This blurry image is the only remaining evidence I could find of the evil musical clown that terrorized me for several weeks in the 80's. It was a gift from my boyfriend. A well-intentioned gift. He obviously thought it was cute and charming and was convinced that I would feel the same. It was early in the relationship. He really didn't know me yet. I was polite and appreciative of the gift. And I tried. I tried to love it. I gave it a place of prominence on a small table beside my bed. I wound the music box and watched as it's garishly-painted face swivelled around and around and around as the music softly played. During the daylight hours, I could almost convince myself that I liked it. But inevitably, it got dark. Sometimes I would awake during the night and see it sitting there. It's fixed, overly-cheerful expression illuminated by the moonlight streaming through my window. It was always there. Sitting. Watching. I moved it to another room. But it didn't help; in fact, it only intensified my discomfort. At least, when it was in the room with me, I knew where it was. What it was doing. My boyfriend was somewhat less than understanding. He joked that he would sneak in one day and place a little knife in its hand. Hilarious. Finally, I could no longer pretend. I gave it away to a friend who had admired it. Actually admired it. She happily accepted it and placed it on her mantle beside another of her evil clowns. It was she who pointed it out to me recently in the background of one of my old photographs. Did I remember that clown that I had been afraid of ? Oh yes, I remember.
Clowns. Dummies. Mannequins. Dolls. A quadrangle of evil. Nothing good can come of them.
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