The Clown

This Clown Statue was my Grandma’s who has schizophrenia. I lived with her to help take care of her during the last years of her life. The clown sat on her nightstand for as long I can remember. It was very important to my grandma because it was her “friend”. She would often talk to the clown as if it was real, in fact, she would have a full conversation with the clown almost daily. She would frequently hold the clown while she would stand in the corner of her room. While standing in the corner she would face the wall and hiss while she would scratch away at the honey milk white paint. Because my room was across the hall from hers it was not uncommon for me to wake up to the scratching and hissing. Whenever I heard this I would always immediately run into the room to stop her. I would take away the clown and put it on the nightstand and bandage up her fingertips because she would scratch to the point that she would bleed. This went on for about a year and it got to the point where it became a route for me to go into her room and stop her from scratching the wall. I had also just blamed the schizophrenia with little to no thought about the clown. Until one night I woke up to the hissing and scratching except this time the scratching didn’t have the normal sound of her ivory nails digging into the drywall. I sleeplessly wondered into her room, and I cracked her door open. As the door slowly opened I saw the wall she would scatch at, she wasn’t there, but I was alarmed to notice the amount of blood that was on the honey milk painted walls. I ran into the room I found my her, her head was face down and she was slowly rocking Indian style on the floor. Her hands were covered in crimson red blood and the clown was in her left hand. I ran over to her, frantic to see if she was okay, still wondering where all the blood came from. As I approached her she finally lifted her head and I was horrified at what I saw. Her eyes were gone, in there, places were empty holes with scratch marks oozing with blood. Her arms were covered in scratches inches deep and the scariest part was her mouth. She had used the blood to create a lipstick affect around her mouth that she was smiling. Kind of like what the Joker did in the Batman movies. When I asked her why she did this, she said in a hissing voice while holding the clown held “he made me do it”.

I quickly called 911. They rushed her away in the ambulance, she is now under full care at a psych ward. The clown remained in the blood covered room. After the incident, I told the doctors about the clown, but they blamed the schizophrenia.

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