Sherbet the burlesque clown ran for his life, chased by two blurry figures cackling in the night. There was little hope for escape, as his opaque makeup streamed down his face onto the pavement leaving a steady white trail behind him.
Suddenly the shadows become solid and gore down on his throat and wrists. One of them stops and furiously spits out Sherbet's hot blood. "Adrian, don't ingest its blood!" but it was too late for his friend. His nose blooms red and spherical, his hair frizzes bright orange whilst his feet rupture his leather shoes. He had become...a Were-Clown.
*Drabble: A short story that is exactly 100 words.