I have this fear of clowns, so I think that if I surround myself

Host: The room was dark, its only light a strange red glow spilling from a dozen mismatched lamps—each one topped with a porcelain clown. Some smiled, others grimaced, and a few had eyes too real to feel comfortable. Their painted faces caught the light in unsettling ways, half comedy, half horror.

The air was thick with the faint scent of dust, old makeup, and something sweetly decaying, like the remnants of carnival candy left in a forgotten drawer.

Jack sat in an old armchair, surrounded by those frozen grins, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The smoke curled upward, mingling with the painted smiles, blurring the line between humor and madness. Jeeny stood near the door, her arms crossed, her eyes cautious, as if afraid that even the act of blinking might make one of the clowns move.

Jeeny: “Johnny Depp once said, ‘I have this fear of clowns, so I think that if I surround myself with them, it will ward off all evil.’”
Her voice was half amused, half uneasy. “That’s… strangely poetic, don’t you think? Surrounding yourself with what you fear to keep it from hurting you.”

Jack: “Or it’s just madness with better interior design.”
He exhaled, the smoke forming a crooked halo above his head. “You don’t conquer fear by embracing it, Jeeny. You just learn to live inside it. And that’s not bravery—that’s obsession.”

Host: The clowns’ shadows stretched across the walls like uninvited guests. The lamp light flickered, and for a moment, one grinning face seemed to wink. The silence that followed was almost alive.

Jeeny: “Maybe. But what if it’s a kind of alchemy, Jack? Taking the thing that scares you most and turning it into your protector? It’s like saying, I see you, I know you, and now you work for me.”

Jack: “You make it sound noble. But it’s still fear—just redecorated.”
He leaned forward, his grey eyes reflecting the painted faces. “That’s the trick with fear. It doesn’t vanish when you confront it. It just changes masks.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that what life is? A collection of masks we learn to make peace with? Maybe the point isn’t to destroy fear—but to domesticate it.”

Jack: “You can’t domesticate a nightmare. You can only teach yourself to laugh while it’s chewing on your sanity.”

Host: A faint sound came from the corner—a music box, old and broken, playing the first few notes of a circus tune before warping into silence. The clowns seemed to lean closer, the room’s air tightening.

Jeeny smiled, though her hands trembled.
Jeeny: “You’re afraid of control, Jack. You think anything that can’t be predicted must be conquered. But sometimes, the only way to deal with what terrifies you is to live beside it, to laugh with it—like the clown who smiles through tears.”

Jack: “The clown smiles because he’s paid to. He’s trapped in the makeup of his own performance. You think that’s strength? No, that’s tragedy in a red nose.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s courage. Maybe it takes real strength to keep smiling while your heart is breaking. Maybe that’s why Depp surrounds himself with clowns—not to mock them, but to mirror them. They remind him that even fear can be art if you wear it right.”

Jack: “You romanticize everything, Jeeny. Even madness.”

Jeeny: “And you pathologize everything, Jack. Even survival.”

Host: The light bulb above them flickered, buzzing like a trapped fly. The shadows on the wall shifted, melting together until they formed something almost human. Jack’s breath slowed.

Jack: “When I was a kid,” he said quietly, “I was terrified of mirrors. Thought they showed not your reflection, but what you were pretending not to be. My father told me to look into one until the fear went away. It didn’t. It just… changed shape. Now I just avoid mirrors.”

Jeeny: “That’s the same thing. Depp avoids the mirror by filling it with clowns. Maybe the reflection he fears most is the one that smiles back when he’s not supposed to.”

Jack: “You think fear can be owned?”

Jeeny: “Not owned—befriended. Fear is the only emotion that never lies to you. It’s honest. Brutal, but honest. When you know what you fear, you know who you are.”

Jack: “So you’re saying we should all just live in a funhouse of our own anxieties.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. I’m saying build your funhouse before it builds you.”

Host: The clocks in the room began to tick louder. The clowns’ eyes, glassy and watchful, seemed to follow every movement, every breath. The tension in the air coiled, but something in Jack’s face softened—a flicker of amusement, or perhaps recognition.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe fear isn’t the enemy—it’s the only honest thing left. We spend our whole lives pretending we’re not afraid of losing, of dying, of being forgotten. But maybe the real trick is to look it in the eye and say, Fine, then stay. Just don’t get in my way.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what Depp does. The clowns don’t protect him from evil—they remind him that evil, like fear, is just a part of the show. If you can laugh at it, you take away its script.”

Jack: “So we fight darkness with absurdity.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes absurdity is the only thing strong enough to face the truth.”

Host: The music box in the corner started again, the tune somehow sweeter this time, less broken. The clowns’ faces no longer looked so menacing—they were still strange, but almost… kind. Or maybe it was just that Jack had stopped seeing them as enemies.

He stood, brushing ash from his jacket, a faint smile curving his mouth.
Jack: “You know, Jeeny, maybe the reason I never liked clowns was because they’re honest. They wear their masks out loud. The rest of us just pretend we’re not wearing any.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe that’s the secret. The only way to keep the dark away is to wear a brighter mask. To laugh louder than your fear.”

Jack: “And hope the laughter doesn’t sound too real.”

Jeeny: “If it does, you’ve won.”

Host: The camera would pull back now, gliding through the room of painted smiles and flickering shadows, until Jack and Jeeny were just two figures framed by the eerie light of the clowns.

And in that unsettling stillness—half comfort, half madness—Johnny Depp’s words seemed to echo through the air like a circus prayer:

“I have this fear of clowns, so I think that if I surround myself with them, it will ward off all evil.”

The scene would fade, leaving only the faint music, the gentle laughter, and the quiet truth beneath it:

That sometimes, the only way to survive fear is to invite it in, give it a name, and let it laugh beside you in the dark.