Honky The Clown

Nearly everyone has some kind of phobia or great fear, rational or otherwise. Yours might be something like great heights, bugs or even the fear of dying alone, wanting so badly to find that special someone but being so scared of rejection you never even try, leaving you to wallow in self-pity as you play Huniepop 3: Now There’s Feet Pics while crying hysterically as you realize you’re out of fresh socks.

Anyway, that’s no fear of mine. Mine is coulrophobia: the fear of clowns. You might wonder where it came from. There’s no shortage of scary clowns in (children’s) media, after all. The Joker, Pennywise, Killer Klowns From Outer Space or even The Clown from Dead By Daylight. Or was it a deep dive into the psyche of John Wayne Gacy that forever made me wary around these face painted freaks?

While I’ve certainly seen my fair share of those scary media clowns, my experience was… more personal. One I’ll never forget. It was the early summer of 1993. Back then, music was still cool, video games were still cool and everything was always better then it is now. I’m not nostalgia blind, I’m just better than you. If you’re one of those Redditors who think you were born in the wrong generation: you’re completely right. Anyway, since I want my story to be believable, I am now going to describe that day in excruciating detail until you wonder where the punchline is going to be.

It was June 28th, and I was turning 7 years old that day. It was a little overcast, but that was fine: the sun was still providing a comfortable temperature through the clouds. The whole year, I had been begging my parents to take me to some kind of great show. I already had my share of favorite toys and even a SNES. Since the N64 wasn’t out yet, I couldn’t think of a new toy that I really wanted. My parents eventually decided on a birthday gift. A family trip to C.P. Pasta’s Circus. (If you think C.P. stands for anything funny, you're the weirdo and not me) It was a pretty weird name, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just thought C.P. Pasta was some weird European name, like Cirque De Soleil. And luckily for us, the circus had set up very close to my home town. It was practically within walking distance, though Dad insisted on driving anyway.

When we got there, I bolted out of my seat real quick, excitedly hopping up and down. Like any good circus grounds, there were some booths with games, prizes and candy. This was also back when circuses with animals were still normal, so there were even a few cages holding exotic animals you would normally only see at zoos or on TV. Listen, all I’m saying is: if animals don’t want to be used for our entertainment, then why did they let themselves get captured in the first place? Are they stupid?

Mom gave me some pocket money and told me to remain within sight and to be back in half an hour: that’s when the ‘doors’ to the big top tent would open and we could take our seats. I ran around and played some games. First, I tried the ball toss, but accidentally hit the carnie in the nutsack instead of knocking the cans over. Like the little bastard I was, I stole a shitty plushy while he was reeling in pain and then ran to one of those stalls with a fortune teller animatronic inside. I gave him a quarter and he came to life. I was excited to hear my fortune, until I heard his prediction:

“Your future is doomed, that I guarantee

If you continue snooping as usual, I see”

I felt weirded out and backed away. While I was looking for my next distraction, I saw it. A carriage with plenty of bright colors. The back of the carriage had bright yellow corners around a red circle with the face of a clown inside, smiling. He looked like most other circus clowns: a painted face with yellow triangles around his eyes and a big red nose, matching a red smile painted around his lips. He wore a tiny yellow top hat on his head. I could only see a poofy collar around his neck: the rest of his outfit was not painted on the carriage. Above the circle, a white banner with orange letters spelled out his name:

“Honky The Clown”

I was so excited to see him, but a small feeling in my stomach made the sight of the clown not as joyful as it should be… My mom called me over and I started making my way back, taking one final look back at Honky’s carriage. Did he always look that way?

I made it back just in time for my parents to show their tickets and we took our seats. Mom even had a bucket of popcorn for all of us. The ringmaster appeared with a drumroll accompanying him, taking off his big top hat with a theatrical bow as music played.

“Ladies and gentlemen! My name is Carl Peter Pasta, and this is my fantastic circus! Tonight, feast your eyes on entertainment that will definitely NOT give you any long lasting traumas or nightmares! Without further ado… Let’s get this show on the road!”

Entry of the Gladiators (that song that always plays in circuses from movies, you know the one) blared from the speakers as the show began. It was amazing: acrobats, animals and even a fire dancer, it was all great. But then it happened.

“Now, boys and girls, get ready to laugh with Honky The Clown!”

Everyone cheered as the circus song played once again. Honky casually walked in and waved to the audience. A sense of dread formed in my stomach, and then the horror began. He pulled out several pieces of brightly colored rubber and began inflating them with a pump. I watched in utter shock and awe as he began bending and twisting the rubber in unnatural, ungodly ways, until they no longer resembled ordinary balloons. They were horrific recreations of animals. Dogs, birds, butterflies and even a monkey, all made from rubber. He released the animals, and the kids, some of which were classmates of mine, tried catching one for themselves. I couldn’t look at them and could only pray to God my parents wouldn’t catch one. Next, an assistant rolled in a comically small tricycle and he started to ride around on it with his big clown shoes. I couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to look so ridiculous. I reasoned he was probably a mentally unstable creep or possessed by Satan.

I thought the horror couldn’t get any worse until he said he was hungry. Another assistant brought in one of those cheap cream pies (I hear you snickering back there, don’t fucking laugh at my traumatic backstory) and he intended to eat it. But then, he tripped over his own feet and fell face first into the pie, covering himself with the substance. This level of silliness was not humanly possible, and so I finally broke and started bawling my eyes out, much to everyone’s annoyance.

I refused to calm down, neither the stern or gentle approach could stop me from wanting to get the hell out of dodge. That clown looked straight at me now, even trying to speak to me. “Hey kiddo, there’s no need to cry! I’m perfectly fine, see!” He came up to me with a funny little walk cycle until he was right next to me. Sensing danger, I punched him straight in the dick and could swear I heard a honking noise as he doubled over in pain. Mr. Pasta asked my parents to leave, and they obliged.

We drove home in uncomfortable silence. My dad almost grounded me, but mom reminded him it was my birthday and I was simply sent straight to bed with a stern talking-to. I didn’t care. I narrowly escaped the clutches of that incredibly terrifying clown, that was all that mattered to me.

When I went back to school that Monday, my jaw dropped as I realized…

My classmates were totally fine and I was just being a little shit for no reason again. From that day on, I was forever known in school as “Johnny Dipshit, Clown CBT Practitioner”

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Written by J3ffDaKilla69
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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