Back in the day, when I still had a husband, that husband had a toy. It was a clown.
It was not just any clown, though.
It was a vaguely threatening-looking, unhappy, weeble-y NORWEGIAN clown.
With a feather in his cap.
I had completely forgotten the existence of this horror (which I used to keep replacing in the storage room, because I couldn't bear the thought of it oh my God it's coming after me in the night holy shit) until today, when we walked into El Cutseo Antiquey Shoppe....
...and there it was. By the door, in the first display case. A little faded, but recognizable. Because, really, who else in Hometon would have a Nightmare Norwegian Clown?
We remarked on it, and Adam even played with it a bit, making it weeble back and forth, even though I reminded him that it would come after him in the night.
It was....memorable.
So maybe while you're home recuperating you can catch Terror Trilogy and watch the part with (I think) Karen Black that has the little knife-wielding gnome-thing that goes all over this woman's apartment, saying "ningningningningning" and slashing with the knife. Most terrifying thing I've ever seen. Far more so than Norwegian clowns. It'll scare the cancer right out of you. Along with some other stuff. In fact, try viewing it quick, before the surgery. Maybe then you won't need the surgery....
ReplyDeleteI so feel you on the scary clown's gonna get me fear.
ReplyDeleteCan't sleep, clown will eat me... (LOVED that simpsons episode!)
ReplyDeleteClowns are just flat-out scary.
When I was about 9 my mom had a fit of nostalgia for her long-lost childhood and bought me one of those cast iron banks where you put a coin someplace, push a lever, something moves and the coin goes clunk inside.
ReplyDeleteIt was a clown bust, complete with red pointy hat, white face, white eyes, little black dots of paint for pupils.
Coin went into the clown's hand, and when I pushed the lever on the back of its neck, its eyes would ROLL UP INTO ITS HEAD as it shoveled the coin into its mouth. My mom thought this was the coolest thing ever, and insisted that I put it on my dresser, where it could watch me All The Time. I'd turn it around to face the wall, and she'd turn it back around to face me.
One night I was up in my room watching The Exorcist - with the clown turned away from me, of course - when I decided it was time for a snack. I went downstairs where my mom and stepdad were puttering around the kitchen, got my snack, and returned to my room to find the clown staring at me. Only child, neither parental unit was anywhere near my bedroom while I was in the kitchen, dogs too short to do such a horrible thing to me.
That scary little fucker went into the back of my closet, face down, with a rosary wound around its neck. I piled everything that wasn't nailed down on top of it and slammed my closet door shut, then spent the rest of the night with one eye on Linda Blair and one eye on my closet door, muttering Hail Marys.
I hate clowns. Accidentally decked one at a kids' party that wouldn't leave me alone, years later. Accidentally.
My mother "gifted" me with something similar, and I can't get rid of it until she is gone. Meanwhile, it lives so far back on a top shelf of a cabinet I can't see it.
ReplyDeleteIt's got a name - coulrophobia.
ReplyDeleteDon't get clowns - don't hate them, just don't get them...
Too funny!
ReplyDeleteI have a Charlie McCarthy dummy my grandmother bought for me at a garage sale 30 years ago or more. My ex-husband was always a little freaked out by it. He insisted we keep it in a closet or storage because he had visions of it walking around at night. Of course, he was seriously freaked out by the Blair Witch Project months after we saw it, too.