Night Terrors: A Children's Short Horror Story

It's back again. In the hallway, outside my bedroom door. I can hear it breathe.

It keeps pacing back and forth, stopping next to my door for a few seconds, then shuffling towards my parents' room at the end of the hall.

This is the third night in a row. My parents didn't believe me the last two nights. They never believe me, why would they start now?

I asked Rachel if I could sleep over but her parents are in the middle of a divorce. I don't know why that means I can't stay over for a night, but whatever. It's just my life on the line here.

It's silent now. Somehow that makes it worse.

Maybe I need to confront it. It's probably just the wind or something. If it's gonna kill me, it could probably break the door down anyway, so might as well see what it is.

But my bed feels safe. My blankets feel safe. Keeping my door closed feels safe.

Even though there's no lock.

Ok, my bed is feeling less safe.

There's the shuffling noise again! It's right outside my door!

Silence. These blankets feel extra thin.

I can't take this. If it's gonna come in, come in already!

It's moving back to the other end of the hallway. Now is my chance to see what it is, if only I could move.

Focus. Start with one foot. Swing it over the edge of the bed, and hope that whatever is making that noise doesn't have any friends waiting under there.

Ok. Move!

My left foot finds its way over the edge and hangs there, waiting to be ripped off. Nothing happens. There's a chill in the air.

Move the other leg and sit up. I'm almost there. Put each foot in a slipper. Grab the phone my parents finally bought me and use the screen for a light. See mom, this phone could save my life!

Or end it, if the beast or whatever sees the light.

Turn off the phone, jump back in bed.

This is stupid. I'm not moving another inch until morning.

Except now I have to pee. That's just perfect. My phone said 4:12am. No way can I hold it until i have to get up for school.

My brother would just pee in a used bottle in his room. Boys are so lucky. He's probably fast asleep right now or playing one of his video games with headphones on, clueless to what's happening right outside his door!

Idiot!

Am I the only one who can hear this thing? Does that mean I'm the one who has to do something about it?

Even though everything in my body is telling me not to, I swing my legs over the edge and stand up. I have to face this thing.

It takes forever to tiptoe to my door, enough time to change my mind and change it back like 100 times. The only thing keeping me going is my full bladder about to explode.

When I get to the door, I put my ear to it like in the movies. I hear nothing. Maybe it left? Maybe there was never anything there. Am I crazy?

If I'm crazy, I should be able to open the door because there's nothing there. But if there is something there, I'd have to be crazy to open the door.

But if I don't open the door, I'll have to pee in something here in my room, and then I'd be really crazy. Like my brother.

Ok, I'm going out there.

The doorknob makes a deafening noise as I turn it. I never noticed how loud it was before. When there's a small crack between the door and the frame I try to peek out but can't get a good look.

I push it open ever so slightly. Now there's a good inch or two to look out and I see...nothing. The hallway is pitch black. Nobody believes in nightlights anymore. I start to push the door again with my pinky when I hear something that sounds like panting.

I'm under my bedsheets before the door closes shut behind me.

But now it knows I'm here! It must have heard me slam the door.

Of course, I'm sure my parents didn't hear the door slam. And if they did, they'll probably yell at me tomorrow morning, when I'm a half eaten corpse. I can't...

There's a scratching at the door...it's trying to get in! I should have never opened the door!

The beast is still scratching at the door. It must not have thumbs, or maybe it can't turn the door handle.

I gotta find a way out of here!

I'm only on the second floor. Maybe I can make a rope out of my sheets and climb out.

My fear keeps me motivated and I quickly, but silently, move to the window.

I could probably survive the fall without serious damage.

Better than dealing with whatever is outside my door.

Just as I start to push open the window, the scratching at my door starts again.

Before I can let out the shriek that my entire body wants to let out, my left leg is hanging out of the window sill.

Then my right leg. I'm sitting on the sill with the lower half of my body hanging outside. I start to turn around so I can slowly let myself down.

Even though I'm terrified of the beast at my door, I'm an idiot because I look at the ground below and now I'm terrified of the fall.

What's a worse way to die? This is not a thought I ever wanted to have at 12 years old.

My body is still balanced on the window sill as I hear a low grumble from outside my door.

