Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Right Behind You
The Dark Spirit of Daniel is here once again. The children can see him, but they have sworn to hold their tongues. In the latter half of the year, they will gather around trees and whisper to an unseen force. Light is dead, and the Earth has long since departed from us. We are alone, and the ground we stand on is not the one we've known.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The Creeping Terror of San Polimas
He was counted amongst friends once. He felt like he knew the course, and tilted the sails just enough to get the illusion of catching wind. He never went more than 10 feet, however, and the crew found a way to fly away and leave him to gout and anxiety and madness for the rest of his short life. He rotted on the decks, and was dragged into the murky blue abyss by Cthulhu.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Clogged [Part 1]
The faucets were rusted over. All of the water was yellow. Remaining motionless, it was exposed to the awful, natural dyes from the air in the room. The drain seemed to be encrusted by the guts of all the small animals that had come near it. In the middle of the room, a rather clean young boy rises up. He rubs his eyes, takes a look around, and walks toward the lightened outline of a rickety door. After turning the knob and opening the door enough, he takes one last look around the room. His shoulders raise and vibrate to suggest that he is shuddering to himself. Upon exiting the room, we hear him take one last breath of spoiled air.
Outside of the door, is a hallway. The hallway is not too long; it is just right. Its length should have allowed the boy enough time to prepare for what exactly lied outside the front door of this house. Between the two repeatedly scuffed and scratched-at walls of the walkway, he is given time to think. Memories flash despite the fact that he is trying to concentrate on the nearing future. He is also distracted by the flickering yellowish light that glows just above the matted red almost velveteen carpet, making it harder to take advantage of his allotted time. These are the things he can think about. When he arrives at the door, he shakes his head. Maybe he can improvise. If only he was old enough to understand the word.
The second door opens. A despicable crowd of people await him, standing in a worn-out patch of a green field. They are waving their hands, jumping up and down, and looking at the cloudy sky. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. This time, the air was a healthier type of fresh. A middle-aged woman with long, light-brown hair runs up to hug him. She is not at all a familiar person. Her left knee is in the dark soil on the ground, ruining her blue jeans. With reluctance, the boy falls limp in her arms. The woman assumes that he is glad to see her. Just then, a man in a charcoal pea coat holding a microphone and notepad in one hand places his other hand on her shoulder. At first he is putting her at ease, but he begins to completely shove her off of the miraculously clean young boy. This man guides the young boy away from the disgusting house, and into a small white car.
No one was in the driver's seat. The car was not going to move. This man knew that the boy needed more time to prepare and recuperate before he had to face the crowd. He opened a small polystyrene cooler and pulled out a small bottle of orange juice to give to the boy. They begin to talk. The man began, "you realize, you're going to have to go out there and tell them a story. You've been gone for long enough-". It seemed that he stifled the rest of what he would have said in order for the boy to respond. "What could I possibly say? This is ridiculous," he said. Immediately reacting to the conviction in his voice, the man added, "and another thing: when you go out there, you are going to have to tone down your choice of words. Dumb it down a little. Remember- you are supposed to be a young boy! Besides, they most likely wouldn't even understand. They don't even remember what they did. They are simply hungry. They need this. We need this". There was a pause. The boy looked down, tightened the lid to his bottle of orange juice, and took yet another deep breath through his nose. It was a mix of new car smell, salt, and grassy mud. Finally, he responded, "They are the ones who did this to me. Why would I do anything for them?". This was true. "You can get past that, though," the man said and continued before the boy could interrupt, "only good things are to come, now. I don't claim to know what unspeakable horrors you just got through facing, but it can only be good from now on!". This was true, but very blind. It provoked the boy:
"Listen! That house may not have been made of pure evil, it may not have been the most disgusting thing I have ever faced, and it may not have been enough to drive a man insane, but the matter is that they thought it was. It doesn't matter if they actually do not remember what they did. I do. I remember being hauled by these deranged people. I remember feeling their fingernails trying to dig into my back to get a good grip. I remember my face hitting the linoleum flooring before I turned around to see that door being sealed completely shut. Now I have to pretend nothing happened? Pretend? Just to be able to live pretty good for a while?"
