“Ummm, I don’t think this is such a good idea,” he whimpers like a dog complaining about not getting into the bath.
“Get over it. Stop being a wimp and jump,” I respond.
“Why would I wanna jump off a 65 foot cliff?!”
“Because it’s fun!! I would go first but I can’t trust you to jump if I’m already in the water!”
“Well maybe we should just go back to the lower one.”
“No! We didn’t walk all the way over here for no reason dude. We’re jumping. End of story.”
“Well I’m not jumping. End of story. But since you wanna go so badly, I’ll help you out a little bit,” he says as he moves closer to me cornering me against the edge of the cliff. He extends his arm into my chest and forces me off the cliff. I’m screaming back up at him as I’m falling, my arms flailing above me desperately trying to grab something. Noah’s dark figure gets smaller and smaller as I approach the rocky water below. With maybe 5 feet of water before the rocks, I am not going to survive this. I hit the water and blackout immediately. 
I wake up in a hospital bed, strapped in like I am in an insane asylum. Strapped in so tight that I can’t even turn my head to check the time, or better yet, the date. How long have I been here? When I was falling through the air I figured I would end up in a hospital bed, but I didn't expect to wake up. After about 30 minutes of waiting, someone finally comes into my room, but it isn’t my doctor. It is the last person I want to see. It is Noah, the ‘friend’ who pushed me off of a 65 foot cliff and put me in this bed.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I scream.
“Just finishing what I started,” he murmurs as he walks over to the big box that is keeping me alive. He grabs the cord and says, “Goodbye Oliver.” Before I know it I black out again.
I wake up confused, but in the middle of a ‘deja vu’ feeling. I know this has happened before. I have woken up here before. I sit up in my bed and a man in a suit sitting in the guest chair looks up from his book. “It’s nice of you to join me”.
“Wha- Who are you? What happened,” I mumble as I try to gather myself.
“I’m-”
“How long have I been out?” I interrupt.
“A long time. I’ve been coming here the last couple weeks because If you woke up then I wanted to be here.”
“Why? I don’t even know who you are. Why would you want to be here when I woke up?”
“Because I need your help.”
“With what? Who are you? Why am I waking up to you instead of my family? What the hell is going on?”
“I can answer your questions, but not here.” He stands up and walks towards me.
“What the hell are you doing? Get away from me!” I yell at him, sitting up in my bed and moving towards the back.
He drops a folded up piece of paper on my lap. “I hope to see you there.” After checking his tie in the mirror, he nods at me, and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
After he shuts the door, I wait a few seconds to make sure he isn’t coming back. Then I look at the paper. My fingers grasp the paper and start unfolding it. I pause, and tell myself that I’m not going to this place. Whoever this guy is, I’m not listening to him, and I’m damn sure not helping him.
When I finish opening the paper I read “38 King Street,” written in red pen. King Street, I know that street, but I can’t remember what I know it from. I tell myself to not think about it. I crumple it up and throw it into the trash bin on the far side of the room.
All of the sudden the door swings open and the first thing I see are two big red clown shoes stepping into my room. My eyes scan upwards and I see the baggy blue, green, and yellow checkered pants, the matching vest and bowtie, and the polka dotted overcoat. His face is painted white and his nose is hanging on by a single strand of glue, the wig is tattered and has clearly seen a lot of action. The look on his face is the most disturbing part of it, so far. He is giving me that “I just did something awful but it’s not nearly as bad as what I’m about to do to you” look.
I sit up in my bed once again, gripping the button on the side that calls a doctor to your room, but I don’t press it yet. “Who are you?” I ask. No response. He stands there staring, silently. His arm starts moving out from behind the door, and he is holding something. Once his arm is completely visible, I realize he is holding a baseball bat. I immediately squeeze my hand and press the button, but the beep that is supposed to occur never happens. And he finally speaks.
“That isn’t going to help you, boy.”
“Who the hell are you? Get out of my room!” I yell at him. He just laughs, and doesn’t say a word. But he starts moving towards me. I look left and right for something to throw at him. The best thing within sight is the ice container. Plastic. Four pounds at most. Not nearly enough to even put up a fight against his Louisville Slugger.
He laughs again, looks down at his bat, looks back at me, and says, “Wow this generation is dumb.”
