Clowns, to put it mildly, are not universally loved.
Other Haunts – Scary Clowns
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Nightmare #226 – Clown Hospital
(Male, 40′s) This nightmare was strange because it was a dream inside a dream.
“…a commissioned series of art photographs of circus clowns from the 1930′s who also had great physical deformities, like side show performers…”
I was dreaming that I was visiting my great Aunt Clara in the hospital. Aunt Clara died 30 years ago, by the way. She was having some kind of heart surgery. In her recovery room there was a commissioned series of art photographs of circus clowns from the 1930′s who also had great physical deformities, like side show performers. Grainy black and white photographs.
I spoke with the doctor. He gave the standard line “…resting comfortably… too soon to tell…” But then he mentioned that the photographs in my Aunt’s room had given him nightmares the night before. He started to walk away and, inside the dream, I thought “I gotta ask him about his nightmare so I can tell Jim.” Isn’t that hilarious?
So the doctor thought about it for a moment, like whether her was going to tell me. He said in his nightmare, he was in a hospital that he’d come into a patient’s room. The bed was made up but the sheets were made of rubber, like a tarp, I guess. He pulled back the sheet and discovered there was nobody there. Just then three of these creepy clowns appear at the door. They were carrying a covered metal serving tray. They lifted the lid and said with a disturbing giggle “Would you like some instruments, doctor?” To be honest I didn’t see what was so scary about the nightmare but the doctor seemed pretty shaken.
Nightmare #118 – Clown Town
(Male, 40′s) Bruce is out of town for some reason, so I decide to go see a movie alone. I drive into Detroit in a long black luxury sedan of some kind. The movie is long, a kind of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and it gets out late. As I leave the theater, some kid with a straw spits a soggy wad onto my windshield. As I turn out of the lot, I’m suddenly on foot. No problem. I know I have to walk a few blocks to the highway to catch a.. or to where I parked..? Whatever. But I’m walking in the late afternoon sun through a grassy back alley. Broken concrete slabs and tall abandoned condos with narrow streets to my left.
…This particular clown is tall, about 7 or 8 feet. Dressed in a white outfit, billowy collar and stovepipe hat. But his eyes are strange…
No one is around. I pass a street, and walking towards me in the middle of the road is a clown. This must be Detroit’s famous Clown-Town, I realize. I didn’t know I was so far South. I should have known by the graffiti. This particular clown is tall, about 7 or 8 feet. Dressed in a white outfit, billowy collar and stovepipe hat. But his eyes are strange. They’re perfectly round and large, like white tennis balls. Black dots in the middle like they’ve been drawn on with a marker. There’s no one else around, yet he’s performing. His step is light and he skips every other step or so. He’s looking side to side, waving and nodding to unseen crowds. There’s no sound but the highway hum ahead. I move on. Behind me I hear the scuff of someone walking, skipping. I look back and Stovepipe has turned the corner. He’s behind me waving with his hand high in the air. He stops and there’s and tumble of color and cloth as another clown cartwheels out from a hedge Stove pipe catches his ankles and slows him. They both pantomime a happy greeting and then turn toward me. I start to feel like I have a long way to go before the safety of the on-ramp. I don’t know why, but I’m nervous. Clowns have never been seen to leave the few blocks the city has reserved for them before, but these two seem pretty mobile- and coming up fast. Also, it’s never been reported that our clowns have ever hurt anyone. I’ve never heard of it anyway. Still. On the next block there are two, no three more happy, skipping, staring clowns heading my way. Then the dream logic, the feeling that this is all an everyday situation falls away. Stovepipe is taller than any human I’ve ever seen and his unblinking eyes are just dry balls of plastic. I’m outnumbered and I can’t seem to get any faster than a stroll. The clowns are up to about 8 now, and still completely silent, still coming after me. I try to drag myself along the pavement and to get moving faster. The air is like water and I’m fighting the current. I find that I’m laying on the cement, trying to crawl away. My hands feel gravel and glass, and grass in the cracks of the sidewalk. I hear the horrible scuffing of a dozen big shoes just over my shoulder.