Chucky Is A Fluffy Little Marshmallow…
June 23, 2011 § 124 Comments
When I was growing up, there came a time when Mum and Dad finally let my older brothers babysit us younger kids. I am the only girl of five, with a younger bro and three older brothers, 2, 6 and 8 years older then me.
Why my parents trusted my eldest brothers (who were probably in their mid-teens by then) with this huge responsibility is beyond me. I can tell you, I was subjected to some horrible things back then! One of my brothers once put a sleeping bag over me and pushed me around for five minutes. Another one put a cot mattress on me and then jumped on me. And yet another brother told me Mariah Carey was an ‘idiot’ and I cried and cried over that one (I loved me some Carey back then).
But nothing will ever compare to what my eldest brother classified as ‘babysitting’. He would put on the most frightening movies, and I, in my desperation to be part of the ‘boy’s club’, would force myself to sit alongside them and watch such sweet films like Nightmare on Elm Street (Freddy Krueger certainly lived in my cupboard after this), Arachnophobia (which did, indeed, give me arachnophobia to this very day) and Child’s Play… no need to go on about that little morsel of horror.
And when we weren’t watching horror movies, we would watch Baywatch. Yep, brothers.
I thought my horror days were all in the past. I would get nightmares for years after being ‘babysat’ by my brothers, getting cold shivers at the thought of Chucky and his terrifying scars and really bad hair-do. But being an adult has put those fears to rest. Well, until I went on a beach break with a couple of friends. What promised to be a fun and exciting night away in a borrowed beach house for us buddies, turned sour because I had to sleep in a room alone with this…
Ummmmmm… Chucky is a pumpkin pie compared to this demon doll. Take notice of that arm slightly stretched out in a way-creepy motion, as if to say “Mine, Emma. You are all mine tonight.”
Suffice to say, my nightmares have returned.