Happy October! Here is the first installment of Clowning Around at Banksia. The following story is fiction (or at least that's what I want you to believe. . . bwhahahah) but it is based on a little real superstition that I've been told is held by some of the long time volunteers at The Aiken County Historical Museum.
Sometimes the fears we label phobias simply show that the roots of ourselves; the parts still pulling life from the sand, muck, and loam of the earth are more rational than our fully clothed, upright selves want to believe. Clausterphobia for instance, why wouldn't we balk at the notion of being trapped in the airless chamber of some cave into which we clammered a little two deeply. Or Acrophobia, what sane individual could comfortably stand at the cliff's edge, trusting balance and steady footing to prevent her flightless descent? Or Coulrophobia for that matter, why shouldn't we be afraid of what is unrecognizable as our own kind. . . why shouldn't we be afraid of clowns?
I'd taken my children to the Aiken County Museum several times. I'd never seen anyone outside of a couple of docents and a volunteer running the gift shop. Once I'd run into a young man, the janitor evidently, running a vacuum over the carpet in the upstairs hallway. We enjoyed having the large, rambling winter colony mansion to ourselves. The children loved looking at the items from the antique drugstore and exploring the old-time fire trucks on the bottom floor. They spotted plants and animals in the nature room they had observed on hikes in the Hitchcock Woods. The upper level was definately their favorite section. We spent many rainy afternoons in the interactive playroom with its climbable train, log cabin filled with pioneer clothing, and one-room school house full of chalk, books, and puzzles. 
However, there was one room in the museum that I did find a bit unusual. Behind a large glass enclosure that lined the length of the room stood a miniture replica of a Barnum and Baily circus. In alcoves opposite the display stood other circus memorabilia. A stand-up cardboard of a midget in the style of General Tom Thumb, one of the original side shows offered by the famous circus, as well as various posters and other advertisements. In a corner chair at the far end of the room sat a life size clown. It had the customary wiry, red hairs corkscrewing wildly around the painted face, black diamond eyes and exaggerated smile. It sat with one huge black shoe cocked across the opposite knee. Its' one piece outfit striped in primary color with a huge, white, ruffled collar.
Have you ever noticed how children, not yet being desensitized by experience and reason, pick up on sublties that we, with our schedules and sense of purpose stumble across but never see? Well, on one particular visit to the museum, it was winter and the days in the house with a handful of little children were long, my youngest son who was around two at the time had tired of the excursion early into our trip. He whined and held his arms up to be carried as we made our way from exhibit to exhibit, finally heading up the stairs to play train conductor and old farmhand for awhile. Nothing satisfied Taylor that day. He threw the pieces to the large floor puzzle, hid under the wooden train where he shouldn't have gone, and tore the paper ends of a dried ear of corn. Exasperated , I told the other children we'd better get little brother down for his nap. We cleaned up the mess we'd made and headed out toward home. As was our habit, the boys ran towards the circus room for one quick tour before leaving for the day. I lagged behind holding a wiggly toddler who cried to be picked up and then cried to be put down again as soon as he was in arms.
"Let's go, kids!" I called from the doorway and put the squirming little one down yet again. In a sudden burst of energy he ran laughing after his brothers, his little teeth clenching the pacifier that I should have taken from him months ago. The other boys had reached the end of the room and turned to come towards me just as little Taylor caught up to them. Suddenly, the smile vanished from his face and the tears returned, the whining and fretting turning to full on wailing.
"Great," I moaned and grabbed him up again, motioning for the other boys to follow quickly. I was embarrassed as we headed back toward the museum's entrance. Taylor's screaming was echoing off the high ceilings and old plaster walls as loudly as the fire truck siren must have one time sounded.
"I think we've waited too long for nap time," I said to the docent trying to give her my best I-have-these-children-totally-under-control smile.
Once outside, the crying subsided to whimpers and I knew he'd be sleeping before we pulled onto South Boundary headed home. After buckling everyone in thier seats, I jumped in the front, my temples beginning the dull pulsing that indicated a headache was coming on.
"Alright guys, Mommy needs everyone to be quiet and we'll be home in just a few minutes. I'll put on that new movie we got in the mail yesterday and everyone can rest a bit, ok?" I said, reaching for the keys in my purse. My hand came back empty.
"Dang!" I muttered under my breath, a stream of actual profanity littering my mind but staying well hidden inside my mouth. I knew I it would have been better to have taken the children inside with me but I could not face the thought of herding them, especially the exhausted Taylor, back through the place. Parked in one of the spaces near the front door, I ran in and asked the docent if she would keep an eye on my vehicle while I ran in and looked for my missing purse.
I knew I had left it somewhere upstairs because I had taken the baby's pacifier out in an attempt to keep him happy a little longer sometime while we were there. I ran up feeling very guilty about leaving a car full of kids with an elderly lady that I barely knew and found the pocketbook on top of the train in the playroom. I turned to head back down the stairs but paused at an unexpected noise on the deserted floor.
Dum dum dumdum dum dum dum dum dumdum.
I leaned my ear briefly toward the sound and again the refrain played only a bit louder this time.
Dum dum dumdum dum dum dum dum dumdum.
A familiar rythmn.
"The Big Top tune," I thought. "Circus Music."
Thinking that one of the children had turned on some previously unnoticed feature I crossed to the threshold of the Circus Room. Silence.
" I need to get back to the boys," I thought and again turned to leave.
Dum dum dumdum dum dum dum dum dumdum.
I'll have to admit my heart was pounding. This scenario was developing all the elements of a very, scary story. But, of course, that was ridiculous.
"I'll go see what they've left on and if I don't see it right away I'll just let the docent know," I encouraged myself.
I felt the draft of wind before I heard the sound and the thick, wooden door slammed behind me.
To be continued. . .
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