The man could barely reply. He shook his head and seemed to continue with what the situation entailed, "Ok. They think that I am in here, getting some type of exclusive interview. Of course, I actually brought you here to tell you what to say; just to get this whole thing over with.". Still tense, the boy stared at the man for a moment. His eyes moved past him to look outside of the foggy car window. There was still a crowd of unfortunately familiar faces, swaying side to side. He looked down. Then, his facial expression was relaxed. They continued to talk for a matter of minutes, until the man opened the car door. The man walks around to the other side of the car and opens the door on the boy's side. Holding the man's hand, he actually slides out of the seat before his feet land on the moist ground. Together, they walk toward the disturbing group of people.
In the crowd, there is the same middle-aged woman, with an almost forced look of absolute melancholy looking directly at the boy. To the right of her, is a short man with a thick mustache, wearing a newsboy cap. Behind the woman, is a tall man with matted hair, wearing a windbreaker. On his face is a scar that runs down his forehead, and almost seems to split his nose in two. These were the people that the boy remembers the most. Both the man and the boy approach the crowd. The boy straightens his back, and puts on a smile. "It was a disaster!" he shouted, in a pitch that can only be constructed with a small mouth. The people rejoiced.
Outside of the door, is a hallway. The hallway is not too long; it is just right. Its length should have allowed the boy enough time to prepare for what exactly lied outside the front door of this house. Between the two repeatedly scuffed and scratched-at walls of the walkway, he is given time to think. Memories flash despite the fact that he is trying to concentrate on the nearing future. He is also distracted by the flickering yellowish light that glows just above the matted red almost velveteen carpet, making it harder to take advantage of his allotted time. These are the things he can think about. When he arrives at the door, he shakes his head. Maybe he can improvise. If only he was old enough to understand the word.
The second door opens. A despicable crowd of people await him, standing in a worn-out patch of a green field. They are waving their hands, jumping up and down, and looking at the cloudy sky. He closes his eyes and takes another deep breath. This time, the air was a healthier type of fresh. A middle-aged woman with long, light-brown hair runs up to hug him. She is not at all a familiar person. Her left knee is in the dark soil on the ground, ruining her blue jeans. With reluctance, the boy falls limp in her arms. The woman assumes that he is glad to see her. Just then, a man in a charcoal pea coat holding a microphone and notepad in one hand places his other hand on her shoulder. At first he is putting her at ease, but he begins to completely shove her off of the miraculously clean young boy. This man guides the young boy away from the disgusting house, and into a small white car.
No one was in the driver's seat. The car was not going to move. This man knew that the boy needed more time to prepare and recuperate before he had to face the crowd. He opened a small polystyrene cooler and pulled out a small bottle of orange juice to give to the boy. They begin to talk. The man began, "you realize, you're going to have to go out there and tell them a story. You've been gone for long enough-". It seemed that he stifled the rest of what he would have said in order for the boy to respond. "What could I possibly say? This is ridiculous," he said. Immediately reacting to the conviction in his voice, the man added, "and another thing: when you go out there, you are going to have to tone down your choice of words. Dumb it down a little. Remember- you are supposed to be a young boy! Besides, they most likely wouldn't even understand. They don't even remember what they did. They are simply hungry. They need this. We need this". There was a pause. The boy looked down, tightened the lid to his bottle of orange juice, and took yet another deep breath through his nose. It was a mix of new car smell, salt, and grassy mud. Finally, he responded, "They are the ones who did this to me. Why would I do anything for them?". This was true. "You can get past that, though," the man said and continued before the boy could interrupt, "only good things are to come, now. I don't claim to know what unspeakable horrors you just got through facing, but it can only be good from now on!". This was true, but very blind. It provoked the boy:
"Listen! That house may not have been made of pure evil, it may not have been the most disgusting thing I have ever faced, and it may not have been enough to drive a man insane, but the matter is that they thought it was. It doesn't matter if they actually do not remember what they did. I do. I remember being hauled by these deranged people. I remember feeling their fingernails trying to dig into my back to get a good grip. I remember my face hitting the linoleum flooring before I turned around to see that door being sealed completely shut. Now I have to pretend nothing happened? Pretend? Just to be able to live pretty good for a while?"
The man could barely reply. He shook his head and seemed to continue with what the situation entailed, "Ok. They think that I am in here, getting some type of exclusive interview. Of course, I actually brought you here to tell you what to say; just to get this whole thing over with.". Still tense, the boy stared at the man for a moment. His eyes moved past him to look outside of the foggy car window. There was still a crowd of unfortunately familiar faces, swaying side to side. He looked down. Then, his facial expression was relaxed. They continued to talk for a matter of minutes, until the man opened the car door. The man walks around to the other side of the car and opens the door on the boy's side. Holding the man's hand, he actually slides out of the seat before his feet land on the moist ground. Together, they walk toward the disturbing group of people.
