My Phantom

Ever since I was a child, I have always been afraid of clowns. There is just something about them that gives me the creeps and makes my stomach whirl. Even McDonald scares me; after all he has that big, red lips smiling weirdly at everyone.

I remember when we were still living in San Andres Bukid, my uncle had left us this wooden clown coin bank. It was a miniature of a fat clown, less than a foot tall, with yellow carnival attire adorned with a colorful lace. He wore a brownish hat, and had bright red lips and nose, and big bright eyes. I would always keep it behind the big stuffed toys in our glass closet so that it would remain out of view; I didn’t want to see it; I was scared of it. Its eyes looked at me with suspicion, as if I had done something wrong. Its mischievous smile was like that of the devil. His whiteness was the paleness of ghosts. He was laughing at me, a joker out to haunt my dreams! Indeed I felt him. I knew it was there behind the teddy bears although unseen, waiting for a chance to perform his tricks on me. His eyes were looking at me constantly, judging my every move. I was afraid that it would suddenly come to life and hurt me, punish me for all of my mischief.

One summer, my cousin who was staying with us decided to play a prank on me. He knew I was afraid of clowns and so while I was in my sister’s room, he put the wooden clown outside of the door. Alas, I was trapped and my demon was out to torture me. His eyes, so round, was full of triumph. I was so afraid that I locked myself up in the room. I screamed and screamed, I felt ambushed.

I couldn’t remember exactly what happened afterwards but I do remember how I screamed my lungs out and how dry my throat was. I was going to die. It was getting dark. I was exhausted. I was alone in that small room, pleading for my life. Nobody came – perhaps because we were children who play and scream a lot in a world only we could understand. I was alone, completely devoid of any savior.

Another time my family and I were in Tondo with my relatives. It was fiesta and there were a lot of people in the narrow streets. There were food and games. There were clowns!

I stayed inside the house, away from all the festivities, away from the hideous smiles on everyone’s faces. I say hideous because to me I was in a nightmare full of phantoms, which ironically everybody seemed to love. Only I can see through their disguises! Clowns deceive; I hate them.

I looked down on their merriment through the bars of the window on the second floor. Right below me, there was a clown, with hair made out of yarn and a face painted with white and red. There were children all over him as he was about to perform a trick. He put a piece of thread and several blades into his mouth. Yes, the blades used for shaving! He swallowed them with ease. I was devastated, but my curiosity got the best out of me. And besides, I knew I was safe, inside the house, separated from everyone else by the bars of the window. I continued watching how he pulled the thread out of his mouth with the blades hanging on it. I recall how he glanced my way after that, and I could swear he looked right at me, giving an inviting look.

Of course, I never went down.