When there's nothing else to write about, there's always my fear of clowns. Coulrophobia. One of my coworkers used to work in law enforcement, and claims that serial killers often desecrate bodies to make them resemble what they fear, since that's a way to conquer the fear. If there's a rash of dead people dressed as clowns and abandoned on bridges, worry about me...

If you visit places like ihateclowns you'll soon realize that the personal stories that explain their origin of clown fear are pretty much broken into three groups.

1. people who were terrorized at circuses or birthday parties by clowns

2. people who saw Poltergeist as very small children

3. people who were indifferent to clowns until they read It.

Me? I'm a #2. This movie came out when I was four, soon to be five. My folks claim that the commercials made it look like a comedy, like half of Arachophobia's did. Maybe this is true. On the other hand they took me to see Star Wars when I was six weeks old, and Richard Pryor Live on the Sunset Strip when I was five, so their judgement in regards to movies is suspect as it is.

Anyway, this movie has scarred me for life.

There's a fairly decent reason why I was so effected by the infamous clown scene in the movie. Take a look at the photo at the top of this entry. That's me and Jack; my parents managed a Jack In The Box when I was a baby, and a friend made him for me when I was born. When I was really little he and I were buds. Sadly, this changed once I saw a clown try to strangle that little boy in the movie.

I was scared shitless of Jack for about the next year. He used to "sleep" in my bed, but once I saw the movie I put my new tying skills to use, and tied him in old shoelaces at night, and made him sleep in the closet. (interestingly, I never worried about monsters in the closet as a tyke.) And just about every night for a year I had nightmares about clowns or the skeletons in the pool that were also in the movie. A year! My parents sure regretted bringing me to see the movie, I'll tell you.

Once Vynce was born, my fear of Jack more or less faded away. My parents thought it was because I was more mature now that I had become a big sister. Truthfully, I think that I was relieved that his crib was in my room: if Jack was going to eat anyone, he'd go for the smallest, weakest target.

Why didn't I just get rid of Jack? I was a little afraid to. You've seen those movies, haven't you? Where the doll or whatever seeks revenge...

As a teenager, I was at peace with Jack... up until one odd night while home from college. Both my folks were working third shift, so it was just Vynce and I at home. He was only 13, so I was responsible for looking after him since he wasn't the type of kid my parents wanted home alone even at that old. Anyway, he was downstairs playing video games or whatever, and I was reading a book. At least I was until I thought I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and Jack was grinning at me, happy as always. I went back to reading after telling myself not to be silly. It happened again.

Maybe it had been the curtains moving, or maybe a moth had gotten in my room, and one of those things was what I saw. Regardless, Jack when to live in the downstairs closet for the next two years. Then, once we moved, he lived in my foot locker in the basement up until the basement flooded and he and it were finally destroyed. Thank God.

And I still hate clowns to this day.