The Nameless Clown

It’s around 8 PM. You’re cooking something to eat, having another late dinner because you couldn’t help it. The kitchen knife rests on the cutting board as a sudden knock echoes through the quiet house. You pause, then walk toward the front door. Normally you’d check through the peephole first, but for some reason tonight you don’t. Your hand turns the knob and the door slowly creaks open.
Standing on the doorstep is a short boy, barely reaching your chest. He wears a bizarrely colorful outfit. But what truly stops you cold is his face. Deathly pale skin. Pitch-black eyes that seem to stare straight into your soul. Your head move left, and right. Not sure what you try to find, but there’s no circus in town. The nearest one is over 8 kilometers away.