The title graphic
was sent to me by Mark
Schey and is titled, "When Clowns Go Bad" - so thanks
go out to him for this cool piece.
These stories are great. They tell the tales of people around
the world who have a sort of fear towards the stark-white
painted ones - If you have a story that needs to be told,
write to me and
I will try to put it up here so other people can see that
they are not alone. Besides, some of these are funny as
HELL!! (They are in there -- keep looking)
recently split up this section into pages with ten stories
apiece... this should make the download a little easier
and people will be able to tell where they left off while
reading. The most current stories will reside in the 'current'
page, with the oldest stories residing on page '1'.
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like all other sane individuals, had an intense fear/loathing
of clowns, but it was cemented beyond the reach of therapy
a few years ago. I was walking with some friends at an outdoor
mall in Los Angeles called the 3rd Street Promenade, one
late September night at about 11:30PM, when I saw, down
the sidewalk, 3 Killer Clowns from Outer Space. I kid you
not, these freaks were PRECISE replicas of those horrifying
creatures, down to the sharp teeth and warty skin. They
were totally silent, walking smoothly towards us, grinning
psychotically. My friends pointed and laughed at the "early
trick-or-treaters", and then stood, shocked, as I ran across
the street to hide behind a mailbox. All the while, the
three monsters stared directly at me...as they walked by
where I was standing, even though they were across the street,
they silently regarded me, in the same way that...well,
in the same way that a Clown regards its prey. And they
never spoke. For chrissakes, it wasn't even October yet!!!
Evil evil evil evil evil...
up in a family that not only liked clowns, but encouraged
the...oh God, the horror...the close association with them.
Christmas party? Let's not hire a Santa. Let's hire a *clown*
instead. Birthday? Happy birthday to you, happy birthday
to you, happy birthday dear - and a clown would burst screaming
and honking through the front door. ( There are some sad,
sad pictures of my fifth birthday party... ) My uncle Randy
was a hired clown. My grandma used to knit clown dolls for
charity raffles...someone else told me about this site,
and I nearly wept for joy. Or something.
Anyway, when I was about twelve, the most Godawful thing
happened to me you could imagine. I mean, it stunted my
growth. And I wet my best pants, goddammit. They were brand
new. Three weeks old...getting to the point here. I went
to this haunted house for Halloween, and this clown - more
like this - this clown-corpse - it fell on me. I mean, it
actually fell on my actual head. I screamed the place down,
everyone says. ( Now, five years later, I am trying not
to remember it because the therapist's bills are getting
just ludicrous ).
Has anyone ever seen a show called "Animaniacs"? There's
a clown in it. A really stupid, a retarded clown. Like,
this scary Jerry-Lewis clown. He sings a song, a scary nonsense
song...and anyway, this kid, Wakko, keeps blowing the clown
up, and shoving him off the watertower and things...it's
really been very therapeutic. I would recommend it to all
my fellow sufferers. I won't put the song ( too scary by
far ) but I will put what the psychiatrist told them: "
Right, now repeat after me. A clown iss my friend. ( A clown
is my friend.) A clown will not bite me und throw me in
the basement. ( A clown will...not... er...) A clown is
not a big shpider..."
[ed. note - check out the Animaniacs
page for more on this...]
now I have the shakes from reading others' tales of clown
phobia. As my husband knows, I have my own fears concerning
clowns, ventriloquist dummies, open closets and such. When
I was pregnant with my first child, I warned all friends
and family that any gift featuring clowns would be immediately
tossed in the garbage, no exceptions. I have to physically
leave the room when commercials with that incredibly evil-looking
clown hawking Play Station on t.v. are being aired. I'm
an educated adult with irrational fears. I know this, but
I can't help it if they remind me of knife-wielding child
molesters hiding in your closet ... waiting for the lights
to go out ... waiting for you to close your eyes ... waiting
for you to fall asleep. It's nice to know that I'm not alone
... yet I'll still check my closet before I go to bed tonight.
up in Asbury Park, NJ. Every Easter they have a big parade
on the boardwalk. In 1960 I was 4 and my brother was 2.
There were clowns, balloons, all kinds of stuff to make
a kid happy. (!) My brother was a fast toddler and he decided
to take a walk on his own and run off down the boardwalk.
Both my parents took off after him. Meanwhile, there I am
standing there in my pretty new dress, little white gloves
and patent-leather shoes and along comes this HUGE clown.
Well, I was a shy kid anyway, but this put me over the top.
I had no where to turn, Mommy and Daddy were at least a
block away, and THEN the son of a bitch PICKED ME UP AND
TRIED TO KISS ME. He was probably just trying to be nice
(Or so my mother always claimed. Of course, these were the
days when anyone perverted, especially a clown to entertain
children, was unthinkable) but I was terrified and struggled
and screamed. Although I don't recall this, my Mom and Dad
say that when they arrived back on the scene I had peed
all over myself and the clown and had given him a good swift
kick in the balls. I do remember when the clown put me down
I threw up on his shoes. Needless to say, that Easter was
ruined for me. Probably for the clown, too.
Now, 39 years later, my family and I laugh hysterically
at my revenge on the clown; but the experience did have
an effect on me. I can't stand the sight of one. A friend
of mine collects clown figurines and I can't sit still when
I visit her. (All those little glass eyes staring at me)
I don't like those Harlequin Masks, mimes, anything that
has clown-like makeup. Years later I was at a carnival with
some friends and a clown waved and said hello. I shot him
the "finger." I'll bet he wondered what my problem was!
is totally true. When I was about 6 years old I had to go
to a birthday party and needless to say there was going
to be a clown there to entertain and take pictures with
us. Before this I never had any fear of clowns and in fact
I thought they were neat. So when it was my turn to get
my picture taken with him I jumped into his lap and was
all smiles, until, he turned to me and said in a deep quiet
whisper " I like you a lot, you smell good" as he took in
a deep breath. And not only that, the most putrid, obsene,
wretched smell came out of his mouth and it was red inside.
