Monsters All Around Me

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Monsters All Around Me

Scary movies scare me. It’s always been that way. For whatever reason, I’ve never been able to watch any intense thriller or scary movie. The other day, I began trying to figure out why I’m so scared, and I really don’t haven’t a clue, but I did manage to dredge up scary things from my youth. I think in order to exorcize them; I need to write about them.

I was the youngest male child in my family. I have two older brothers and one older sister as well as one younger sister. Back in those days, we lived in a Cape Cod-styled house on Garstland Drive in Roanoke, Virginia. Our house looked a lot like the houses that all kids draw. Door in the middle. Windows to the left and right of the door. Same window configuration for the second floor. The bedroom I shared with my two brothers was in the upper left part of the house as you look at it from the street.


To get to my bedroom, all you had to do was walk in the front door, traipse up the thirteen creaky wooden stairs, and turn left. On the left in the upstairs hall was a linen closet and on the right was a tiny mystery door with no handle (bathtub pipe access) in the wall. Back when I was a kid, that little fake door scared me. I wondered what was behind it. Was that where the creepy small people who lived in the walls entered and exited the big spaces on their nighttime missions to leech blood from the members of my family? I was sure that those people would steal into my bedroom when I was asleep and claw my eyes out.

The door leading to my bedroom was a solid old-fashioned wooden door with one of those old peer-through key holes. Sometimes at night when the door was closed, I saw a big white, blood-shot eyeball looking though right at me. That eyeball seemed to be leering at me. Sometimes I know that whatever it was would gently turn the squeaky knob and try to push the door open silently. The door would always betray it, and my screams would usually make it flee.

I was great at screaming. It was shrill and piercing. Well-practiced and tuned. It could shoo away almost the toughest demon and monster. My kicks were solid weapons. I practiced all the time for the dark night when I’d have to defend myself to save my life. I’d ball up and lay on my back with my legs cocked in the air. Then I’d spring my hard, bony heels onto the intruder, pelting it repeatedly with forceful foot blows.

My bed was my safe haven. It was a twin bed that butted against the front outside facing wall. At first sign of trouble, I could simply pull the covers over my head, and I’d be invisible- sort of like Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility.

My bed also protected me physically from the monsters that lived in the attic. The head of my bed firmly blocked one of the evil monsters doors to our home. Just behind my bed was a short four feet tall door with a little pull knob handle that was sealed with a butterfly latch. I knew that my bed must never move. It and that butterfly latch were all that protected me from those monsters in the attic.

I remember one day, I braved an expedition into that walk-in attic. With uncharacteristic boldness that day, I carefully moved my bed and twisted the butterfly latch. Pulling the knob allowed the door to creak open. Inside it was dusty and dark, just the kind of place that monsters must live. Beyond the dusty haze, however, were treasures beyond my wildest imagination. Old lamps and ceiling light fixtures, a crib that was probably used to secretly raise the child my parents never told me about, a WWII bomber jacket, a fur coat, lots of moth balls, and locked trunks most likely filled with all kinds of secret papers. It was a surreal world, hotter than Hades. Monster treasures. Monster world. I didn’t stay there long. I was convinced they’d return at any moment. I was really pushing my luck even peeking in there.

Snakes lived under my bed. Poisonous snakes. Lots of them! Cobras, rattlesnakes, and copperheads. I was always afraid to get up in the night because I knew that as soon as I stepped foot onto the floor beside my bed, they’d attack me and deliver fatal bites. My bed was my safe island.

There was one closet in my room. It was located on the exact opposite wall from my bed, so when I lay in bed, my eyes gazed upon that creepy door. It had a full length mirror hanging on the front of the door. A shoe bag filled with all kinds of shoes was strapped to the back of the door. Inside the closet, there were two racks of hanged clothes, one on the left and one on the right. The clothes rack on the right hid a secret attic, a really secret attic. I don’t think my parents knew this attic existed. If they did, they would have sealed the fake wall panel that blocked it in order to protect me. But I didn’t altogether trust my parents. I kept this idea to myself, but I thought that maybe just maybe, their bodies were inhabited by the demons I feared. I knew though for a fact that this secret attic was home to the most scary monster in the house, the Boogyman.

My brother, Greg, told me about him, and I knew he wouldn’t lie to me about something so important. This creature, Greg said, was very tall and his body surfaces oozed puss and snot. He had two huge red-streaked eyes and sharp teeth hidden by slobbery gums. Only my invisibility cloak saved me from him. Screaming did no good and kicking was ineffective. I’d see him sometimes as I stood guard after my parents sent me to bed for the dark night. He’d creep out from the closet and steal across the floor toward my bed…his fangs drooling foaming spittle over his floppy gums, and I would dive under my covers to become invisible. The next morning, I’d be safe.

I defeated the demons of my youth. They never got to me. I’ve learned to be ever vigilant. One day, I know, I’ll grow tired and slip up. That’s when they’ll get me. That’s when they’ll realize their morbid fantasies.