Sideshows and carnivals used to be a big thing, real popular with the country folks during those long, lean years following the big Depression. And during this time there was a young boy whose daddy made his livin' as a sideshow clown. Also his grandaddy had done the same, it was a tradition in the boy's family, and everyone expected Charlie to follow in his sire's footsteps.
Bad thing is, - and not lots o' folks know this, or even do this kinda thing anymore - but professional clowns used to cut each side of their mouth clear back into the cheek, so's they could smile real big.
Naturally it left them scarred under all that white face paint, but I reckon everybody thought it was worth it.
Everybody except Charlie. He hated seeing his Pop without his paint on, looking all twisted and grinning even when he wasn't - with his molars exposed clear to the back of the mouth where the wet shadows are.
But rumor has it that Charlie's Pop wouldn't take no for an answer - if clowning was good enough for him, then it was darn well good enough for his son. So it happens that one day when Charlie's grandaddy come visiting, both the men grabbed hold of the boy and got down to business.
Neighbors said they could hear Charlie's screams clear across the field. Unfortunately, with Charlie screaming and wriggling and carrying on fit to be tied, his grandaddy slipped with the knife. I imagine the old man's hands were shaky, and probably sweating from gripping that straight razor so hard with a squirming kid, but what ever the case, the grandaddy's hand slipped right when he went to make the last cut.
You can just about picture what must have happened, if you think about it which I don't like to do. That poor boy crying and scared and hurtin' with blood running down his cheeks like a river. His face all carved up like a rump roast. Probably sent that kid clean outta his mind, don't you reckon?
Which is likely the reason Charlie slaughtered his family in their sleep all them years ago. Using the same straight razor they must've used on him.
In fact, we're standing, right now, in the room where it happened. You probably thought that was rust on them tiles, but I imagine that's blood. Now hold on, there ain't nothing to be scared of. This'd be a good farmhouse to buy, perfect for your growing family. I notice you got a young boy of your own.
Up in the attic, there's still some trunks up there with a few of Charlie's things, from before they packed him off to the asylum. Might even be some of his old toys, like a clown or two still there. That boy of yours like clowns?