In the crowd, there is the same middle-aged woman, with an almost forced look of absolute melancholy looking directly at the boy. To the right of her, is a short man with a thick mustache, wearing a newsboy cap. Behind the woman, is a tall man with matted hair, wearing a windbreaker. On his face is a scar that runs down his forehead, and almost seems to split his nose in two. These were the people that the boy remembers the most. Both the man and the boy approach the crowd. The boy straightens his back, and puts on a smile. "It was a disaster!" he shouted, in a pitch that can only be constructed with a small mouth. The people rejoiced.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Skeletons
The sleepy locomotive lumbered down the tracks, full of people dressed in clothing that doesn't quite fit this era. One man in particular stands out, and to say he is overdressed is a colossal understatement. The genteel man stood up and removed his glasses. He looked directly at Scott and boldly said, "Scott, this is going to shock you, but you are the only human on this train."
Mouth agape. Eyebrows low. Tongue drying.
"Just not a funny thing to say," he cooly replied.
It was snowing harder, and the air was getting thinner. It was also glowing harder, literally. The entire landscape was illuminated in a dull green light that transversed every gentle curve of the mountains. Scott never noticed it.
Seriously, any human that wasn't aware of the aliens had to be an idiot. Nobody actually said anything about their permanent residence, but it was just understood. Spacemen had been living amongst people for years, it was a plain fact! It didn't need any explaining! The giant eyeballs were sort of a dead giveaway at least.
"Freaks," he secretly dubbed them. Or "Mutants and nerds," which was a more frequent term when he was surrounded by friends. I suppose he never realized that he was talking to some at that very moment. They first arrived when he was a child, but there had been visits for many years before that. Actually, his parents were both from Vesuvius 81, a planet not far from the Milky Way. They migrated to Earth 42 years ago in search of a better life.
They had been on Earth for a total of six minutes when they adopted Scott. He was resting on a street corner, swaddled up in a brown blanket (which was not originally brown, but was in fact redesigned by a robust Swedish man hoping to turn a profit).
This ugly little baby taught these aliens an invaluable trait that skeletons don't know by default.
Disgust.
Every alien fully understands every conceivable emotion and idea EXCEPT for disgust. The baby puked the instant they touched him, and the aliens had absolutely no idea how to react. At first they laughed, but then got embarrassed because they knew that response simply did not fit. The Vesuviusians let him simmer down for about 14 Earth minutes before they picked him back up.
That was very relevant. Scott did everything in intervals of 14 minutes. It took 14 minutes for the importance of the locomotive situation to fully set in. He put down the newspaper he had been barely reading and stared intently at the floor. "Skeletons," he mumbled, "Skeletons!" He stood up and screamed in absolute horror. His uninterrupted screaming disturbed every alien on the bus. He only stopped to gather more air.
An incredibly muscular, blonde Swedish man burst into the train doors wearing a look of intense concern. "My God!" he whispered. His feet were lighter than air as he galloped down the aisle toward Scott. "My precious boy, it will be alright if you just trust me with all of your might!" were the only words he said for the next 14 minutes. Scott wasn't as much concerned with him as he was the "skeletons" he raved on about. The Swedish man cooed and floated around Scott, as if he were afraid to touch him. Finally, he laid a single finger in his knapsack and pulled out a string of silver thread. "Make ten wishes and none will be granted," he said in a tone just short of piercing silence.
He touched Scott and he vomited.
Mouth agape. Eyebrows low. Tongue drying.
"Just not a funny thing to say," he cooly replied.
It was snowing harder, and the air was getting thinner. It was also glowing harder, literally. The entire landscape was illuminated in a dull green light that transversed every gentle curve of the mountains. Scott never noticed it.
Seriously, any human that wasn't aware of the aliens had to be an idiot. Nobody actually said anything about their permanent residence, but it was just understood. Spacemen had been living amongst people for years, it was a plain fact! It didn't need any explaining! The giant eyeballs were sort of a dead giveaway at least.
"Freaks," he secretly dubbed them. Or "Mutants and nerds," which was a more frequent term when he was surrounded by friends. I suppose he never realized that he was talking to some at that very moment. They first arrived when he was a child, but there had been visits for many years before that. Actually, his parents were both from Vesuvius 81, a planet not far from the Milky Way. They migrated to Earth 42 years ago in search of a better life.
