Real Fear: Part One

This is a piece I’ve been working on since my teenager was a newborn. I’ve struggled with the format, the length, and especially the tone; generally I go for light and fun, but then my undergraduate training in analysis comes out and it gets way too serious and pretentious. I’ve got this pretty much the way I want it, and it’s the best it’ll be, and I’m actually pretty proud of it. It’s long, so here it is in pieces:

Introduction: 2010  

I’m jolted awake from a sound sleep by a sharp ringing noise: my daughter Layla’s baby monitor. She has an electronic pad under her mattress that tracks her movement and shrieks like a smoke detector if there isn’t any. I run to her room, my heart beating hard, and I burst in. She had been fine, but now, having been woken up by the light, is screaming louder than the distress signal. The pad had just moved too far away from her. It was a false alarm. This time.  

Wittle baby Layla!

Before having Layla, I had been a hardcore horror fan for two thirds of my life. I never looked away from the screen, no matter what. And even when I was pregnant and experiencing severe morning sickness—strike that, severe all times of the day sickness, because morning sickness is a misnomer—gore never bothered me. As far along as my ninth month, I watched Saw VI with no problems, even though it shows a lady chopping off her own arm as well as a guy getting pumped so full of sulfuric acid that his torso melts. (Somehow the scene of a pregnant woman getting slammed in the stomach by a door and having a miscarriage didn’t faze me; during my second pregnancy with my son Orion I happened to watch the movie again, and it became my worst nightmare—my job at the time required me to frequent a lot of stairwells with metal doors.) I still love horror movies, but after having kids, I don’t have the same tolerance for the genre that I used to. The violence turns my stomach. Not long after having Layla, I saw Cabin Fever II, which involves high school students contracting a flesh-eating virus. I was doing fairly well until a pregnant girl’s unborn fetus falls out of her in a bloody clump. I felt nauseated for the rest of the night.   

*author’s note from present day–no longer as much of an issue–gimme that gore!!!

I’m also much more vulnerable emotionally. I’ve always hated romantic comedies, but while watching Up in the Air (for a job as a teaching assistant, I swear), a scene when a groom with cold feet reconciles with his bride had me crying. Any movie that places a child in a dangerous situation is bound to trigger me. In The Joy Luck Club, when a sick and dying woman leaves her babies behind in the hopes that someone will find and raise them, I was bawling uncontrollably. I wanted to stop—I couldn’t. Even a segment from the sitcom Modern Family when an overachieving teenage girl starts sobbing when she realizes the pressure she’s under made me sniff. But besides the nausea and sensitivity, horror films affect me in a whole new way: they actually scare me, because as a parent I have worries I never dreamed of before.  

Like Orion eating his father’s nose

As a single person and as a newlywed, I lived for myself. I walked where I wanted alone at night; I ate what I wanted without concern for calories or cholesterol. Then I became a baby house. Suddenly being reckless endangered not just me, but also my defenseless unborn child. I had to change everything. And even though my children aren’t physically attached to me anymore, I’m still unable to relax, because now I have the lifelong obligation to protect them. In addition, besides the practical anxieties of a parent (rashes, constipation, normal development) I now have multiple phantom worries about things that could happen, like the kids falling or choking or breaking bones.  

See? It never ends!

Heather B. Armstrong’s book It Sucked and Then I Cried illustrates how irrational but compelling the urge to worry about our children is: “When Leta was born all sorts of maternal instincts were slammed into the ON position—the instinct to protect, to nourish, to comfort […] I had to retrain my body to sleep. My instincts were telling me that when I slept Unknown Things happened […] I was unconsciously listening to the sound of her breathing or swallowing, and if those noises sounded okay then I’d listen to the sounds of the house to make sure monsters didn’t crawl out of the house to hurt her” (102).   

Watching horror movies doesn’t help with these fears at all because I’m presented with awful, implausible-but-still-somehow-believable things to be afraid of. The genre is rife with children in danger. They highlight in so many different ways how helpless parents can be. We work around the clock to ensure our childrens’ safety, but at any moment something could come along and destroy our dreams.   

Our adorable, adorable dreams

I never knew real fear until I became a mother. 

Heather B. Armstrong (2009). It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita. NY: Simon Spotlight Entertainment. 

Book Quote of the Day

“Mummer would tell us these tales over the dinner table without a flicker of doubt that God’s hand was at work in the world, as it had been in the time of the saints and martyrs, the violent deaths of whom were regularly inflicted upon us as exempla of not only the unconditional oath we had to make to the service of the Lord, but of the necessity of suffering.

The worse the torment, the more God was able to make Himself known, Mummer said, invoking the same branch of esoteric mathematics Father Wilfred used in his sermons to explain why the world was full of war and murder–a formula by which cruelty could be shown to be inversely proportionate to mercy. The more inhumane the misery we could inflict upon one another, the more compassionate God seemed as a counterpoint to us. It was through pain that we would know how far we still had to go to be perfect in His eyes. And so, unless one suffered, Father Wilfred was wont to remind us, one could not be a true Christian.”

–Andrew Michael Hurley, The Loney.

