There are three things I hate more than anything in the world. Three things that I find terrifying, horrifying and down-right creepy:
- Porcelain Dolls,
- Clowns, and
- Puppets.
When I was ten, a family friend returned from a trip to Germany with a gift. I quietly hoped for a dozen Kinder Eggs or a ballerina music box. You can imagine my horror when I opened the delicate package to find my worst nightmare in my hands: a porcelain clown puppet.
The marionette, clad in the finest blue and green silk, looked up at me with a murderous teardrop beneath each eye. I lifted it from the box. At nearly a foot and a half long, it swung back and forth on its handcrafted wooden swing set, mocking me.
I smiled and said thank you because I wasn’t raised by wolves. When the time came for me to carry the haunting harlequin to my room, I did the only thing I could. I hid it.
I pushed past the overalls and Spice Girls shirts and nestled the thing in the farthest corner. I laid it next to my Furby, fully expecting them to band together and plot my demise — avenging every Tamagotchi I didn’t keep alive.
I didn’t go to my parents with it.
My mom was sick so I had developed a habit of trying to solve my fears for myself…