They had been on Earth for a total of six minutes when they adopted Scott. He was resting on a street corner, swaddled up in a brown blanket (which was not originally brown, but was in fact redesigned by a robust Swedish man hoping to turn a profit).
This ugly little baby taught these aliens an invaluable trait that skeletons don't know by default.
Disgust.
Every alien fully understands every conceivable emotion and idea EXCEPT for disgust. The baby puked the instant they touched him, and the aliens had absolutely no idea how to react. At first they laughed, but then got embarrassed because they knew that response simply did not fit. The Vesuviusians let him simmer down for about 14 Earth minutes before they picked him back up.
That was very relevant. Scott did everything in intervals of 14 minutes. It took 14 minutes for the importance of the locomotive situation to fully set in. He put down the newspaper he had been barely reading and stared intently at the floor. "Skeletons," he mumbled, "Skeletons!" He stood up and screamed in absolute horror. His uninterrupted screaming disturbed every alien on the bus. He only stopped to gather more air.
An incredibly muscular, blonde Swedish man burst into the train doors wearing a look of intense concern. "My God!" he whispered. His feet were lighter than air as he galloped down the aisle toward Scott. "My precious boy, it will be alright if you just trust me with all of your might!" were the only words he said for the next 14 minutes. Scott wasn't as much concerned with him as he was the "skeletons" he raved on about. The Swedish man cooed and floated around Scott, as if he were afraid to touch him. Finally, he laid a single finger in his knapsack and pulled out a string of silver thread. "Make ten wishes and none will be granted," he said in a tone just short of piercing silence.
He touched Scott and he vomited.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
I am for dinner, a chant.
Everywhere I look, there's a microphone
The phone is tapped when I call my home
They watch my moves when I'm all alone...
Just under the stairs, they sit and listen
They wear sunglasses at night, who's with them
Who signed the commission to send me to prison?
What could he be? I saw him last noon.
Staring me down like an angry baboon
Wearing that mask to seem like a hume'
His shark-like teeth glistened tonight
Brushed past my window, just out of sight
I heard his stomach grumble, anxious for a bite
There are no normal cars on the road these days
Following me, are the black Stingrays
Sunglasses just darker than the windshield they-
Sit behind, in pursuit of my bones.
This isn't the government, it's something unknown
The slithering thing wants to steal my throne
This is my last night, breathing the air
I'm laying on my couch, hearing sounds everywhere
This is my last night, breathing the air
The sound's getting louder and it's right over there...
Oh my god...
Suddenly his hunger doesn't seem so odd.
He's chewing my spine, and I'm starting to nod...
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Word On Tha Street
Ok, let's get real here.
Wherever you are right now, take the next moment to walk around. If you're on a laptop, put it to the side. If you are in a classroom, ask to use the bathroom or just.. crack your back by leaning all the way back in your chair. Stretch. Something to avert your eyes, I guess. I'll give you a moment. Be sure to take note of how you feel during this small moment. Anything. Begin, now.
.
..
Keep that moment in mind. Think about everything you saw and everything that went through your head. This is no test of intellect, or anything. I am not at all attempting shock. Keep thinking about it. Imagine it, the best you can... Now. Vividly as possible, try to imagine that there was actually just a dead man standing wherever it is that you looked. Really. Really, though. What would have been the situation? What would you have actually done? This is a deceased man, standing as if he is living. I know, it's different for everyone. Some people might add sentimental value- a celebrity or a dead pal. Now, just imagine a mummy. A mummy. How would you truly, truly react?
[News Bulletin]
We now return to full coverage of today's breaking news of today. Sponsored by Testimony Cookies, the cookies that'll make ya give a testimony! If you are now joining us, we have had shocking news that a roving gang of live mummies have been released from a federal museum. There have been official reports of flash fires and mercy strangles through the metro area. We advise anyone that is currently in work or school to remain seated as this event transpires. If you have any women or children, we also advise that you track the whereabouts of the mummies in order to give your family a fun and educational learning experience of the ancient world. Here, with us, is museum curator Professor Bodilly Flueds of St. James, Thomaston.
[The following takes place between the two actual buildings]
I was watching a friend of mine playing darts on his newborn computer. He and his wife were making a lot of love, that day. Almost immediately, the mummy came rushing through the brick enclave. My pal was stunned at the loss of his life. He was passed away, and rushed to the hospital at the drop of a hat. He ended up being just fine, that day. Huge scare for us, though. We are lucky that things did not get any worse. In fact, we even gained from the experience. We learned a hell of a lot about ancient cultures, during the attack.
