Clowns have never been a problem for me. I used to scoff at friends and family who freaked out over clowns; thought it was silly, thought I was tough. I’ve let clowns paint my face, make me balloon animals and one year I was a clown for Halloween. Not even being subjected to watching IT for the first time changed my attitude towards the freaky, red-nosed, failed comedians.
Well, that part of my life is over. After my dream last night, all I have to say is F*CK CLOWNS. They’re freaky and shifty and not to be trusted. I’m going to recap the dream for you and it’s bizarre because my dreams always are, judge me if you want, but I’m already over it.
I’m home. It’s late. Middle of the night late. The neighborhood is quiet, all but a few homes are dark and the sky is blacker than tar. I’m in my pajamas (the only outfit more vulnerable than pajamas is no outfit at all). I suddenly get a craving for marshmallows. I remember that I left my personal bag of giant marshmallows outside on my neighbor’s porch, because who doesn’t have a personal bag of marshmallows?
I open my front door and run over to the neighbor’s. I shove a few marshmallows in my mouth and grab the bag to leave. I feel safe. I’m not concerned about the night, this is the suburbs after all. Nothing bad ever happens here. The air is still, the street light on with only the soft sound of crickets for a soundtrack.
I take a casual jaunt back home. I close the door behind me and lock it. I turn my porch light off and as I turn my back, BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG. The loudest pounding you’ve ever heard. It sounds like the door might rattle off the hinges. My heart and my body jump. I turn around and slowly make my way back to the door (this, my friends, is where you know it’s a dream because there’s no way in hell I would be headed toward the scary sounds in real life). I flip the switch to turn on the porch light. Through the window, lit hazily by the fluorescent cone of a cheap bulb, a seven-foot clown, quietly staring at me with eyes devoid of any life smiling, waving.
I don’t know what is going on in my subconscious that would cause this but I’m mad. My brain and I are on bad terms because that was freaking terrifying. I woke up panicked, traumatized. And my bed is right next to my window so falling back asleep required me shutting the curtains and covering my body with blankets and pillows to camouflage from any potential killer clowns.
So, today June 7, 2017, will forever be marked as the day I began to hate clowns. My message to the world, don’t trust anyone with a red nose or white face paint.