Circus of Coulrophobia

The meal

Winona screeched as she attempted to brush off the tiny little monsters, her heart racing as she looked into their beady little eyes. Stumbling and staggering along the wooden floor, she was able to rid herself of their pesky little limbs. After successfully pulling herself up and off the floor where they were rushing to crawl back unto her, she fled out the door.

(Play the music)

She scuttled down the velvet carpet of the hallway, her russet skirt flowing back behind her as if it was gesturing for her to go back into the room. She didn't blame it. Even with the spiders and the noose and whatever other frightening being was in that room, it was blank in contrast to the terrifying portraits watching as she dashed past them.

She could have sworn that each short glimpse she saw of them, their sunken lips had lifted at her, almost as if they were laughing. She could feel the puffs of air from their painted frames as if they had lungs to sustain it. With every step she feared that if she ignored them that their hands would soon free themselves from the bonds of the image and reach out to pull her in.

As soon as she came to the stairs, she felt the air that she had been holding in could be released. It didn't change the fact that their eyes were still watching her until she had descended further enough towards the bottom that they could no longer see her. She assured herself that at least, at where she was, they could no longer reach her. She darted down the stairs cautiously, hoping her panic would not cause her to slip on the smooth surface of the wood beneath.

When at last, she had made it down the stairs, she suddenly stopped. What was she even doing? All she had wanted to do was get away from the spiders, but now, as her body was facing the door she had just entered earlier that morning, her feet were begging her to use it once again – but to escape. It was almost as if they had brought her all the way down from the room themselves – as if they could not bear to be there any longer.

From the window beside the door she could see the bright blue sky outside, adorned with cottony clouds of white. She saw what she was familiar with, and what was safe to her. She wanted to leave desperately – she wanted to reach to the tips of those clouds and bathe in the warmth of the sun, but she could not. She could not leave, not when her father had ordered her to stay there.

His judgement far exceeded the childish one she owned. She had to stay, because he said.

Forcing her feet to pull her back, she turned around and with a sigh, readied herself to climb the stairs again. She assured herself that what she was feeling was just a feeling; that her mind was so intent on going back to her father that it had begun to construct horrifying imaginings to frighten her into its submission. The spiders were just spiders. The paintings were just paintings. Her dream – it was just a dream. She had to mature and accept the fact that this was the way things were meant to be now.

She walked upon the steps with her shoulders drawn back and her head high. She had to go on, for her father. When her feet reached the velvet carpet of the hallway, she forced herself to close her eyes in order to block out the paintings on each side of her. Her heartbeat raced as it sensed danger, but she forced herself to control it. It's just an illusion. It's just an illusion. The house was not really scary, she convinced herself, she just wanted it to seem that way.

Within a few minutes of blinding stepping through the hallway, Winona peeked open an eye and saw that she was now at her door. Inside was just as she had left it, yet there were no spiders in sight. Just as I said, She thought to herself, It was just an illusion.

Just.An.Illusion.

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