[At the very least, the mummy attacked ended the very moment it began. A very terrifying learning experience for all of us.]
.
..
Keep that moment in mind. Think about everything you saw and everything that went through your head. This is no test of intellect, or anything. I am not at all attempting shock. Keep thinking about it. Imagine it, the best you can... Now. Vividly as possible, try to imagine that there was actually just a dead man standing wherever it is that you looked. Really. Really, though. What would have been the situation? What would you have actually done? This is a deceased man, standing as if he is living. I know, it's different for everyone. Some people might add sentimental value- a celebrity or a dead pal. Now, just imagine a mummy. A mummy. How would you truly, truly react?
[News Bulletin]
We now return to full coverage of today's breaking news of today. Sponsored by Testimony Cookies, the cookies that'll make ya give a testimony! If you are now joining us, we have had shocking news that a roving gang of live mummies have been released from a federal museum. There have been official reports of flash fires and mercy strangles through the metro area. We advise anyone that is currently in work or school to remain seated as this event transpires. If you have any women or children, we also advise that you track the whereabouts of the mummies in order to give your family a fun and educational learning experience of the ancient world. Here, with us, is museum curator Professor Bodilly Flueds of St. James, Thomaston.
Prof. Ben Cur
Allowe me to say this, right off the bat. These mummies ARE Jamaican. They will do anything to stop the daily hustle of things for the mere sake of turning this great nation into an incredibly spooky town. If at all possible, remember to keep your distance and possibly take your children to learn about mummification in ancient times. Thank you.[The following takes place between the two actual buildings]
I was watching a friend of mine playing darts on his newborn computer. He and his wife were making a lot of love, that day. Almost immediately, the mummy came rushing through the brick enclave. My pal was stunned at the loss of his life. He was passed away, and rushed to the hospital at the drop of a hat. He ended up being just fine, that day. Huge scare for us, though. We are lucky that things did not get any worse. In fact, we even gained from the experience. We learned a hell of a lot about ancient cultures, during the attack.
[At the very least, the mummy attacked ended the very moment it began. A very terrifying learning experience for all of us.]
Friday, October 8, 2010
"The White Door"
For as long as I can remember, I've been a huge fan of classic animation. As a boy I would collect VHS tapes of animated movies and spend countless days watching them. Whether or not I want to admit it, these films were a huge part of my life.
Everything changed when I was about nine on one fateful trip to my great grandmother's house. My great grandmother had an enormous conglomeration of tapes in her attic, complete with an area to view them. By the attic stairs, an old TV sat hooked up to a VHS player with a mattress in front; the perfect place to watch movies. We were never very close, but this was to be expected because we would only visit her on rare occasions. I can recall only a handful of times we went to her house. One visit sticks out in particular.
It's when I watched that movie.
One evening I was nosing around in her attic, looking through her movie collection for some animated movie I had never seen before. Every title was familiar, and I considered watching FernGully until I noticed a tape resting on the top shelf. It was without a cover, and the only marking on it was a sticker that read "The White Door". I had never heard of this movie. Excitedly, I popped the video in the player and got comfortable. I had no idea what I was in for.
The movie started off with victorious fanfare and a panning shot of some crimson colored clouds. As the clouds drifted past the screen the music got more and more cheerful until the clouds eventually raced off screen revealing the title of the movie. Placed in the sky were massive golden letters that read "The White Door". From the looks of the animation and quality of the music, I would guess the movie was made in the late 80's.
The title sequence faded away and the opening scene began with a small, blonde haired boy wandering through darkness until he came across a massive white door. He stopped before it and gazed upward curiously, examining the colossal entryway. The door opened and heavenly light poured in all around him. With a hand over his eyes, he slowly ventured inside. Harp music presented the scene as the boy crept through the doors. The entire screen was overtaken by bright white light. The scene faded back in to reveal the boy standing in a plateau of white, purple, and pink clouds. He was dressed in a white robe and had very small wings protruding from his back. It was, of course, implied that the boy had died.
I was slightly taken back by this. Why had he died? This concept seemed a little too dark for an animated children's movie.
The small angel boy looked around, searching for some explanation as to his whereabouts. The music had long since gone away, and the movie cycled through various shots of the boy slowly walking around looking for any sign that he was not alone. He stopped searching, and looked down at his feet.
"I'm all alone," he said on the verge of tears. "I don't know where everybody is and I'm all alone!" The boy began crying. "I wanna go home!" he yelled several times, crying more and more with each pitiful shout. His crying was disturbingly realistic. He sat down on the ground and began bawling, "I wanna go home!"
