walking. She hurried after him, her flashlight flickering once, then stabilizing.

The next room had carnival music playing — distant and distorted like it was underwater. An old speaker in the corner crackled. A mechanical puppet band jerked to life on a stage: clowns with banjos, eyes rolling in their sockets. Their mouths moved but made no sound. Jamie clapped. “Creepy as hell. Love it!”

Lena was about to say something when the power surged — every light blinked, then dimmed to blood red. The music slowed to a crawl. She turned toward Jamie. He was gone.

“Jamie?” Her voice was small, swallowed by the funhouse. The hallway was empty. She ran forward, calling again. Only her echo responded — or so she thought — until she heard a second voice mimic hers: “Jaaaamieee?”

She froze. That wasn’t her voice. It was deeper. Guttural. Like someone mocking her from inside a throat full of water. Her flashlight died. She slammed it against her palm. Nothing. When she lifted her head, dim emergency lights blinked on along the ceiling. And standing at the end of the hallway… was the clown.

It didn’t move. It just stood there. Its costume was old and dirty, stitched with red thread. The face paint was peeling. But its eyes gleamed — black and hungry. It raised one gloved hand and waved… slowly. Deliberately. Like it had been waiting.

Lena turned and bolted. She ran through twisting halls, past flickering mirrors and decaying decorations. The hallways felt endless. Wrong. Like the funhouse was growing. Changing. Behind her, she could hear the soft squeak of clown shoes… following her.

She burst into a room with circus props and fell to her knees. A tall closet stood against the wall. She climbed in, pulling the door shut just as footsteps entered. The clown’s footsteps. Slow. Patient. Like it knew she was near.

Through the wooden slats of the closet, she saw the clown stop in the center of the room. It tilted its head. The sound it made was somewhere between a giggle and a death rattle. Then, it turned to a pile of mannequins in the corner — and pulled a limp body from underneath. Jamie.

He was unconscious. Or worse. The clown dragged him like a ragdoll. Lena covered her mouth to keep from screaming. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The clown whispered something to Jamie’s body, pressing its cracked red lips to his ear.

Then it turned toward the closet. Directly. Lena’s blood went cold. She was sure it couldn’t see her. But it smiled. That same wide, painted grin. It raised a hand and made a shushing gesture. Then, just as quickly, it vanished — leaving Jamie behind.

Lena burst out of the closet and crawled to Jamie. He groaned. He was alive, dazed, his shirt stained with something sticky. “We need to go,” she whispered. He nodded weakly.

Dragging Jamie over her shoulder, Lena retraced their path. The mirrors were different now — they showed only the clown. Every mirror, every surface. Its grin. Its eyes. Watching them from all directions. She avoided looking, heart pounding.

They found the exit — the gaping mouth they had entered through. The teeth now looked jagged, like they’d grown fangs. She didn’t care. She pulled Jamie through. Outside, the air was sharp and cold. But the nightmare wasn’t over.

As they reached the car, Lena looked back. The funhouse lights were on. Music played again. And in the balcony above the clown’s mouth, it stood — waving with both hands now. Its smile stretched across its entire face.

They sped off into the night. Neither spoke for a long time. Jamie trembled silently. Lena stared ahead, trying to make sense of what they’d seen. The clown wasn’t human. It wasn’t part of the carnival.

Later that night, back at her apartment, Lena went to shower. When she returned, she found Jamie asleep on the couch — the TV flickering static. She reached to turn it off. But before she touched the remote, the screen went black. Then a clown face filled it. Smiling.

She screamed. Jamie jolted awake. But when he looked, the screen was normal — a news broadcast. “I saw it,” Lena whispered. “It followed us.”

Over the next few days, things got worse. Lena heard laughing at night. Balloons appeared outside her window. Red footprints in her hallway. Jamie started speaking in his sleep — nonsense at first, then clearer: “Big shoes. Red smile. He lives in the glass…”

On the third night, Lena woke up to a whisper in her ear. She turned on the light. Jamie was standing over her, smiling too wide, eyes completely black. “He said you’re next,” he said in a voice that wasn’t his.

Lena screamed and backed away. Jamie collapsed, convulsing. She called an ambulance. They said it was a seizure. But in the hospital, Jamie wouldn’t stop laughing. Doctors sedated him. His last words before they put him under chilled her to the bone: “He fits you. You’ll look beautiful with the smile.”

Lena locked herself in her apartment. She covered all mirrors. She smashed her TV. But it didn’t matter. The clown didn’t need glass to reach her now. It had her scent. Her fear. Every time she blinked, she saw its shadow.

On the seventh night, Lena vanished. Her door was locked from the inside. No sign of struggle. Just one thing left behind — a balloon tied to her bedpost with a note written in red ink: “Smile for me.”

To this day, no one goes near the Merriweather Carnival Grounds. But some say… if you stand near the funhouse at midnight… and listen carefully… You’ll hear giggling. And see a woman’s face — not painted, but peeled into a permanent grin — staring at you from the mirrors inside.