“Do you have any recollection of how your phobia against clowns started?”, my therapist asked me calmly. I was in her office for the weekly session of therapy I received from her. The office was cozy and comfortable to be in with the fluffy chairs, overly optimistic poster, and the crackling fireplace. The air also had a tint of cinnamon which mixed weirdly with the burning wood into a pleasant smell.

    “No, all I have on my theory of how it started is this picture. Of course, I haven’t actually seen all the details on it since just thinking about it make me hyperventilate”, I replied to my therapist as I clumsily handed her a mossy green box that contained the battered picture.

    “Well you certainly don’t look happy to be posing with this clown. It looks very...different from other clowns who are meant to entertain children”, she said about the 18 year old picture in her hands.
    “My father was a stingy man, so for my birthday that year he...hired that...thing”, I struggled to say. Even after a whole year of therapy, I still am not able to say that word. I was alright with hearing the word now, but that is all the improvement I have made.
    “You have made some improvement Amy, this time you actually brought the picture. Did you look for it yourself?”, she asked in a firm yet calming voice. I know she was trying to get me to talk more about my fear, but I just struggled a lot to open up about it.
    “Heavens no, I would have fainted if I caught a glimpse of it. I asked my husband to look for it in the attic and put it in that box”, I hastily replied, not even stopping to catch my breath.
    “Amy, if you keep avoiding your fear like this, you’re not going to improve much. I think you should meet with someone that has worked as a clown”, she carefully advised while talking slowly.
    “A...c...cl...thing? I...think that will be alright as long as I’m not alone with them, and they’re not wearing those horrendous clothes”, I said in a distasteful tone, getting goosebumps at the thought.
    “Good, I'll like you to meet my friend Robert, he’s a good friend of mine and I think he will be able to help you. Come in, Robert”, she said, the last part rather loudly. Her friend came in through the door, slowly closing the door behind him.
    “Hello there, Amy”, Robert said in a deep and raspy voice. Due to the dim lighting of the room, I couldn’t see him very clearly other than his silhouette. He seemed oddly familiar, like I had seen him a very long time ago. As he got closer, I finally realized it was him, the source of my nightmares but I blacked out, so who knows?