I felt a chill race up my spine. This child was in agony, absolutely alone in what was supposed to be "paradise".
The boy's wailing was interrupted when a small brown dog ran by, grabbing his attention. Immediately, his tears were dried and he began to follow the dog, cheering "Chester! I can't believe you're here Chester!" He skipped and laughed as he attempted to catch his pet, but the dog always seemed to be just out of reach. It may have been my imagination, but I noticed something strange in the background. There were clouds decorating the back scenery, blacked out as not to distract the viewer, but some of these soft shapes looked abnormal. As the boy ran, the clouds started to look like distant human silhouettes, secretly watching him.
The boy finally caught up to the dog and leaped forward, hoping to greet him with a loving hug. As soon as the boy touched the animal, he realized that it was merely a cloud that resembled a dog. It burst into little white puffs.
He began crying again, this time louder and clearly more heartbroken. He truly was alone. He continued weeping, and did not seem to notice what happened next.
A deep voice chimed in, offering this simple statement,
"You know he cannot come with you."
The screen immediately cut to black, and the film began spewing a gentle noise. It sounded like gears grinding together, but I could only barely hear it.
I really should have turned the TV off at that point. I wanted to so very badly, but I could not move. My legs were glued to the floor and my eyes were transfixed on the screen. I simply had to see what was going to happen next.
In an instant, the sound of gears cut away and the next scene began. The rich colors were intoxicating, and I found myself gawking at the sheer aesthetic beauty of this bizarre movie.
A massive, beautiful tree overlooked a green field and the same angel boy sat underneath it. Harp music was playing, the same as before, but this time it sounded less heavenly. Perhaps it was a sneaking suspicion as to what I was about to behold, but the music seemed foreboding. The "Great Tree" (as the boy called it) was listening to the boy's woes with great attendance, and spoke back to him. The tree's voice was… for a lack of a better word, creepy. It makes me shudder just to think about it. I really cannot explain it, it was one of the weirdest things I've ever heard. The tree would sway from side to side and speak in a quiet, muffled voice that was almost impossible to fully hear. It sounded like a man's voice stretched to an impossibly high pitch, but muffled through some thick object. I couldn't understand a single word he said, but the angel boy heard everything. They shared a seemingly mild conversation as the boy asked simple questions about where he was and what happened to his family. With each of the Great Tree's responses the boy would lower his head in sadness, as if he were accepting some morbid fact.
I was curious about the significance of this scene. Was the tree supposed to be God or some other heavenly being? There was no clarification toward any of the pressing questions that perpetually plagued my mind.
After the Great Tree had answered all of his questions, he began talking continuously. He was babbling on about something that apparently angered him, because the child stood up from where he was seated and slowly walked back from the tree. He wore a look of paranoia, as if he were afraid the tree would lash out toward him at any moment.
Suddenly there was a new perspective. The camera gradually zoomed in on a shot of the tree, alone, slowly swaying back and forth. He was talking very calmly, from what I could hear, and his voice sounded foggy and distant. The boy began crying again, his wails heard from off the screen. His weeping slowly evolved into pain induced screams and he was shouting as loud as he could,
"STOP IT! PLEASE STOP! HELP ME! HELP ME!"
My blood ran cold.
This was the sound of a child being beaten.
With every passing second the boy was screaming louder, but the tree kept its calm disposition while gently swaying back and forth. I couldn't see the boy, but hearing him cry for help was unbearable. I was nearly in tears at this point, and I didn't want to watch any more. I got up to turn off the TV but as soon as I moved the screen went black and started playing the familiar grinding gears noise. This time, it was considerably louder. Amongst the loud metallic sound, I noticed a subtle oddity. I thought I could hear a very quiet voice whispering something, but any indication of this was drowned out by the loud gears.
What awaited me in the next scene shook me to the core.
Without any graceful transition, the next scene forced itself into the movie, as if it was not intended to be there. Distorted music was playing at inconsistent volumes and the entire color scheme was off. Something was seriously wrong.
Suddenly the music stopped.
The boy was lying on the ground, arms crossed on his chest. His eyes were closed, and his face looked hollow. All around his body, roses perched out of the ground arranged in a neat little circle. The roses grew noticeably quick. In a matter of seconds the roses were a few feet high, but all the while the child did not move.
There was no life in him.
