Just Me & My Shadow

Hi all!  This week my blog is slanted towards the darker side…it is Halloween after all.  In the spirit of ghosts, ghouls, vampires, and zombies I decided to write a tribute.  I concocted a recipe, combining life experience and creativity.  With that said, I hope you enjoy this week’s blog.  Um, by the way, you might wish to keep the lights on…

The shadow man is real; at least when I was a little girl I used to believe it was so.  He used the mask of night to impose his own brand of terror.  He thrived on the moment it was “lights out…” and he loved my neighborhood.  We lived in the county with street lamps few and far between.  A moonless sky often left me vulnerable.  When it was pitch black, with the only illumination being an occasional passing car…my eyes would adjust to the dim and that is when I’d see him there…the shadowed figure that I nicknamed “Mr. Ugly.”

Mr. U always seemed to be tucked in the corner, lurking in wait.  I could feel my heart beating; I could hear the thump-thumping in my ears.  I’d hold my breath because I just knew he was there waiting for me, waiting for me to let my guard down and then he would pounce. 

I imagined gnarling teeth, fierce claws and everything hideous.  Green puss would ooze from the many open pores lining his disproportionate face.  Long braids tiny and thin were woven throughout his jet black hair.  At the tail end of those weaves he kept a variety of children’s teeth that he had collected from beneath many pillows throughout the years.  Some had mistaken him for the tooth fairy but there was no magic wand, no lighthearted spirit and NO silver coin from Mr. Ugly…no.  He had stolen hundreds of teeth as souvenirs and drilled holes in them to sport as badges of honor.  Instead of a coin, Mr. Ugly often left toe nail clippings or anything repulsive that he could imagine.  He despised children and yet he needed their youth in order to survive.

His eyes were bulging and his nose appeared huge with over-sized nostrils that could sniff out the weak.  With a simple glance, his kind of fright would render all victims frozen.  I dared not look at him directly and yet I was drawn to.  I remember chanting over and over again throughout my childhood, “don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.”  Sometimes I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror when I believed he wasn't paying attention.  His appearance was so hideous that I thought I’d pass out.

I always knew when he was there for I could hear the impending doom of a musical score…soft at first but it would build up to the moment where Mr. Ugly was certain to swoop in. 

The most troubling fact was that no one else knew he existed but me.  If my family suspected, they surely wouldn't say. 

I did my best to survive the nightly attack.  I’d pull the covers up over my face as my reality became blanketed.  Beneath the sheet, I’d click on my flashlight.  With a bit of light I was safe and I’d do my best to calm down. 

On most nights my teen-aged sister was in the next bed snoring.  I ignored her though…I was secure in the light, in the warmth of the comforters.  I lifted my legs as they became support beams for the sheeted tent.  With extra space beneath the blankets I could breathe a bit easier.  I’d keep my human tent posts extended as long as I could, except my legs became heavy as if I had bricks shackled to my feet.  Sooner rather than later, they dropped….and then my flashlight would be the next to fizzle out.  The batteries or bulb, bulb or batteries; loose or weak, either way I was sacrificed to the darkness. 

I couldn't breathe as the air beneath the blankets became stuffy again; the air became thick with panic.  At the foot of my bed, the eyes of the beast were glowing.  I could hear the rapid of his breath and the musical score was building…the sound was a duel of shrill violins clanking notes against each other.  I just knew any minute now, any minute…I think I screamed “help me” except my plea was stifled and my voice was just a hint above a whisper.

“Just go to sleep,” my sister begged half awake, half asleep. 

How could I tell her that Mr. Ugly was in the shadows ready to harm?   Ugly was a relentless beast too, a thief of rest, a terror of the night.  My sister would have teased me; she would have told everyone what a baby I was. 

“I’m not tired,” I said.  No, I wasn't tired, I was exhausted….and he was in the room with us…hovering above to absorb our youth…catching and collecting.  Would she really want to know?  Would she be able to handle how Mr. Ugly was now standing above her capturing her breaths?  If he took too many, she would cough.  “Bad sinus’,” sis would say but I knew the truth.

Mr. U realized I was onto his game.  Sis was too old to hear him, too old to see him…and what was most troubling was how she didn't pick up on his scent.  The stench was rotten potatoes, sour milk, broccoli and sweat lingering in the stuffiness of our room. 

I wanted to shout, “Open your eyes, take a deep breath would you?  Wake up!”  I knew somehow she wouldn't understand, she lived in her own world of boys, make-up and cheer-leading.       

“I’m going to tell mom,” sis threatened.  “Just go to sleep!”  “We have school tomorrow.”  She tossed her extra pillow at me and I jumped, startled by the impact. 

The shadow man didn't care that I had class in the morning; he only wanted to feed off of my adrenaline.  If I slept, he would staple my lips closed and there would be no scream left to save my life.    

I pulled the top sheet, twisted it around and positioned the material over my eyes. 

The corner of soft became Batman’s mask minus the eye cutouts.  I could finally breathe as my eyes were shielded.  The fangs, claws, gigantic nostrils, piercing red eyes, and his horrid breath…I was protected for he could not penetrate my makeshift mask.  It was a kid’s logic:  if I couldn't see him, he couldn't have me.  Taking comfort in this mindset, I finally allowed myself to drift off.

I was sleeping so soundly that I didn't hear the commotion, nor did I realize that my dad had been startled awake and felt the need to check our basement.  The cellar door slammed awakening the house.  No one could figure out how it happened.  My brothers joined him to check the perimeter.  There were no windows open to cause a cross current, there were no robbers…but what there was no one ever dared to admit, it was the shadow monster, my Mr. Ugly. 

Mr. Ugly was returning to his bed after his attempts at tormenting me had failed.  I had fallen asleep and he simply lost his power.  My rest forced slumber on him except he was angry…angry enough to slam the cellar door closed in his wake. 

I knew which shelf Mr. U slept on.  I had proof by how the dust held an imprint of his body.   It was the only cubby open, the one next to the many jars of wild mushrooms that my mother kept neatly stacked.      

When my dad would ask me to fetch him a soda from the cellar, I’d imagine seeing the shadow-man sometimes.  He was reclined on the plank and would extend his razor sharp claw in my direction as if marking his prey.  I’d run from that cellar, a bottle of RC in hand, feet scurrying up the stairway only touching every three steps.  I’d envision his grip scratching at my ankles, ready to break the rule and claim me regardless of the daylight. 

My dad without looking up from the newspaper would mumble “thank you” nonchalant, never realizing the peril he put me in all for a good deed.  I worked really hard to erase it from my mind, to keep the reality of what was sure to happen the next time it was “lights out” at bay.

Many years later as my kids faced the offspring of Mr. Ugly; I certainly understood how they felt.  I knew all about the shadow man and he was terrifying.  I recalled how only children under the age of 10 are faced with this truth…I think the age limit was cited on page 4 of the shadow-man rule book that I found long ago at the public library.  My friends made light of me for taking a humorous book so seriously…but I was a believer.  I lived that nightmare each and every moonless night.

I made certain I would remember Mr. Ugly.  I kept a detailed journal that included rough drawings and strategies for survival…I knew that someday I would need to be one step ahead by arming my children with nightlights, flashlights and a proper mask that only night-time warriors sport.  My strategy seemed to bring on a peaceful rest forcing everyone, kids, shadow-men, and all to surrender to a much deserved sleep.  Lights out, worries abandoned…that is, until the next sunset… and if one was not readily prepared for the blackness of night, the ugliness of shadow-man would be revisited all over again.

Happy Halloween~ flashlight anyone?