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)

I've 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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I have, 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...

- Jordan

I grew 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...]

- Steve

Right 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.

- Kristine Mitchell

I grew 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!

- CBrown

This 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.

- T

I am 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...

- Diana

my 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.

- susan

I too 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!

- Andy

I’ve 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 “scary” 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 don’t 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 didn’t realize this fact until we were all adults and someone started talking about their fears at a family reunion. My cousins endured years of “torture” 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 I’m 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. I’m afraid I’m going to find him in a someone’s 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 cousin’s children.

- LMWhite

During 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.

- anonymous from BC Canada

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