I thought Westwood Elementary was just another abandoned school—perfect for my urban exploration channel. But in a hidden crawlspace, I found something I was never meant to see. A clown doll, its porcelain face cracked, its metal crank rusted with age. When I touched it, it laughed—and that’s when the deaths started. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t leave me alone. Even fire couldn’t destroy it. Desperate, I sold it to a collector. Thought I was free. Thought it was over. But then, a week later, the collector disappeared—and a familiar listing appeared online. Now it’s looking for someone new.