Book Quote of the Day

“Old shelters–television, magazines, movies–won’t protect you anymore. You might try scribbling in a journal, on a napkin, maybe even in the margins of this book. That’s when you’ll discover you no longer trust the very walls you always took for granted. Even the hallways you’ve walked a hundred times will feel longer, much longer, and the shadows, any shadow at all, will suddenly seem deeper, much, much, deeper.

You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You’ll care only about the darkness and you’ll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you’re some kind of indispensable, universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you’ll be afraid to look away, you’ll be afraid to sleep.

Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you’ll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by. You’ll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. And then for better or worse you’ll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will, fighting with everything you’ve got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name.

And then the nightmares will begin.”

Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves.

The Horrors of Adulting: A Car Story

Today, I was involved in my first two-car collision. I was at a four-way intersection, and I was thinking the corner on my right had a stop sign, but by the time I realized it did not, and that the other driver was not stopping, we had crashed.

I’m not including a real picture, so pretend this crumpled ball of foil is the passenger side of my car

It’s been a few hours, and time has given me the ability to be grateful for some things: No one was hurt. Neither of us had passengers. The other driver was calm and polite, and even walked me through what would likely happen next. Our cars were still drivable. It happened right outside my work, so my coworkers stopped to make sure I was okay, and my supervisor gave me the day off so I could ugly-cry in private and fill out the pertinent paperwork.

Buuuut, this is not an ideal event, and I’m still upset. Being me, my mind wandered to horror films, and to make myself feel better and put my situation in perspective, I compiled a list (NOT all-encompassing, don’t tell me what I left out–nah, seriously, I wuv you, tell away) of movies involving car crashes with disastrous consequences.

What I got when I google-image-searched “horror movies are life”

5. Jessabelle (2014)

Shortly after the film opens, the titular Jessabelle is t-boned by another car, losing the use of her legs and her fiancé, and ends up living with her estranged father, whom she finds out has a horrible secret. Besides the fact that all Jessie has to entertain herself with is a VCR. Not a period piece, it’s the 21st century.

4.) Misery (1990)

A writer driving in a snowstorm crashes and is rescued by a former nurse who’s also his biggest fan. Unfortunately, her love includes forcing him to write a romance novel specifically for her and clubbing him with a sledgehammer. And killing anyone who tries to help. And buying him a typewriter that’s missing the “e” key. And making him drink his own pee. Just kidding, that only happens in the book.

3.) Creepshow 2 (1987)

A privileged caucasian lady pulls a hit-and-run on a Black homeless dude, and his ghost haunts her, continuously thanking her for the ride. (If you guessed this movie was written and directed by white people, you would be correct. Only white people would make a movie in which a person of color thanks a white person for murdering them.)

2.) À l’intérieur , AKA Inside (2007)

Two women have a car wreck, causing one to miscarry. She comes after the other to steal her baby, and they have an extended, gruesome duel, involving scissors, knitting needles, and a toaster. (If you guessed this movie was written and directed by men, you would be correct. Because what else would women fight over but the privilege of being a mother, and what else would they use but craft supplies and household appliances?)

1.) A Ghost Story (2017)

After a guy is killed in a car accident, he comes back looking like a cheap Halloween costume and watches his grieving wife eat an entire pie.

Okay, that last one’s not really a horror movie, but it’s often very hard to watch. Did I mention she eats the pie in one take, in record time? And by her account, it tasted awful? Phew, glad I’m never seeing that again. Now I can move on with my day.

The Horrors of Adulting: Devil House

I’ve recently entered the early stages of middle age, but until recently I’ve never really felt like an adult. For the fourteen years we had been married, my husband Andrew and I were living in a house his grandparents bought and rented to us for peanuts. Until the pandemic, we lived paycheck to paycheck on my salary from working part-time and his SSI check (he’s legally blind). After I got stuck at home during lockdown, he discovered that Amazon, while being an evil conglomerate, is sometimes good to the differently-abled community. A year and a half later, he earned a promotion–in Kentucky. Two thousand miles away from our nest in California. Deciding that it was a chance we couldn’t pass up, we made plans to move. Across the country. In three weeks. Our original plan was that I stay with our three kids until the end of the school year, but Ubers are goddamned expensive. So we came too, which involved dropping our 12- and 9-year old into brand new schools in a brand new environment as well as hurriedly quitting my job.

Being the kind and generous people they are, Andrew’s grandmother lent out her husband to pitch in with driving to Kentucky, which was more financially feasible than flying. Naturally, he ended up doing 100% of the driving, while I snoozed and dominated the aux cable.

Andrew meanwhile had secured us a rental house and was staying there as we drove. That sounds awfully fast to get a house, you may be thinking. And that’s because our property management agency is garbage. The benefit of having a widely reviled rental company is that as long as you can do basic paperwork and prove you make three times the rent, you can stroll right on in. Unfortunately, the house we rented was tiny. Three bedrooms and a reasonably sized yard, but tiny. And the kitchen floor was seeping water. And the dishwasher was broken. And the heater was broken. And the hot water heater was broken. And there was a sizable leak in the ceiling, which over the course of a couple of days turned into a sizable hole in the ceiling. Of course we complained to the company, which took its sweet time fixing shit, even comping us a hotel room because March can be chilly in Kentucky, but eventually we had a dry kitchen floor, a working dishwasher, an extremely noisy heater that worked well in the front half of the house and almost adequately in the back, hot water, and a hastily patched ceiling.

