Every family has secrets. Some secrets are harmless, long-forgotten paccadilloes that do not even torment the guilty.
Other secrets are so horrifying, so terrible, the very memory of them is suppressed. This is one such secret:
This terrifying giant weeble is now in the possession of my sister. Given to her by my Dad, who claims that it was my favorite toy as a child. I’ve repressed all recollection of ever owning such a thing, but it sinister presence in my childhood does explain much of my subsequent life.
When you’re a baby, nobody can hear you scream.
I don’t think that “easily disturbed” is a phrase often used to describe me. However, that truly is so creepy that I had to scroll to the bottom of the page as soon as I could just to get it out of my mind.
I might have nightmares. I’m not kidding. How can your sister keep this in the house and sleep at night?
I just looked at it again.
It gave me the shivers.
I think it lives locked in the closet of her spare room.
I told her she should bury it. She replied that if she buried it she might come home to find it sitting on the bed with a trail of dirt leading outside…
It all makes sense now…
:^)
When you’re a baby, everyone can hear you scream, but they think you are screaming about the same old same old (dirty diaper, time to eat, need to nap) when just possibly you are screaming about something entirely different (terrifying Weeble clown bigger than I am just rolled a few feet closer to me when Mommy and Daddy were out of the room).
no wonder. i’m sorry i left the clown picture hanging in my bathroom. if i’d have known the true depths, i’d have made one of my neighbors hang on to it until you left. just looking at that makes me almost dislike clowns and very thankful i don’t have “clown blood.”