I was a deranged clown at Six Flags Fright Fest

Six Flags Magic Mountain let me turn my twisted fantasies into reality when I got to dress up like a deranged clown at Fright Fest Extreme and torment anyone who dared step foot inside the City Under Siege scare zone.

Magic Mountain gave me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity last week to suit up as a clown and work for a few hours terrorizing visitors during the Valencia amusement park’s annual haunted event that runs on select nights through Nov. 3.

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Clowns just seem to scare some people. Experts estimate about 1 in 100 children and 1 in 10 adults have a fear of clowns, according to WebMD. There is even a medical term for it: Coulrophobia.

The coulrophobics were easy to pick out when they walked into the clown-infested scare zone in the DC Universe themed area at Magic Mountain. I stuck to them like glue and didn’t let up until they fled to the carnival midway screaming in horror.

My evening started just after dark in the costuming department where I was fitted with a simple red t-shirt, sparkly MC Hammer baggy pants, a short-sleeve leather jacket and black-and-white striped gloves.

Magic Mountain makeup artists do about 500 latex facial applications every night of Fright Fest. My makeup artist, Bobbie, spent about 30 minutes transforming me into a clown.

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The first thing Bobbie did was apply a layer of glue to keep the latex mask in place on my face. Then came an airbrushed layer of clown white makeup followed by shadows in the wrinkles of my forehead and around my wicked smile. The final touches: A ruby red prosthetic nose and slime green hairspray.

I had to hold my breath and close my eyes during much of the process. In the darkness, I summoned my inner clown in preparation for my big night. I let out a sinister laugh whenever the airbrush tickled my nose.

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I waited until Bonnie was finished to look in the mirror — and couldn’t recognize myself in the reflection. I grimaced, grinned and cackled. I was one scary looking clown.

But before Magic Mountain let me out into the City Under Siege scare zone I needed a little training. Jinx — the king of the clowns — gave me a quick tutorial and some tips.

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The rules were simple. Don’t touch anybody. Keep an arm’s distance away. Don’t yell in anyone’s ears. Don’t chase after people. Stay in the scare zone. And stay out of the shops and roller coaster queues.

Jinx showed me how to scare high with a quick jab of my hand over someone’s head and scare low by crouching down as far I could go. I was armed with a plastic gasoline can filled with nuts and bolts for rattle scares.

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Jinx approved of my clown name — Zip — and recommended I refrain from speaking as much as possible. Stick to grunts, growls and snarls. And never say “Boo!” under any circumstances.

This wasn’t going to be my first time working in a theme park scare zone. Knott’s Scary Farm let me loose in Calico Ghost Town last year. And Universal’s Horror Nights armed me with a chainsaw a few years ago.

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I got my start working at a home haunt for more than a decade. I would hide in the bushes along the driveway with a chainsaw and a hockey mask and jump out for the final scare as trick-or-treaters left the haunted house. I followed the loudest screamers down the block until they took off running.

What I love about Halloween is the permission it grants you to play somebody else — if only for a night. Magic Mountain and other theme parks have turned Halloween into two months of terror — with visitors showing up in hopes of being scared.

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Clowning around at Magic Mountain let me play dress-up and gave me permission to make people jump out of their skin and scream in fear.

It was easy to spot the screamers in the crowd. They were the one’s clinging to their friends, jumping at every sound and running when any clown came near. I focused on them. And didn’t let up until they were begging for mercy and their friends were rolling with laughter.

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The trick was to separate the people with a target on their backs from the safety of the pack — and then keep them from returning to their friends and family.

One of my first successful scares of the night was with a guy I called Hopper. He seemed truly shocked to see me and just started screaming like a hyena. I stopped in my tracks and simply stared at him as the panic on his face intensified. I took one step toward him and he started hopping up and down like a kangaroo. I snarled at Hopper and he jumped and screamed in unison.

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A girl in a Gap sweatshirt started running as soon as she saw me. I slowly and methodically followed her wherever she went — always careful to stay between her and her friends. Every time she took refuge behind a planter, I thwarted her escape with a simple step to the left or the right. Whenever the Gap Girl breathlessly returned to her pack I would peek around a post at her and send her scurrying away again — only to start the dance once more.

A woman in a Kith sweatshirt bolted into a DC Comics gift shop for shelter after I rattled my gas can behind her. She begged her boyfriend to rescue her, but he only stood outside and laughed. I sat down in front of the exit and waited for Kith as she screamed inside the store and hid behind a clothes rack.

The best scare of the night came courtesy of a guy named Cassius. His friends gleefully told me his name so I could taunt him with it. Cassius dropped his refillable drink cup and spilled his soda all over the pavement at the mere sight of me. He fled into the queue of the Wonder Woman coaster as his buddies howled with delight. Later in the evening, Cassius came over to ask for a selfie with me — still shaking with fright.

I’ve never understood the fear of clowns, but I’ve always appreciated the power clowns have in a haunted house or scare zone. They are the alpha “scareactor” at any haunted event. And I was thrilled to finally play a deranged clown thanks to Magic Mountain.

My scare shift ended after about two hours in the City Under Siege scare zone.

Bonnie gently took off my latex mask and gave me tips on how to remove all the makeup and green hairspray.

My costume was soaking wet by the time I striped it off and hung up my MC Hammer pants after a long night of terror.

As the adrenaline wore off, I realized everything was sore. My back, knees, neck, forearms and hands from a night of stalking, crouching and rattling my gasoline can filled with nuts and bolts.

But it was a pain worthy of the opportunity of a lifetime. I’ll never forget my night of clowning. And neither will anyone who had the misfortune of running into me at Six Flags Fright Fest.