When Death’s clowns came for me, I felt like I had just stepped into a bad horror movie that no one will admit to being scared by. They wore all the classic clown attire: Bright, colorful clothes covered in huge dots and stripes. Shoes ten sizes too big. Creepy white smiles, and, of course, the big red noses. What set them apart from other clowns were the weapons. Collectively, they looked like they had just raided a medieval armory. They kicked in my front door and somersaulted across my Persian rug, laughing eerily, cheerily the whole way. I nearly fell off my chair.”What do you want?” I asked, but they just laughed and dragged me away.