It’s the dead of night on a chilly October evening.

You drive down a deserted street in Wasco, California — the isolation of it all sending shivers up your spine.

Then you see him: a white mask, unruly bright-red hair, eyes like black pools of death staring coldly at you. His yellow jumpsuit shines with light from the only lamp nearby, the multicolored balloons he holds floating lazily above his creepy face. MORE