That One Time I Got Cursed By A Clown Doll

Clown Doll

So, I’m at an antique shop yesterday and there were some delightfully creepy booths, which are basically my favorite kind of booths (other than those filled with old vinyl albums), and in one of those creepy, creepy booths there was a doll. Not just any doll. A clown doll. And not just any clown doll, a terrifying clown doll. And not just any terrifying clown doll, a…..oh wait, I guess it was just a terrifying clown doll. This clown doll had a face filled with malice and evil and ill omens, yet something (was it magnets?) compelled me to pick up that terrifying clown doll and show it to my friend Mary. As soon as my hand touched that clown doll, I regretted it. Why had I let curiosity dictate my actions?! I knew full well that curiosity is the number one killer of cats, and yet I still obeyed it as if it was my Mama. Fool that I am! After showing Mary the doll I set it down on the table immediately. Too late! Too late! I could already feel the curse of the clown doll coursing through my right hand. My hand started to tingle and with fear in my heart, I looked over at Mary and said “Um. I’m like 90% sure that clown doll just cursed me.” to which she replied “Oh yeah. It totally did.”

The only question that remains is what form this curse will take. I have a few theories.

1. I will develop a compulsive need to tell knock-knock jokes.

2. I will get trapped in tiny car filled with 12 other people.

3. My arm will fall off.

4. I will have nightmares involving cream pies for the rest of my life.

5. That clown doll will find me and murder me ala Chucky.

Tell my story friends. Tell it to everyone you know and love. Don’t let creepy clown doll curses win. Save yourselves!

Anyway, I’m really excited about Halloween.

41 thoughts on “That One Time I Got Cursed By A Clown Doll

  1. Such vivid (and cool) imagination.
    i was terrified of clowns as a kid. Please don’t get killed ala Chucky cuz then all my fears of clowns will come back πŸ™‚

  2. The girl lay in bed all snuggly and warm, pleasant thoughts of a turkey bacon and gummy worm breakfast dancing in her head. Silvery beams from a gibbous moon played through her bedroom window. The trees outside spread their winter bare arms and cast jagged shadows across the ceiling and walls of the little room.

    Drowsiness began to overtake the Prettiest Pretty Princess, her long lashed eyelids getting heavier and heavier as she drifted closer to the night’s slumber. She was in the Borderlands now… that fabled place between the waking world and that of dreams. Not quite awake, and yet not fully wrapped in the arms of sleep’s oblivion. The shapes around her, painted in shades of grey and black shadow, began to soften and blurr as she drifted off ….

    Except for the closet door.

    “I closed that door before coming to bed,” she thought. “…Or did I?” Her sleepy mind could not recall, but the door was definitely open now.

    What began as a low groan gathered in pitch into a creaking screech as the hinges swung the door slowly outward, revealing even blacker shadows within. The Pretty Princess scrunched herself further beneath the covers drawing them up above her nose so that just her eyes peered out as the dark gaping maw of the closet doorway widened noisily before her.

    The screeching door mercifully stopped its travel, and silence returned to the dark bedroom with a palpable force. The quiet was so complete that it almost hurt her ears. She could see nothing within that inky blackness beyond the closet door, but she was overcome by the dread that something was indeed there… waiting and listening. She realized that she had been holding her breath. When she let it out with a whoosh it sounded dangerously loud in the small still space.

    “Was that something moving?” she thought. Her heart began to thump faster within her breast as the shadow within shadows began to slowly emerge from the closet.

    “Who… Who’s there?” she said, her shaky voice sounding odd and rough to her own ears.

    The Shadow crept foward, coming ever closer. It began to edge stealthily into the moonbeam light mere inches from the Princess’ bed. It was a child’s toy clown… but not the kind of toy that had ever brought joy to a little girl or boy. No laughter had ever been born from the sight of this harlequin from hell. It’s feet shuffled along slowly, the long oafish shoes dragging softly along the carpet. It’s grotesque head seemed too large for its spindly neck as it wobbled too and fro. Arms lacking bone and muscle dangled and swung as it trundled closer to the bedside.

    “I, am Mr. Tickle Limper,” came a sneering, scratchy voice. The hinged jaw of the sick clown clicked menacingly up and down as it spoke.

    “Wha…. What do you want?” the Princess stammered.

    “I smell gingerbread…. and I love’s to eat me some gingerbread…hehehe”.

    The Pretty Princess lowered the sheets a bit and sat up straighter in bed.

    “Gingerbread?…. GINGERBREAD??! Who the hell are you calling gingerbread, you freaky little dwarf?” she growled.

    The Evil Mr. Tickle Limper stopped moving forward. His painted on expression did not change, but confusion and doubt was evident none the less.

    “If you think you can just waltz in here and gobble me up, you’ve got another thing coming. How Very DARE YOU!” she exclaimed, rising further from the bed.

    “Hey… hold on a minute now,” the evil clown stammered as it backed up a shuffling step.

    “Don’t you ‘hold on’ me,” she replied as she reached beneath the covers.

    The Prettiest Pretty Princess drew forth an object known far and wide to strike fear and loathing into the hearts of demonic creatures everywhere…. Mr. Tickle Limper drew back in terror as the Princess hefted the Four Story Miracle Condom Water Ballon in one perfectly manicured hand.

    “Now, now… lets be reasonable,” Mr. Tickle Limper stuttered as he backed further away from the bed.

    “Reasonable THIS”, she cried, throwing the mysteriously indestructable hydro-prophylactic missle. Her aim, like her heart, was true. Mr. Tickle Limper staggered backward into the dark closet, reeling from the impact. The closet door, silently this time, swung slowly closed.

    The End


  3. Dude – are you new? Clow dolls are always cursing people. It’s just the innate thing of clowny-objects. And there is NO such thing as an un-creepy clown object. Heck, i’d even say an un-creepy clown period.

  4. If you do get murdered ala Chucky, I will write songs and stories about you. I will not rest until everyone knows about you and what happened.

    Death by creme pies would not be so bad huh?

  5. cooper says:

    You will be constantly surrounded by 25 kids ranging from 3 to 5 years old.

    You will star in an as yet unwritten Stephen King sequel to IT.

    You will feel the compulsive need to live your life among elephants and bearded women.

  6. The cream pie curse wouldn’t be so bad if you’re eating them. Yum! Unless of course you wind up being 300 pounds of joy (awesome song), which would be good because you’re happy but would be bad because you’d be unhealthy. Or it could be that you’ll downsize to a mini-cooper or eco-friendly smart car, but hey, keep those other people out by putting barbed wire covered in K-Y Jelly around the door handles and keeping a big, mean looking dog named “Hooch” inside. He’s all the company you’d ever need in there anyways, and no one would dare try to climb in with you because they’d be grossed out and terrified of both the door handles and the dog. Problem solved and curse resolved. Hey you might as well make it cool if you’re gonna be cursed, you know. πŸ™‚

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