It's getting angry!

I slowly lower myself, hanging on to the window sill with all my might.

I look down again and this time I feel like I can make the drop.

Soon it doesn't matter because my fingers slip and I feel the same sensation I felt on my first roller coaster ride earlier this year.

Except this ride is over before I get the urge to puke.

Instead, I hit the ground, and then...darkness.

***

As the sun's rays start to peek out, I struggle to open my eyes.

I feel the damp grass underneath me.

I'm in my backyard, directly under my window. From this angle, I realize how dumb I was to think I could make the drop.

As I silently yell at myself for being so stupid, I hear panting coming towards me rapidly.

I don't know whether its the pain of the fear keeping me from bolting, but I'm stuck where I am.

I squeeze my eyes tight and wait for my fate.

After what feels like a lifetime, or one of my brother's video game sessions, I feel the Beast's presence directly over me.

Staring. Waiting.

JUST BITE MY HEAD OFF ALREADY!

I feel something warm and wet slide across my face, over and over.

I put my hands to my face and push away whatever it is and I feel giant teeth covered in saliva...then fur...and big, floppy ears.

"BISCUITS! GET OFF ME"

My uncle's St. Bernard continues to lick my face as I try to push it away and slowly sit up.

My head is pounding, but I can't help laughing.

Biscuits, the Big Bad Scary Beast, is staying with us for a week while my Uncle Rob is on vacation.

I wish I had made that connection in the middle of the night.

"Good boy."

--

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Mike Yanagita & The Art of Digression in Fargo (The Movie)

Fargo is an apparently great tv show (I still haven't seen it like some kind of jerk) but first it was an iconic movie. Well, first it was a town in North Dakota, but that doesn't really matter. The accents in the movie are really Minnesotan and the action mostly happens in Minn...you know what? That doesn't really matter either. See it if you haven't. Trust me, it's worth your time just to hear everyone call Steve Buscemi "that funny looking fella".

Anyways, the movie is great, but there is a side story, seemingly irrelevant to the narrative, that always threw me off. Some people go so far as to say it ruins an otherwise perfect movie, but I just always thought it was a weird, funny digression. And it is. And I think that's the point. The Coen brothers always highlight the absurdity of life. They deal in quirkiness and idiosyncracies. Fargo is one of their best movies because of the great story it tells (and the great writing, acting, cinematography, etc.) but it is iconic because of the quirkiness. The accents, the personalities, the endless snow, the wood chipper.

And Mike Yanagita.

Mike Yanagita is the guy who calls up his former schoolmate out of the blue. That schoolmate, of course, is Brainerd, Minnesota's Police Chief Marge Gunderson, wife of Norm "Son of a" Gunderson, played by the Coen brothers' favorite actress, Frances McDormand.

Yanagita is a pre-social media creeper. He doesn't have the luxury of Facebook or Instagram to check up on his former crushes and send them weird direct messages. He has to call her up on the phone (a landline!) and strike up a conversation, which somehow works. When Marge travels to Minneapolis to investigate the murder, she has lunch with him.

Marge is portrayed as a smart investigator and a good leader, but she is also highly naive. To her, this lunch is simply an opportunity for two old friends to catch up. But as the entire audience knows, Mike has other plans. He almost immediately proceeds to hit on her. She patiently refutes his advances, genuinely surprised by his ulterior motive, and he breaks down in response. Crying openly, he claims that his wife recently died and that he's been very lonely.

Actual quote.

Margie is confused, but more than anything, she seems concerned for him. Later, she talks to a girlfriend who also went to school with Mike. This friend tells Margie that everything Mike said was fabricated. Margie is dumbfounded. How could he tell such a boldfaced lie to her face, and how could she have believed him so easily?

Then...she continues on with her job and Mike is never mentioned again.

As I said, I always thought this was a funny little digression from the main story. Digressions are important at times; in movies they can add to the atmosphere of the story or help build the characters. Fargo is a character study just as much as a kidnapping story, and this scene helps build the character of Margie: the pregnant, smart, but somewhat naive, small town Police Chief. Even in the middle of a murder investigation, the Mike Yanagitas of the world still insert themselves into your life. The external world, and creepers, don't stop or go away because you have important things to do. There's no way to completely block out distractions. Distractions, or digressions, are an inevitable, albeit often annoying, part of life. And a lot can be learned from these digressions.

