I'm seven

I’m still scared of monsters.

There, I said it.

I’m scared of monsters. Real monsters. Monster monsters. Like werewolves and trolls and things with fangs and boils and claws. You know…monsters.

They’re hiding in the shower at night or in the dark recesses of the closet or down that scary hallway in my underground garage. In rare moments of bravery, I’ve pulled back the shower curtain or poked my hand (or a knife that one time when Eric was in Wisconsin) in the back of the closet only to find nothing there. But bravery doesn’t follow me underground for I always, always run past the hallway off the garage. Hey, apartment manager, how ‘bout a light down that super creepy subterranean hallway that goes nowhere? Just a suggestion.

There are also ghosts, buuut I’m more worried about the corporeal.

I present Exhibit A…

Back in the day, my mom and I went up to our family’s secluded cabin in the Colorado Rockies just two of us - one of the last girl’s weekends before I left for college. On a lark we decided to go see Jurassic Park at the tiny one-screen movie theater in Winter Park. It was well after dark when we got back to the cabin and pitch-black as soon as my mom turned off the car.

“Run on into the cabin and turn on the lights,” my mother said casually as she rooted around in her purse.
“Screw that! YOU go run on into the cabin and turn on the lights.” I replied, nailed to my seat.
“You think there’s a Tyrannosaurus Rex out there, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Beat
“Me too,” she admitted.

We sprinted from the car to the cabin, hand-in-hand; the whole time we could feel the dinosaur’s breath on our necks. I was eighteen so that would have made my mother about forty-seven. Strangely enough, we couldn’t find any Tyrannosaurus Rex footprints the next morning.

And before you say anything, yes, dinosaurs count as monsters.

I certainly don’t blame my mom for my heightened fear of monsters, if anything I was the one driving the dinosaur craze that night. And as far as I know she hasn’t suffered from another episode, whereas I’m still sure I can make out the shapes of creatures hiding in the corners of my dark bedroom. Just last night I was convinced I heard a zombie on the roof.

You may think I’m crazy, “there’s no such thing as monsters.” Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell that to Fox Mulder or Buffy Summers? Look them straight in the eye and tell them that. You can’t, can you?

That’s what I thought. Point goes to Gretchen.

Next time we’ll delve into primal fear of Yoda and E.T. It goes deep, people.

smooo,
gretch