I decide to use the container as a shield rather than throw it like I originally planned. By now I am standing on the opposite side of the bed from him, holding the container out in front of me with both hands. I peek over at the door but as soon as I do that he runs over between the door and I. The next option is the window, but I’m on the third floor.
“Ain’t no running from me,” he says, cackling.
The door bursts open once again, and we both look over to see who it is. It’s the guy who was in my room earlier, and I am surprisingly glad to see him. He has a pole, and judging by the look on his face, he is on my side. He is staring at the clown like the evil jokester just attacked his family. He begins to raise the pole. With this man distracting the clown, I have a chance to look around for a way out of this room.  The window and the door, that’s it. The door is blocked by the two crazy men in my room, who have begun using their weapons on one another. The clown seems to be winning. Not good for me. I need to get out of here. At this point the window may have to suffice, even though I am on the top floor. I open the window and stick my head outside and realize how stupid I am. The wing of the hospital that I’m in is newly added, and as a result is only about 10 feet above the roof of the wing next to it. Before jumping I look behind me to see the clown standing over a limp body, his bat covered in blood. I don’t waste anymore time, putting both of my legs out of the window while still holding onto the windowsill.
Once I have managed to escape seemingly unnoticed, and get to the ground after a sequence of risky jumps, I realize that I need to figure out what the hell is going on. I need to get to King Street. The bike rack next to the entrance seems like the best idea, and the hospital will forgive me for stealing a bike considering what I have just been through. I find a bike that isn’t locked onto the rack and realize that I don’t know how to get to King Street.
“Hey, Sir?” I shout towards a man walking into the hospital. He looks at me like I’m a ghost and speeds up through the door. It is then that I realize I am still wearing a hospital gown, and I don’t exactly look all that healthy after falling 65 feet into rocks. Asking someone isn’t going to work. “King Street. King Street. King Street,” I say outloud to myself, trying to jog my memory. “Ahhhhh, King Street, Clowns, Random guy in a suit, King Street, ughhhh.”
“Did you just say King Street?” a teenage boy leaving the hospital asks.
“Yes...Why? Can you tell me how to get there?”
“I mean I can, but I don’t know who in their right mind would want to go to King Street.”
“Why not?” I question nervously. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
“Well you know the McDonald’s over there?”
“Yeah, what about it?” Now I remember where I know 38 King Street from. Noah worked at that McDonald’s.
“All the workers went crazy, like, CRAZY. A few days ago they all showed up at their boss's house dressed as clowns demanding a raise. They killed him. And now they’ve been wreaking havoc on the whole town. They’re attacking people, flipping over cars, burning down houses. You name it, they’ve done it. It’s awful man, and it’s all centered around that Mickey D’s on King Street, so I wouldn’t go there if I were you dude.”
“Well if they’re all over there on King street, then why don’t the cops go and take ‘em out?”
“That’s the thing, they aren’t still there. We don’t know where they are. People have gone over to that McDonald’s, to investigate, but,” he paused. He was choked up.
“But what?”
“But...they didn’t make it,” he spits through his teeth in disgust, holding back tears. “Just don’t go over there man,” he storms off.
Regardless of what he said, I have to find out more of what is happening. I have to go to King Street. By now my memory has been jogged. I had to take Noah to work a few times when his car was in the shop. It is less than a 30 minute bike ride from here. So I kick up the kickstand and set off to King Street.
After about 20 minutes of people giving me the dirtiest looks, I see the green road sign that reads “King Street”. I get off of the bike and decide to walk the rest of the way. I get to a tree at the intersection of King Street and Route 189, and peer down the road. It is completely deserted, not a single person, car, or clown in sight. So I figure that I can walk down towards the McDonald’s. I am wrong. As soon as I step foot on the asphalt, a fist collides with my jaw out of nowhere. I fall to the ground, and am kicked as soon as I get there. I turn to see who is attacking me, and it is yet another clown. A blow to the forehead knocks me out.
I wake up screaming, sweating. I am in agony.
“Hi! It’s about time you woke up!” a doctor replies to my yelps.
“Wha- Where’s the clown?”
“Clown? Yeah sorry about that. Your TV has been stuck on this for the last few days,” he says gesturing to the room’s television where an image of Ronald McDonald is staring down at me.