It smelled so bad that I actually gagged. And the whole
incident seemed to take place over a long period of time
but no one else noticed. The next thing I heard someone
say " Smile for the camera!" But I didn't, I almost peed
my pants and I ran off.
The clown hung around the party for what seemed like an
eternity, and everytime I ran passed him he always turned
to me and mouthed some words that I couldn't understand
and I never want to know. Ever since then I'll never forget
that smell or the way he looked at me and I'll probably
never know if he was some kind of pervert or something even
worse than that, something evil.
a passionate clown hater. The trauma for me began when I
was in first grade. My mom was a teacher in my elementary
school, so I often had to wait around for her to get her
stuff together and take me home at the end of the day. One
day, we had a assembly, some kind of anti-drug seminar I
think, taught by Ronald McDonald. After school, in the school's
lobby in front of the parking lot, my mom and Ronald, both
on their way out, began to chat. My mom left to run back
to her classroom and get something just as I rushed into
the room expecting to go home, and told me to wait there
for her. I was left alone with Ronald in the empty room.
He leaned down, staring at me and said, "Diana! Diana, come
here, come closer, Diana! Come closer to me so we can talk!",
and started walking towards me. My mom must have told him
my name, but I didn't know that at the time...I was terrified,
froze for a second, and then ran screaming out of the room.
I can still see his eyes...
parents love opera and classical music. when i was little,
they had this album of "i pagliacci," which, as you know,
stars a sad clown. the album cover had this horrid picture
of what looked to be a devil-possessed clown. i was terrified
of that cover from as young as i can remember. when my older
brother, kevin, wanted to torment me, he would chase me
around the house with the album, and scream, "the clown
is going to get you!" it gave me nightmares. from that moment
on, i hated clowns. i still do.
my best friend, jay, hates clowns too... we often tease
each other about our mutual hatred. recently, he sent me
a postcard from canada, where he was vacationing. it showed
a menacing, storm-tossed ocean, filled with clowns. the
caption said "clown-infested waters." it was funny.
hate clowns. When I was a baby I had two pictures over my
crib of these clown like critters with sombreros on. (Don't
ask me where my mother found them!) It is my earliest memory,
lying in my crib and seeing these eyes staring at me, following
me. When I got a little older, apparently I broke the glass
in frame and my mother walked in, freaked out that I was
covered in blood. I guess I'd finally had it and wanted
to do the nastys in.
The thing that REALLY annoys me about clowns or other "entertainers"
that delight in tormenting children is the reaction of adults
to this. They laugh and push the poor frightened child towards
this menace. No one seems to give a damn that the poor kid
is completely freaked out! I see this all the time and I
remember experiencing this as a child. I hate clowns!
always had a fear of clowns, particularly the court jester
(Poltergeist) type clowns. In college I mentioned it to
my parents, and asked them if they could remember anything
that could make me so scared of clowns. It turns out there
was a big ďscaryĒ stuffed clown that was at my grandmothers
house (bells on his hat and all) that my Dad shook at me
to play with me that sent me into a fit when I was still
wearing diapers! I donít remember that, and I only vaguely
remember the clown. As it turns out my fear is shared by
most of my cousins on that side of the family. We moved
away from my hometown when I was about two, so I didnít
realize this fact until we were all adults and someone started
talking about their fears at a family reunion. My cousins
endured years of ďtortureĒ from that clown. Someone would
always hide it before they came over, then they would have
to look for it so they could play without fear of it jumping
out at them when no one was looking. The cousins Iím talking
about are full grown mature men and they are scared to death
of clowns even now! (One cousin has a clown that lives across
the street from him. The clown brings balloons over to his
daughter, and he shudders. She has decided SHE wants to
be a clown when she grows up.) We talked about that clown
in front of my father recently, and it occurred to him that
the history of that clown doll goes even further back. When
he was in high school he won that clown at a carnival. (Oh
yikes! The thought of winning a clown doll from a carny!)
He and his sister spent years putting the clown in various
places around the house to scare each other when they got
home from a date late. I wish I knew what happened to that
clown. Iím afraid Iím going to find him in a someoneís attic
someday. If it had the power to scare all of us for so many
years, it would probably suck my soul out of my body and
regenerate to begin the torture on the next generation,
my children and my cousinís children.
a car wash the summer I was 16, I was holding a sign out
by the highway with a friend. We were minding our own business
and not hurting anyone, and then we saw this clown walking
towards us. He was far away when we noticed him, but we
saw that he was carrying roses and had a sandwhich board
advertising a local flower shop. We were a bit scared, cuz
he had the works on -- polka-dot hula-hoop pants, big red
shoes, white make-up. Pretty freaky. So as he got closer
we started edging away, you know, politely, but sort of
scared. And as he walked he kept his eyes locked on mine
-- deep, probing, sexual eyes! I stumbled backwards, off
the sidewalk and onto a grass island, holding my "Free Car
Wash" sign in front of me like a shield. He, too, stepped
onto the grass island, forcing me back! "Stop it, get away!"
I screamed, as I fell to my knees and started to crawl.
"Wait, wait, why are you scared?" he said, looking remarkably
stupid with his sandwhich board and wilted roses.
"Go away!" I screamed again, and he looked very hurt, but
he was only a clown so I paid no attention.
"I just wanted to talk to you," he muttered, and I scrambled
to my feet and ran back to the gas station where the other
people in my group were washing cars.
He kept walking back in forth in front of the gas station.
Freak me out.
from BC Canada
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