Once a cheerful figure meant to make others laugh, the Noseless Clown now drifts through the forest as a bitter, mocking shadow. The joy he once embodied has turned into something sharp and accusatory. He looks at Anne with scornful silence, as if blaming her not only for what he has become, but for ever believing he was funny in the first place.

His ruined face is a mask that no longer fits. He doesn’t attack directly, but his presence chills the air. He is less a monster than a verdict — and not one who forgives easily.

What unsettles Anne most is not his anger, but the shame he reflects back at her — the memory of laughter that wasn’t kind, of moments she thought were harmless. In the Noseless Clown, cruelty wears a grin. And behind that grin is a silence that cuts deeper than any scream.

– Missing nose = lost innocence, laughter turned to sarcasm

– Painted face = joy as a mask, now cracked

– Gaze = accusatory, unblinking

– Voice = absent — replaced by silence filled with contempt

– Posture = slumped or frozen — like a caricature of a joke

I don’t know, but just looking at her makes me want to grind her into dust! If it weren’t for the old man’s orders, I’d have smashed her a hundred times over by now — like an insolent fly.

Teddy, she’s right! Why not give it a try — things can’t get any worse anyway!

📘 Book I

– Appears among the ghostly figures observing Anne

– Remains silent, his expression unclear but hostile

– Refuses to speak when asked for mercy — turns away with contempt

📗 Book II

– Part of the group of ghosts turned into a “main attraction” in Heinoland Park

📙 Book III

– Does not appear

– Some say he was once Anne’s favorite toy — the one she laughed with the most

– Others believe he never forgave the moment she stopped laughing

– His nose wasn’t lost — it was torn off in anger

– His silence hides words he would speak, if only he could

– Even the other ghosts avoid him — his bitterness is contagious