And then, the bugs. The. Bugs. We get a break during cold weather, but woo-wee when spring comes around, look out! The mosquitoes here are aggressive; they’ll swarm you during the day, even in the rain. Ants come en masse. And stinkbugs. If you’ve never met a stinkbug (I hadn’t, so I was googling every bug I saw for a while), they spray when threatened and spray when squished, which attracts more stinkbugs. But they actually have a pretty long fuse, so it’s generally possible to scoop them up and put them outside. I took to putting an empty yogurt tub on top of the refrigerator to capture stray bugs, which I needed pretty much every time I turned around.

By far, the most shocking were the webworms. They show up and virtually overnight create massive webs in trees. I came outside one morning to find what looked like from afar giant spiderwebs full of maggots. I googled it and calmed down when I discovered they don’t hurt anything and head out when they’re done chilling in your tree. But seriously, this is what they look like. They’re nightmare fuel.

All the adjustments plus the emotional and financial burden of relocating across the country had me in a bad way. Back before the move, I had become enamored of a song by The Mountain Goats called “This Year”, which includes the lyrics, “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me.” This was my mantra, and it got me through. (Now, we’re much more stable, with a much better house, and I have a full-time library job, something I struggled to get for seven years in California and never succeeded.)

Some time later, I was browsing e-books and came across Devil House by John Darnielle, and was intrigued. I loved it, and when I went to follow him on Goodreads I found out that he’s in The Mountain Goats. The singer/songwriter of the song that gave me hope is also a fantastic novelist! Here’s the Book Quote of the Day:

“I try to honor the dead in my books. It’s one of the things, I hope, that sets me apart a little from my partners in true crime. When I read what others write about places where the unthinkable became real, the focus always seems off to me. Victims spend their entire time in the spotlight just waiting for the fatal blow, on a conveyor belt that leads to the guillotine; I pity their fates, but it’s hard to grieve for them, because the treadmill on which they ran feels specifically designed to kill them.”

In a show of unfair levels of talent, Darnielle also reads his own audiobooks, and they’re amazing. I failed to find a good clip on YouTube, so you’ll just have to find out for yourself. Enjoy!

The Horrors of Adulting: Sometimes, Dead is NOT Better

This is my neighborhood. Pretty, innit? But you may observe there are no sidewalks. So when my two-year-old wants to go for a walk, we have to perambulate in the street.

It’s very quiet, the official speed limit is 15 miles an hour, and there are loads of kids around, so drivers tend to be cautious. Plus I’m hyperaware of everything around us, and I can definitely beat Jack in a foot race.

But but but. My bad brain whispers ‘Pet Sematary Pet Sematary Pet Sematary’. And replays that devastating scene from the original film when Louis grabs for his son as the lad is stepping in front of a semi and almost catches him.

So long story short, being a parent means living in a state of terror for the rest of your life. Lots more coming on that subject.

‘Def by Temptation’s’ Cynthia Bond: Where is She Now? Being Freaking Awesome!

Last night, I watched Def by Temptation, a movie I’d never heard of until I saw it featured in Horror Noire: A History of Black Horror. I loved it and was quite taken with the leading lady, Cynthia Bond, who plays a succubus. Bond gives a skillfully nuanced performance, switching from sweet innocent to wicked demon with aplomb.

Def is only her second acting credit, and her first film credit. I’d never heard of her, and I was sure that at some point she’d done the one-hit-wonder thing and dropped off the face of the planet. Turns out, she indeed hasn’t been acting since the mid-90s–she’s been quietly making the world a better place as a counselor and novelist.

To quote Wikipedia:

“Bond founded The Blackbird Collective in 2011 to, according to their website, ‘create a nurturing, supportive environment for writers’ with an emphasis on ‘telling truths seldom shared, and using creativity to help others.’ She taught writing to homeless and at-risk youth for over 15 years at the Los Angeles LGBT Center.”

Damn. And she’s bi. I think I’m in love.

Book Quote of the Day

“Grace sat there in the doldrums of her conscience, unsure if she was a reasonably good person or a marginally bad one. She tried to summon a list of the good things she had done, so she could weigh them against the bad ones, but she was less sure than ever what constituted a Good Thing. Had she ever done anything out of pure kindness? Pure generosity? Weren’t there, if she was being honest, tendrils of selfishness intertwined with every act?”

–Zoje Stage, Mothered

Book Quote of the Day

“Up close, I realize, Hope’s End is a mess. One of the second-floor windows is missing panes and now has plywood covering the gaping hole. Chunks of marble have broken off the detailing around some of the doors and windows. The roof is missing a fifth of its slate shingles, giving it a battered, pockmarked look that’s honestly a relief. At last, a place as broken as I feel.”

–Riley Sager, The Only One Left