The scene with Yanagita, far from being a meaningless side story, does in fact aid the narrative. As stated, it portrays the naivete of Margie, creating a more comprehensive understanding of her, and it causes the audience to question her judgement of people and events; it also causes her to question her own judgement, which leads her to re-examine Jerry Lundeergard. She may have never thought twice about him if she wasn't confronted with her gross misreading of Yanagita. Of course, when she does see Jerry again, he bolts and she has her first real break in the investigation.

In addition, Yanagita (and the movie in general) are a commentary on masculinity in the modern world. Margie is already turning the image of the stereotypical masculine, aggressive police investigator on its head. She is the chief of the department, well respected, and clearly superior as an investigator. Her husband stays home and cooks breakfast for her. A grown man cries in front of her after she rejects his advances. Jerry is intimidated every time he sees her. The only typical masculine figure shown is Stormare's character, who she ends up shooting and arresting. Dominating. When she drives him to jail, she questions his motives. "There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don'tcha know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well. I just don't understand it." She may be naive to not understand that some people are just violent criminals, especially considering that she is a cop, but it's really a questioning of the concept of traditional manhood. Even Buscemi's character doesn't seem to understand his partner's ultra violence. He is stunned when he shoots the cop in the head, and even more stunned when his partner attacks him with the axe.

The stereotypical, alpha male does not make sense in this age. Traditional masculinity and femininity, traditional gender roles, are at best outdated and unnecessary, and at worst, harmful. Traditional masculinity led to greed and violence. There's more to life than that; there's the beauty of nature, there's love and companionship, there's mallard art, there's Arby's.

For Margie, figuring out who committed a murder is just another part of her life. It is part of her job. She is presented as an average person in an average small town who does her job very well. She has an average husband. They eat Arby's, the pinnacle of mediocrity, for lunch. But even these average people and this average place have meaningful, worthwhile stories, if you're willing to hear them. Norm did a portrait of a mallard that became a stamp. Jerry Lundegaard has dozens of trophies on his shelves in his office; he was clearly very good at something, despite his shortcomings in everything else. Margie is very trusting, and super nice, which don't seem like the best characteristics for an investigator, but she is clearly a superior investigator to the men in her department, and she ends up solving 5 murders mostly by herself. Normal, ordinary people often do extraordinary things.

The husband's statement at the end of the movie, "We're doing all right," is Fargo's underlying theme. They are doing all right. Margie is great at her job, Norm is great at his hobby and at being a husband. Nothing flashy or spectacular, but they are surviving and enjoying life. And Jerry, the pathetic loser who concocts a plan to kidnap his own wife, would have been all right too if he didn't get greedy. There's nothing wrong with being ordinary.

None of the characteristics or details I discussed are central to the plot of the movie, and most don't even push the narrative forward. But all of the idiosyncrasies of the individuals in the film are what make the film memorable. There are a million kidnapping stories, but only one Fargo. And that's largely because of details like Norm's mallard portrait and the story of Mike Yanagita.

See? Digressions are great. Word to Holden Caulfield.


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

A Free Verse Poem About Poop

Today, my bearded dragon pooped.
4 solid black logs, one with a white tip.
When I got home, she was lounging in her pool, eyes closed, satisfied look on her face.
Was it really a satisfied look?
I don't know.
But I know I felt better.

She hadn't shit in about 3 weeks.
That is not the normal gestation period for a lizard's rectum baby.
It is not too abnormal for her in the winter months, though.
The cold causes lizard constipation.
I had given her several baths the past few weeks.
Warm baths help move the bowel movement through her body.
They seem to have helped.

As she doesn't make any sounds, and she is a lizard, it is hard to know how she feels.
Her normal behavior is lying around all day, mostly sleeping.
Her abnormal behavior is lying around all day, mostly sleeping.
You can see the dilemma.
But after she lays one down, I know she is healthy.
Solid poops are the first, and often best, indicator of health in animals.
Yes, that includes humans.
Vets and doctors both take stool samples to check on the status of their patients.
That which comes out tells us about that which is inside.