The only sound was the occasional ominous piano note, punctuating the silence. The roses grew very high but all at once would go back to being small, restarting the cycle. The boy remained motionless.
I was horrified. I watched with tear-filled eyes, cupping my hand over my mouth.
In the last few seconds of the scene, the tree's muffled voice broke in, saying something I simply could not understand. Just as abruptly as it began, the scene closed with a cut to black. The same rusty gears made their painful sound, but the noise was unbearably loud and accompanied by a loud sweeping voice. It only lasted for a few seconds, and the entire time I struggled to comprehend what the voice was saying.
Then, in the last second I understood completely.
"He's coming."
The tape reached its end and I was left staring at a blue "stop" screen. I didn't do anything for a few minutes. The floor was victim to my glazed-over stare. Eventually I came to my senses and snuck back downstairs. I didn't want to talk to anybody about this, because I just didn't want to think about it. I tried to pretend it never happened.
I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights afterward. The feeling was impossible to shake. I still think about that movie, with every detail so vividly etched in the back of my mind.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever watched it at all. Was I dreaming? Did it ever happen? Occasionally, I wake up in the middle of the night hearing distant whispers. Every single time it's the same thing.
"He's coming."
Everything changed when I was about nine on one fateful trip to my great grandmother's house. My great grandmother had an enormous conglomeration of tapes in her attic, complete with an area to view them. By the attic stairs, an old TV sat hooked up to a VHS player with a mattress in front; the perfect place to watch movies. We were never very close, but this was to be expected because we would only visit her on rare occasions. I can recall only a handful of times we went to her house. One visit sticks out in particular.
It's when I watched that movie.
One evening I was nosing around in her attic, looking through her movie collection for some animated movie I had never seen before. Every title was familiar, and I considered watching FernGully until I noticed a tape resting on the top shelf. It was without a cover, and the only marking on it was a sticker that read "The White Door". I had never heard of this movie. Excitedly, I popped the video in the player and got comfortable. I had no idea what I was in for.
The movie started off with victorious fanfare and a panning shot of some crimson colored clouds. As the clouds drifted past the screen the music got more and more cheerful until the clouds eventually raced off screen revealing the title of the movie. Placed in the sky were massive golden letters that read "The White Door". From the looks of the animation and quality of the music, I would guess the movie was made in the late 80's.
The title sequence faded away and the opening scene began with a small, blonde haired boy wandering through darkness until he came across a massive white door. He stopped before it and gazed upward curiously, examining the colossal entryway. The door opened and heavenly light poured in all around him. With a hand over his eyes, he slowly ventured inside. Harp music presented the scene as the boy crept through the doors. The entire screen was overtaken by bright white light. The scene faded back in to reveal the boy standing in a plateau of white, purple, and pink clouds. He was dressed in a white robe and had very small wings protruding from his back. It was, of course, implied that the boy had died.
I was slightly taken back by this. Why had he died? This concept seemed a little too dark for an animated children's movie.
The small angel boy looked around, searching for some explanation as to his whereabouts. The music had long since gone away, and the movie cycled through various shots of the boy slowly walking around looking for any sign that he was not alone. He stopped searching, and looked down at his feet.
"I'm all alone," he said on the verge of tears. "I don't know where everybody is and I'm all alone!" The boy began crying. "I wanna go home!" he yelled several times, crying more and more with each pitiful shout. His crying was disturbingly realistic. He sat down on the ground and began bawling, "I wanna go home!"
I felt a chill race up my spine. This child was in agony, absolutely alone in what was supposed to be "paradise".
The boy's wailing was interrupted when a small brown dog ran by, grabbing his attention. Immediately, his tears were dried and he began to follow the dog, cheering "Chester! I can't believe you're here Chester!" He skipped and laughed as he attempted to catch his pet, but the dog always seemed to be just out of reach. It may have been my imagination, but I noticed something strange in the background. There were clouds decorating the back scenery, blacked out as not to distract the viewer, but some of these soft shapes looked abnormal. As the boy ran, the clouds started to look like distant human silhouettes, secretly watching him.
The boy finally caught up to the dog and leaped forward, hoping to greet him with a loving hug. As soon as the boy touched the animal, he realized that it was merely a cloud that resembled a dog. It burst into little white puffs.
He began crying again, this time louder and clearly more heartbroken. He truly was alone. He continued weeping, and did not seem to notice what happened next.
A deep voice chimed in, offering this simple statement,
"You know he cannot come with you."
