Ah so that's where is originated...

For as long as I can remember I have been afraid of clowns. I make a joke about it most of the time, clown are scary, oh look at the scary clown etc; but they are actually the one thing that can bring out goose-pimples on my skin and a very real cold sweat on my back.

I truly hate clowns.

When I was little my Dad loved to read Stephen King books and I used to pick them up and read them after he did. Really, I was probably too young to read these scary stories, but he never went in for censoring what we read. (which is funny because we weren’t allowed watch the A-Team because it was too violent.)

I remember reading Carrie and The Stand and a lot of other stories that scared me silly but the book I don’t actually remember reading is ‘It’. Now, I have been told that I did read this book, my sister (who shared a room with me) remembers that I refused to have the light off at night for weeks and kept the book in a drawer when I wasn’t reading it. (using the same logic later on in life I would drape a towel over my telly after seeing The Ring, thinking that would stop the scary girl from crawling out and getting me.)

This Christmas the same sister kindly gave me her slightly battered copy of It to read. I started it last Thursday and since then the house has been lit up like a radio-active Christmas tree, for the first time in years I have gone to sleep with the lights on and I haven’t washed any dishes because of an irrational fear that Pennywise will start muttering to me out of the drain in the kitchen.

Now I know, in my sensible and rational mind, that Pennywise is a character in a book. I know that this particular story was created by Stephen King, in short I know (rationally) that nothing that I am reading is real. Strangely that hasn’t helped. For the first time since I was a child I have lain awake listening to the house settle and letting my imagination run wild. I have had my heart thump because of some creak on the stairs and have been literally paralysed in my bed, waiting for that horrible clown to come lumbering into my room with his balloons and killer teeth.

It’s frightening and fantastic and the book is currently in the freezer because I can’t bring myself to read it in the dark.

Scary stuff.

And people try to tell me clowns aren't scary...

On being made to feel afraid

When I heard your footsteps behind me I knew immediately, instinctively as it were, that there was something wrong. There was no reason to be nervous, it was daylight and I was in my city where I have always felt safe but something about how your step matched mine and your proximity to me made me afraid.

A little warning voice in my head wanted me to run and my body reacted by pumping endorphins into my system, fight or flight. My heart rate sped up, and yet I ignored the warnings my system was giving me and did not adjust my pace.

Your step fell out of rhythm with my own by a tiny fraction; enough that I knew you were walking just a little faster, a little closer than before. I slowed, convincing myself that you would pass me, concerning myself more with removing my fear then with ensuring my safety while I ignored my clenching muscles demanding that I run.

The time between registering your presence and you wrapping your arm around my waist was miniscule, but it seemed an eternal. You smelled of alcohol and my skin crawled where the side of your cheek touched my own as you grabbed me in a drunken hug, and then you were gone.

This could have been so much worse then the fleeting encounter then it proved to be, this I know. You may not even have registered the fear that you caused through the drugs and booze clouding your mind; but even with you in that state I was not strong enough to push you away. You made me feel weak and small and afraid and ashamed of being a woman.