So yes, my lizard pooping makes me feel better.
Much like myself pooping makes me feel better.
Much like my friends telling me every detail of their precious child's poop seems to make them feel better.

It is the poop that binds us.

Poop is literal waste.
Poop smells gross.
Poop looks gross.
Poop feels gross.
Poop is gross.
But man, a good poop makes everything all right.


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Figuring Out Our Funny Phrases

The English language has a plethora of weird sayings. Some of their meanings are intuitive. "Blood is thicker than water" is an obvious metaphor for the strong bonds of family. Some have meanings hidden a little deeper, but their backstories make sense. "Caught red handed" refers to a time when a murderer, or a sheep thief, literally needed blood on their hands to prove their guilt. 

Other phrases are just batshit insane. Speaking of batshit insane, why do we say batshit insane? Does guano cause insanity? It may have turned Jim Carrey into an anti-vaxxer nutcase, but how is it such a ubiquitous phrase? I wouldn't know batshit from cat shit if it fell on my head (although that would have to be a big cat) but I know when someone is batshit crazy.

Anyways, that's the type of phrase I'm talking about here. The batshit crazy or just plain odd phrases we all know and have probably used without really thinking about what the hell they mean. Phrases like...


Shoot the shit
"We just sat around shooting the shit." Why does that refer to talking? I get talking shit, but why are you shooting shit? What purpose does that serve? Was that a thing back in the day? People just sat around shooting at piles of dog shit on their lawn, laughing it up. Is that what we did before the internet? Maybe it's "shooting" the shit because for Americans, shooting is as natural as talking? That I certainly believe. Everything is "shooting." I'm gonna shoot up the road and go see the Smiths. Aww, shoot! Shoot your shot. Shoot the shit.
Obsessed much, America?


Butter them up
Why? Someone is supposed to like that? Are they Kramer? What purpose could it possibly serve. other than to make Newman hungry? Even if I wanted butter all over me, I don't want some stranger rubbing it on me just to get some favor in return. Margarine, maybe, but not butter. That'd be weird.  

Let the cat out of the bag 
Why is it a bad thing when someone lets the cat out of the bag? Why was it in the bag in the first place? What were you going to do with it? You were gonna drown it in a river weren't you? Let the damn cat out of the bag! Unless it's the cat that shit on my head earlier. If it is, you're gonna need a pretty big bag. 


Don't toss the baby out with the bath water
Was this ever really a concern? Did people forget to remove a living child from the bathtub before dumping it out the window onto the shit-and-dirty-bath-water-strewn streets? Wait, they did?! Goddamn the past sucked. 

Kick the bucket
Was there just an overabundance of buckets everywhere, so many that people were just tripping all over them and dying? Maybe the elderly and infirm really hated buckets and they would just kick every bucket they saw; soon after they would keel over, and people made the assumption that kicking the bucket caused their deaths. Maybe the bucket was the cause? Were old buckets really heavy or laced with lead? Did kicking buckets lead to a slow death from lead poisoning? That's horrible. What a horrible saying. 


Put your best foot forward
Well, I only have two feet, so this shouldn't be hard. But which one is my best? I jump with my left foot to dunk do sick layups, but I use my right for driving, and I'm right handed. I can do the Daniel-san crane kick with either foot. Shit. Does it really matter that much? I mean, the other foot is coming right behind it, like immediately. Maybe i should just hop? Forget it, I'm just gonna stay in bed to be safe.


Bury the hatchet
This always makes me visualize a person burying a hatchet in someone else's head, but I think it means the opposite. Getting over past grievances. Burying a disagreement. But does that solve the problem, or are you just covering it up? Did the hatchet cause the problem? Are you burying a murder weapon? I guess that's good advice...for murderers. 
Maybe you're burying the hatchet so you won't murder anyone? If that's the case, are you gonna bury all the weapons in the house? And what if you need that hatchet for non-murdery hatchet activities? Seems like a waste of a good hatchet.


