One of my more bizarre fears stems from this sign. While I would not dispute the fact that Arby's roast beef sandwich is indeed delicious, when I was very young I didn't understand why this sign was in this shape. Of course, one day in my teens I realized that this sign is supposed to be shaped like a big tall cowboy hat, but when I was little, it reminded me of the monster from the Bugs Bunny cartoons--you know-- the big scary one with sneakers named Gossamer. I had nightmares of this sign walking around on those two "legs," stomping on things.
Oddly, this is the only one of these "cowboy hat" signs I've ever seen that has two poles instead of one. If it would have had only one pole, I'm sure it never would have occurred to me that this thing could go on a murderous rampage.
Now that I think about it, just about all large signs that are shaped like things give me the creeps. There was a really scary Halloween episode of The Simpsons in which all the large signs in Springfield come to life and start attacking everyone, which leads me to think that I'm not the only one.
I'm sure that my fear of this huge sombrero at South of the Border in South Carolina is directly related to my fear of the big signs, only this thing is much taller and has four legs. This huge tower is an observation platform and it just doesn't seem right that there is a big hat at the top of it--the hat makes it seem just a little too. . . well. . . alive.
Unlike big signs with hats, these things actually move in a frightening way--they raise and lower their heads like giant, drinking insects. They also appear to have arms and legs, and look like they could overtake you if you were trying to get away in a car. Mary says she's scared of them too.
Though I am scared of the normal-sized Santa Claus (possibly going back to some childhood trauma of being placed on a stranger's lap after being specifically told that such behavior was evil), the manifestations of him that truly frighten me are the giant inflatable St. Nicks that appear during the Christmas season around here. Local car dealerships place these gargantuan tethered creatures on their roofs. The giant inflatables shift around in the wind like red and white King Kongs, trying to break free from the cables that restrain them. At night, in addition to stronger winds being present, these things are lit from within, making them especially frightful.
This amusement-park version of Pablo Picasso was a performance piece by Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan that greeted Mary and me when we went to the Museum of Modern Art in New York a few months ago. I'm not too scared of the real Picasso, but any large-headed mascot-type person gives me the willies. Around Halloween, we saw a jumbo-sized skull on a skeleton waving to us as we drove by a costume store and I started screaming.
This guy is on the cover of the Tom Wolfe book, which Mary just finished reading. I don't know why, but he really gives me the creeps. He doesn't even have the courtesy to appear on the outside of the dust jacket--he's printed on the front cover of the book and he peeps out through the "o" in Tom (Peeping Tom, get it?). Perhaps it's the neanderthal brow or the butt-like chin, or maybe I just don't like the way he's winking at me.
No sane person likes clowns. Most people find them somewhat frightening, if not downright terrifying. Children, the people that clowns are presumably around to entertain, avoid them at all costs. Who can blame them? Here is a full grown person in bizarre clothing with menacing make-up, stomping around in enormous shoes. If the children knew about the clown in this picture, serial killer John Wayne Gacy, they would run screaming when the carnival came to town.
One of my earliest memories is of a dream I had about a clown--I was at the circus and a clown with a machine gun was chasing me. I think it was my first realistic, terrifying nightmare.
When I was about seven years old, my parents rearranged my room so that my bed was under the window. The first time I tried to sleep there, I noticed that I could see out the window underneath the shade. Suddenly, I was alarmed to realize that clowns could look in at me while I was asleep. Why would clowns want to watch me sleep? I didn't (and still don't) know, but the whole idea that there was a chance of this happening forced me to move my bed across the room and the thought of it to this day makes me shudder. I mean, is there any thought creepier than looking out your window and seeing a clown looking in at you? I still sleep with a pillow over my eyes so that if a clown (or, the ultimate in terror, the ghost of a clown) really is looking at me, at least I won't be able to see it.