The screen immediately cut to black, and the film began spewing a gentle noise. It sounded like gears grinding together, but I could only barely hear it.
I really should have turned the TV off at that point. I wanted to so very badly, but I could not move. My legs were glued to the floor and my eyes were transfixed on the screen. I simply had to see what was going to happen next.
In an instant, the sound of gears cut away and the next scene began. The rich colors were intoxicating, and I found myself gawking at the sheer aesthetic beauty of this bizarre movie.
A massive, beautiful tree overlooked a green field and the same angel boy sat underneath it. Harp music was playing, the same as before, but this time it sounded less heavenly. Perhaps it was a sneaking suspicion as to what I was about to behold, but the music seemed foreboding. The "Great Tree" (as the boy called it) was listening to the boy's woes with great attendance, and spoke back to him. The tree's voice was… for a lack of a better word, creepy. It makes me shudder just to think about it. I really cannot explain it, it was one of the weirdest things I've ever heard. The tree would sway from side to side and speak in a quiet, muffled voice that was almost impossible to fully hear. It sounded like a man's voice stretched to an impossibly high pitch, but muffled through some thick object. I couldn't understand a single word he said, but the angel boy heard everything. They shared a seemingly mild conversation as the boy asked simple questions about where he was and what happened to his family. With each of the Great Tree's responses the boy would lower his head in sadness, as if he were accepting some morbid fact.
I was curious about the significance of this scene. Was the tree supposed to be God or some other heavenly being? There was no clarification toward any of the pressing questions that perpetually plagued my mind.
After the Great Tree had answered all of his questions, he began talking continuously. He was babbling on about something that apparently angered him, because the child stood up from where he was seated and slowly walked back from the tree. He wore a look of paranoia, as if he were afraid the tree would lash out toward him at any moment.
Suddenly there was a new perspective. The camera gradually zoomed in on a shot of the tree, alone, slowly swaying back and forth. He was talking very calmly, from what I could hear, and his voice sounded foggy and distant. The boy began crying again, his wails heard from off the screen. His weeping slowly evolved into pain induced screams and he was shouting as loud as he could,
"STOP IT! PLEASE STOP! HELP ME! HELP ME!"
My blood ran cold.
This was the sound of a child being beaten.
With every passing second the boy was screaming louder, but the tree kept its calm disposition while gently swaying back and forth. I couldn't see the boy, but hearing him cry for help was unbearable. I was nearly in tears at this point, and I didn't want to watch any more. I got up to turn off the TV but as soon as I moved the screen went black and started playing the familiar grinding gears noise. This time, it was considerably louder. Amongst the loud metallic sound, I noticed a subtle oddity. I thought I could hear a very quiet voice whispering something, but any indication of this was drowned out by the loud gears.
What awaited me in the next scene shook me to the core.
Without any graceful transition, the next scene forced itself into the movie, as if it was not intended to be there. Distorted music was playing at inconsistent volumes and the entire color scheme was off. Something was seriously wrong.
Suddenly the music stopped.
The boy was lying on the ground, arms crossed on his chest. His eyes were closed, and his face looked hollow. All around his body, roses perched out of the ground arranged in a neat little circle. The roses grew noticeably quick. In a matter of seconds the roses were a few feet high, but all the while the child did not move.
There was no life in him.
The only sound was the occasional ominous piano note, punctuating the silence. The roses grew very high but all at once would go back to being small, restarting the cycle. The boy remained motionless.
I was horrified. I watched with tear-filled eyes, cupping my hand over my mouth.
In the last few seconds of the scene, the tree's muffled voice broke in, saying something I simply could not understand. Just as abruptly as it began, the scene closed with a cut to black. The same rusty gears made their painful sound, but the noise was unbearably loud and accompanied by a loud sweeping voice. It only lasted for a few seconds, and the entire time I struggled to comprehend what the voice was saying.
Then, in the last second I understood completely.
"He's coming."
The tape reached its end and I was left staring at a blue "stop" screen. I didn't do anything for a few minutes. The floor was victim to my glazed-over stare. Eventually I came to my senses and snuck back downstairs. I didn't want to talk to anybody about this, because I just didn't want to think about it. I tried to pretend it never happened.
I cried myself to sleep that night, and many nights afterward. The feeling was impossible to shake. I still think about that movie, with every detail so vividly etched in the back of my mind.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever watched it at all. Was I dreaming? Did it ever happen? Occasionally, I wake up in the middle of the night hearing distant whispers. Every single time it's the same thing.
"He's coming."
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