Chip on your shoulder
This means someone is angry, but why would I be mad if I have a chip on my shoulder? Chocolate chip or potato chip, I'm happy. Unless it's Sour Cream and Onion or something gross like that. Hell I wouldn't even ask how it got there, I'd just be grateful. 
Maybe it's chip as in cow chip? Like cow shit? Then I'd be mad for sure. First a giant cat shits on my head and now a cow shits on my shoulder? Why does this keep happening? Seriously, though, if this did happen to me on a regular basis, I'd be pissed, but I would have avoided farms altogether after the first time, before it became a damn common idiom. 


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

The Homeless as Objects of Amusement

Hey, remember this guy? The homeless piano man? 

Almost 17 million views on youtube.

Or how about the homeless man who sings just like John Legend? 

6 million views on youtube.

Or the homeless guy with the "golden radio voice"? 

35. Million. Views.

All in all, these seem to be lighthearted, even uplifting stories about people in dire situations. For the man with the golden voice, it has even led to a second chance at life and a lucrative career. 

This is an amazing outcome and by far the best case scenario of all these "homeless person has hidden talent" videos. The power of social media can be amazing sometimes and I'm glad it worked out for him.

Despite the positive outcome in this one case, however, these types of videos remain one of my pet peeves. Besides the fact that the vast majority (like, 99.99%) of these stories don't end with a homeless person finding a career, the stories upset me on a fundamental level. Essentially, these videos, and the accompanying articles/blogs/talk show appearances that follow, boil down to: "OMG We Found This Bum Who Can Actually Do Something Worthwhile! By Watching This We Are Making the World A Better Place!" 

Basically, the stories reveal that as a society, we don't view the homeless as real people with real talents and interests and histories and lives. We view the homeless as bums, as beings who lack any social skills or talents or abilities; losers who can't get it together enough to find consistent shelter. Stories about a homeless person with an unusual talent become so popular because we simply don't believe that it's possible. How could someone with such a talent not find gainful employment? It scares us really, because we think our talents or intelligence will keep us from ever living on the streets. It's comforting to believe that all homeless are dumb, talentless folk who just can't cut it in civilized society, or that something is inherently wrong with them. It makes us feel better to believe they've ruined their lives because of drugs or a lack of effort. 

While it may be true that drugs have caused a lot of people to become homeless, oftentimes drug abuse is a symptom rather than a cause, and there is no specific "type" of person that this can happen to. That scares the shit out of us. Plus, drugs aren't the only issue. I wont even get in to the homeless vet problem because that has so many factors to consider (including the absolute failure of our government to protect those who serve, PTSD, etc.). There's also mental illness and our society's failure to adequately deal with it. Then there's the simple fact that nearly 50% of Americans are one emergency, or one missed paycheck, away from financial ruin. The homeless we all see in almost every urban center in America could very easily be us. Without the financial support of my parents, it probably would have been me at some point.

So, while part of the popularity of these stories comes from the fact that we want people down on their luck to succeed and get their life together--I truly believe there is a lot of good in our human nature--a bigger reason for their popularity is because there is part of us that simply can't understand how someone with such a clear talent could be homeless. These videos prove that talent isn't always rewarded, sometimes people fall through the cracks, and by watching these videos and sharing them, we feel like we have corrected that wrong. Unlike the uncaring society that we live in, we (as viewers) have finally seen the real person beneath the dingy veneer of homelessness. We are brave by sharing these videos. We, unlike the rest of the cruel world, see this person for who they really are! We usually just walk past them and avoid eye contact, but not this time! We might not actually be doing anything to solve the problem of homelessness, but we are finally looking at (a small percentage of) the homeless as honest to goodness human beings. Yay us!

It all reeks of self congratulation. The worst part about these videos, though? The worst part is they prove that people and society will only care about you if you have some crowd-pleasing talent. People don't have "inherent worth," they don't deserve your respect just because they are living, breathing thinking, feeling beings; they have to be able to entertain you in order to be treated with dignity. Dance, homeless monkey! Sing! 

And maybe that is the true reality of our society, or the world at large: people don't have worth until they prove it by some external act. That's certainly how most of society treats people. I just wish it wasn't the case. Everyone has worth. Everyone has value. Everyone deserves a second chance or a helping hand. 

Maybe that truth will manifest itself one day, but until then...did you see that homeless guy who could tap dance the entirety of Beethoven's 5th Symphony? FUCKING AMAZING!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.