Poltergeist and the Scars of Childhood

When I was twelve my parents let me watch Poltergeist. I don’t know if they were bad parents or just thought that the medium of prime time television would edit out all the scary parts, but it was a bad idea. As soon as that chair started moving across the kitchen floor I broke out in a cold sweat, and by the time the clown made his late appearance I was all but immobile with fear. I turned down ice cream since it would necessitate a trip to the kitchen, where rotten meat might be inching across the counter with some nefarious purpose in mind.

I carefully kept my fear to myself, knowing if I betrayed too much it would be years until I was allowed such horrors again. I sprinted to bed, the normal fears of monsters under the bed more alive than ever. My twelve inch black and white TV that I had fought so hard to possess was a black abyss at the foot of my bed. My army of stuffed animals leered with lurid grins, thoughts of possession on their minds. And from that evil throng one creature shined forth, emanating darkness and madness: a clown of quilting material and pantyhose, made with love by my great-grandmother, now an apparition of untold malevolence. I was too scared to do anything but pull the covers over my head and wait for sleep. Just like the boy in the move.

About thirty minutes later I woke to an incessant prodding at my arm. Unnatural light hit my still closed lids and a low hissing filled my ears. My eyes snapped open to discover my TV on, filled with static, and that carnivorous clown perched on top, arms threaded in the antennas, button eyes filled with hate. My terrified screams had barely started when my father snapped on the overhead light, laughing so hard he made snorting noises. My innocent mother flew down the hallway to me, glaring at my still mirthful father, perhaps rethinking her choices in life. My father apologized through his laughter and brought me ice cream to eat in bed. The clown was banished to another room and I slept the rest of the night with the hall light on. Less than a month later, after watching a Tales from the Dark Side in which a young girl’s teddy bear came alive and killed her whole family, I woke to find a teddy bear tucked in my arms.