Susie was afraid of monsters, so instead of a bed, she slept in a hammock.
And instead of a closet, she kept her clothes in her dresser and an armoire.
“An armoire is just a freestanding closet, isn’t it?” asked Susie’s monster.
“Not according to union rules,” said his supervisor. “She’s got her bases covered. Even uses a clear shower curtain so you can’t sneak up on her.”
Over the years, Susie’s monster was jealous of the other monsters, who earned massive performance bonuses.
And then, after years of doing nothing, Susie’s monster was ready…
He was promoted to management.
Tag: childhood
Lawn Gnome
I was a small kid.
So, for Halloween, Mom used to dress me up as a garden gnome.
This wasn’t all that special, because she made me dress up as a garden gnome the rest of the year.
She’d force me to stand outside in the weeds and watch the street.
“It’s raining, Mom!” I yelled. “Can I come inside?”
The TV was too loud for her to hear me. Or she was passed out drunk.
Eventually, the county took me away and put me in a foster home.
Well, in front of a foster home.
I hate lawn gnomes.
Two Doses Of Candy
Unlike other houses in the neighborhood, Doctor Odd makes his own candy for Halloween.
And it’s the best candy. In the world.
Kids flock from miles around to ring his doorbell and beg for his candy.
Some kids try to trick or treat his house twice. Or they trade their entire haul for a second helping of his candy.
One dose of the secret ingredient induces euphoria in a child. But two doses?
“The warning label clearly states that two servings may cause death,” says Doctor Odd’s attorney.
And this is why The Day Of The Dead comes after Halloween.
Distance
Growing up, I was close to my parents, but as I got older, I grew distant from them.
At first, it was a few yards… then a few miles.
Pretty soon, they were in the next county over.
By the time I was eighteen, there were several states in between us.
Over the years, it cost a fortune in long distance and postage to keep in touch when we did.
These days, it takes several hours for signals to pass back and forth.
Staring out at the stars, I hurtle through the void, and blink the frost from my eyes.
Towel
Every summer, my parents sent me to a daycamp.
Once a week, we’d go out to the local pool.
I’ve always hated swimming and water. I’d just stay on my towel, but now and then, the camp counselors would pick me up and throw me in the pool.
I’d try to run from them, but they always got me. Everybody ganged up on me.
I hated it.
One time, I forgot which towel was mine.
We had to wait until everybody got their towels.
Logically, mine was the last one.
Doesn’t matter. I wished they’d have hung themselves with it.
150
Sesquicentennial is a silly-looking word, but we here in Ocean Falls take everything serious.
Miss Liza has been teaching the schoolkids to count to 150.
That counting came in handy for the whipping of Fred Murks, the town drunk. The kids counted out loud with every crack of the whip.
Except for Little Fred Junior. He screamed in horror at the sight of his father covered with gashes and blood.
Fred only took seventeen lashes before dying.
“There there, Little Fred,” we said.
And then gave him a bottle of gin.
You know. So he can practice. For the Bicentennial.
Toaster Oven
The first house I remember had a kitchen with an oven and a toaster.
The same with the second house.
However, one day, the toaster shorted out, and it was taken away.
The next day, there was a toaster oven.
I asked what a toaster oven was.
“When an oven and a toaster love each other very much, they make a toaster oven together,” said my dad. “But sometimes, the toaster doesn’t survive the process.”
“Do a radio and an alarm clock make a radio alarm clock?” I asked.
My dad shrugged, and told me to get him another beer.
The Architect
The architect was known for designing absurdly tall buildings, but he was secretly afraid of heights.
Ribbon-cutting ceremonies for his completed designs were always held in the lobby, but he would find a reason to duck out before the trip to the observation deck or sky lobby took place.
“It’s past my bedtime,” he’d say.
His final design was so tall, critics joked that you could throw someone from the roof and be tried and convicted for murder before the victim hit the ground.
The architect was horrified, and threw out his Tinkertoys.
His mother grounded him for a week.
The Pet That Sucked
My first furry pet was a guinea pig.
I don’t know if it was a boy or girl. And I don’t remember if it had a name.
It lived in a monkey cage in the room I shared with my brother.
I wasn’t allowed to open the cage to pet the thing. And I have no idea who fed it, filled the water, or cleaned the cage.
It got out of its cage, cut itself on a sharp edge, and bled to death in a closet.
I cried a lot. Too much.
I shouldn’t have. It was a sucky pet.
Shapes in the fire
Sometimes I like to start a fire in the fireplace and stare at the shapes in the flames for hours.
After a while, the flames tell stories, and I find myself in a magical land of orange and yellow and red.
In that land lived a beautiful princess in her magnificent castle. And both were engulfed in flames.
So were her horses. And her car. And her friends.
That’s when the shrieking of the smoke alarm pulls me out of the story.
Before I can pull out the battery, my sister screams.
Yeah, I threw her Barbies on the fire.