This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Flashy-Experience181 on 2026-08-17 08:08:23+00:00.

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The story I’m about to tell you happened twelve years ago. I was ten years old that day, and I was going to have my birthday party.

My mom had been completely stressed out since morning. She kept saying that turning ten was an important milestone in my life and that she wanted me to never forget this birthday.

I just looked at her sadly and told her it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to come anyway.

I meant my dad.

Whenever something was important to me, he never came. Not to my school performance, not to my games, not even to my birthday parties.

But Mom told me I was wrong.

“Today would be different. Dad was really looking forward to it, and he apparently had some big surprise planned for me.”

Thanks to Mom’s excitement, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just this once, he really would come.

I remember absolutely everything about that day.

In the morning, the doorbell rang, and Mom ran to the door, humming to herself on the way.

“The decorations are here!”

She opened the door, and I could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Call my husband… please, I don’t know what I’m going to do… my life is in ruins…”

And then I heard Mom’s angry voice very clearly.

“Get out, and if I see you here again, I’m calling the police. Your miserable life and the fact that you’re useless are not our problem.”

She slammed the door.

When I asked her who it was, she told me not to worry about it. He wasn’t anyone important.

Later that morning, my grandma and grandpa arrived and gave me presents that they said I had to wait until the party to open. They had never missed a single day that was important to me, unlike my dad.

In the afternoon, we had pizza, and I watched TV with Grandpa while Mom and Grandma prepared the party.

It was beautiful. There were blue balloons everywhere, in all different shades. I didn’t even know there were so many shades of blue.

On the table was a huge cake decorated with Spider-Man, because he was my favorite superhero.

As more people arrived, the pile of presents on the floor kept getting bigger. Caterers my mom had hired walked around offering us all kinds of delicious food.

I looked at my watch. It was exactly 5:00 p.m., the beginning of my party.

And then the doorbell rang.

“Dad!” I shouted and ran to the door.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t Dad standing there.

It was a clown.

A clown with a life-sized clown puppet standing beside him.

“Hi, Timmy! Your dad asked me to come wish you a happy birthday and make your party something you’ll never forget.”

I lowered my eyes and said sadly, “I thought Dad was going to come this time.”

The clown moved the hand he had buried inside the back of his puppet, and the puppet leaned toward me and whispered:

“You know what, Timmy? My dad always promised me he’d come too, and he never kept his promises. And do you know what I told myself the last time he promised he’d come and I believed him?”

I looked at him and simply shook my head.

The puppet leaned even closer.

“I told myself: Fuck him.”

I burst out laughing and quickly turned around to see if anyone had heard us. Luckily, they hadn’t. If Mom had heard that, I would have been in serious trouble.

Mom appeared behind me, moved me aside, and started talking to the clown.

Meanwhile, my phone beeped. My parents had gotten it for me so they wouldn’t have to worry about me, they said.

I looked at the screen, opened the message, and it said:

“I’m really sorry I can’t come, Timmy. I love you very much. Dad.”

I frowned at the screen and muttered, “Fuck you.”

Mom finished talking to the clown and invited him inside.

He put his puppet down, went back to his car to get a few more things, and then his show began.

First, he set up two poles with a red curtain between them, and the whole thing looked like a little theater stage.

The clown pretended to be mute, but he spoke for his puppet.

It was amazing. The adults and children were rolling around laughing. And whenever they weren’t laughing, they were watching the clown’s various tricks, completely captivated.

When the show was over, the clown said goodbye, and the curtain was drawn closed again, so we all gathered around the cake.

I blew out the candles.

Back then, I wished that a spider would bite me so I could become like my beloved superhero.

Then it was time to open the presents.

The party was slowly coming to an end when Mom noticed that the curtain was still standing there.

“Does anyone know where the clown is?”

Her best friend was standing right next to her.

Together, they pulled the curtain aside.

There was only the clown puppet.

Mom laughed.

“Well, let’s see what a handsome guy you really are.”

She removed the mask.

And then all I remember is screaming.

Screaming, chaos, and the adults immediately carrying all of us children outside, repeatedly telling us not to turn around.

But I did.

I looked back toward where my mom was screaming like a madwoman and saw the puppet.

The mask was gone.

And underneath it was my father’s face.

My dad was killed that day by a man named Josh because he had fired him from his job. Apparently, Josh didn’t know what to do. He was desperate and consumed by anger, and my dad had been talking about my birthday party for about a month.

Josh was sentenced to life in prison.

My mom never recovered from what happened. She’s still in a psychiatric hospital to this day.

I live with my grandparents. Whenever we go to visit Mom, I hope that she’ll get better, but she always says the same thing:

“Today is your birthday, Timmy. Daddy is coming, and it’s going to be the best day of our lives.”

The only thing that has always bothered me, and probably always will, is this:

Who sent me that text message?