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The Clown Hiding in My Grandfather’s House

June 24, 2010
File:SydneyBuilding0129.jpg

Photo Credit: Sardaka

The house was familiar; its large porch, broken chair and boarded windows evoking a long forgotten memory. I didn’t want to go inside. The fear hung in my throat, heavy and unreasonably putrid. I took a few steps forward and found myself on the porch, making every mental effort not to scream and run away.

Somewhere inside this house someone was waiting for me. I want to go to her. It ends with her.

But my feet won’t budge. A knock from the other side of the door and my heart was swallowed by the persistence of the knock. Five quick taps. One. Two.

File:Scary clown.jpg

Photo Credit:Graeme Maclean

When the door opened a tall clown stood before me, arms crossed, face stern. Suddenly he disappeared, the door swinging back and forth. Leaves began blowing into the house. I heard whimpering and the clown ran past me. Over and over again he ran past me, smiling as the image of his white sneakers became imprinted in my mind. I went as far as the kitchen when the anxiety climaxed. He wanted me to chase him. I was feeling sick and desperate to find the Other Blond. Fear and anxiety blended with impatience and the courage that resulted allowed me to float high above the house. The clown ran from room to room for a while, then vanished. I lowered myself back down.

He was behind me. I knew I had to turn around.

He was tall and the wig he wore had bald patches. He was still smiling, but I understood why. Most of his mouth and upper lip were missing. Such a menacing look…a permanent smile, razor teeth exposed. He leaned back and burst out laughing. He held his stomach as he did this and cackled and shook his head. Then he just stopped and turned around, heading for the back door. He paused briefly and we stared at one another through the reflection in the glass. The screen door slammed shut and he walked through a pair of trees.

I ran upstairs to look for her. Both bedrooms were empty. Back down to the living room and I remembered the significance of this place. My grandfather used to smoke cigars here. He invited me here in a dream once, but I was too afraid to face his demons with him. That was his request, but I never came back.

I stared at the wall in front of me. I closed my eyes and walked through it. I landed on my stomach in a white hallway. She was lying on her side, eyes closed. She was wearing the green shirt. I crawled over and nuzzled next to her. She rubbed her bare feet against mine.

“You made it,” she said, loosening my hair. I began to sob quietly into the green shirt.

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4 Comments leave one →
  1. June 25, 2010 6:12 am

    This is so good. Quite tense. The use of memory was particularly effective. I really enjoy your dream fictions!

    • Wendy permalink*
      July 1, 2010 8:13 am

      Selma,
      I felt pretty tense as I wrote it, too. I started to question whether or not the dream was addressing issues of coulrophobia. My nephew is particularly fearful of clowns and painted faces, and I suppose now I understand why. So happy you enjoy my little stories.

  2. July 10, 2010 6:31 pm

    creepy passage!
    The scary clown is an old pattern in my lucid nightmares (left over from watching Poltergeist at age 6 – whoops). now when he shows up it’s a lucidity trigger and a warning that something dynamic/confrontation is around the bend.

  3. Wendy permalink*
    July 11, 2010 7:59 pm

    Clowns have made a couple of appearances this year, but so far no lucidity triggers. Zombies/the deceased are my triggers. Whenever I see them I have to set aside my fear and indulge in the experience. Your Poltergeist is my Night of the Living Dead- yikes!

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