The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door . . .

fedrick brown – “knock”

It’s that spooky time of year! You know what I’m talking about; turkeys are slaughtered to feed millions, trees slowly disrobe in a mass hysteria of exhibitionism, and you have to make the decision to shave your legs every hour, or let the forest reclaim the land. Okay, so maybe this article was supposed to come out around Halloween, and I kind of missed the mark. But fuck it, I’m posting it anyway. Have a frightastic Thanksgiving!

We’re all scared of things; death, loneliness, the dark, Pepsi; but what makes you stupid scared? 

What is stupid scared? 

It’s that thing that still frightens us even though we know it shouldn’t because, in reality, there’s nothing to be frightened of. What makes things creepy? Why does the opening flute solo of “My Heart Will Go On” give us feel-goodies, yet some of us have nightmares by just watching the video about the Aztec Death Whistle.

People often assume that since I don’t believe in ghosts, or demons, or the devil, or Michael Jackson; that I’m pretty fearless. But this is the opposite of true! Yes! I’m still scared of things that go bump in the night just like anybody. In fact, when it adds to an already heavy dose of anxiety and depression; it’s the main reason I can’t sleep at night. God, I would kill for some sleep. And why would that be? What makes us, as humans, scared of shit that doesn’t exist? It’s a question I often ask myself. 

I’ve been going around asking my friends and family what scares them. Often, they say, “The fact that you’re asking me this very question is a bit unnerving, to tell the truth.” I usually assure them that it’s strictly for my own personal research, but they still don’t share much with me for some reason. 

One of my friends did muster the courage to answer the question. She said she really doesn’t fear anything. Now, to clarify, I did take things like death or being murdered or anything like that out of the equation. I want to know what makes us scared, what keeps us up at night that usually doesn’t make sense. What creeps you out, ya dig? She, my friend, said nothing scares her, which I know is a lie because I had her play a Silent Hill Demo one night (yes, just the demo) and she got so scared she threw my brother’s controller (sorry bro). Disirregardless, she claims the only thing that does scare her, or give her nightmares, is if one of her friends were in peril, and she’d be unable to help. Okay. Alright. Put down the fucking halo there, Captain America. 

And perhaps she’s right! Who am I to judge? Maybe I’m just going through life as a scaredy-cat, afraid of her own shadow. But it is that time of year! Winter’s coming and the darkness lasts longer. Let’s get spooky. 

It may be my overactive imagination, but there are certain things I can’t quite get over. Certain images, sounds, situations, etc. that keep me up at night. Sometimes I think I’m a freak for thinking these things, and maybe it’s a bad idea to let the world know, but you already know about my dick, so why keep shit to myself now, right? Shit like – 

1. I’M STILL AFRAID OF MY CLOSET

Wanna know a little secret? I can’t sleep until my closet door is completely shut. It’s not like I think some malnourished demon will come out and gnaw on my toes with her sticky yellow teeth after I go to sleep if the closet door isn’t shut (and how the hell would a shut door prevent that anyway?), but I get a sense of unease, or creepiness when it’s open after I turn off the lights. It’s a primal feeling that doesn’t go away until the closet door is closed.

I can picture it now: my darkened mess of a bedroom. A bedroom with the cleanliness of a 14-year-old. And there at the opposite end of my bed is an opened closet. Even after my eyes have acclimated to the night, the darkness of the closet never comes in to focus; if anything, it gets darker. As if a hole to another world opens after the sun escapes. And within that dark hole are creatures that want to bite my neck and nibble my ears (and not how I usually like it – ladies . . . gents . . . ) 

The only thing that calms my nerves is shutting the door. Once it’s shut, then I can finally rest my eyes and try to sleep through my usual anxiety-ridden night swobbles. 

Hey!

Why is that fear even there in the first place? I believe it goes back to when I was a stupid child believing stupid things, as stupid children often do. When I was very young, I believed everything adults told me; even my dipshit uncles (you know who you are! You never really had my nose, didya!?) In fact I believed what most people told me. At the same time, I was very logical in my thinking; and thoroughly punished for it. I asked questions I was told I shouldn’t ask. I said things I was told not to say. I remember pulling my Mom aside one day while visiting my grandparents (her parents) and asking, “They’re going to die soon aren’t they?” Mom probably looked at me like you’d look at a child from Village of the Damned.

She nodded in what can only be described as a melted mixture of sadness, disappointment, guilt, and shame; which I could totally see in her eyes at the time. Hell, I can still see that image today; it never really left. I was a people-pleaser as a kid, you see (and as an adult to be truthful); so every time I noticed the slightest hint that I have disappointed, or angered, or saddened someone; it hurt me – so I stopped doing whatever the hell it was. “Always be yourself!” the posters at school would say; right alongside “Respect your Elders!” 

Be curious . . . but not too curious!

I digress. 

Closet monsters!

One of the things I was told as a child is that demons exist. And not just by my friends and older cousins trying to scare the hell out of me, but also from the few times I went to church, and from my parents, and other adult members of my family. Demons, ghosts, spirits, God, Santa, psychics, gaining personal insights from micro-expressions; I used to believe all the bullshit. 

So, if demons exist, what’s to stop them from attacking me at my weakest? And, perhaps, I’m putting too much weight (easy for me, as a fatty fat), on a very simple rite of passage most kids go through as they grow: closets have monsters. Then we grow out of it. Then the monsters go away. Then . . .  we sleep. 

Most of us anyway. 

Not this child. I remember a lot of those nights when I was a kid. Staring, wide-eyed, at the opened closet. Seeing things shift around in the darkness. My blanket pulled up to my nose. Shaking, shivering and sweating (sweat if I was lucky!). And, most importantly, not able to sleep, which blurred the lines between reality and imagination even more. Were those a pair of glowing yellow eyes that blinked just now? Off in the dark, cavernous corner? Whatever it is, it can’t get me if I don’t sleep. Those are the rules, you see. 

A lot of things carry over with us from childhood when we become adults; maybe you still won’t eat broccoli, maybe you still hate exercise because gym class was just a lesson in how much emotional abuse you can handle, or maybe you still cry when you think about Artax succumbing to the Swamps of Sadness. That’s probably what’s going on with me. Obviously, I don’t think a demon is hiding in the closet waiting for her time to pounce (I’m pretty sure anyway), but that damn door has to be shut. 

Childhood memories have a way of staying with us for the dumbest reasons; for instance – 

2. I HAVE AN UNHEALTHY FEAR OF DOLLS

I’m going to say something that I think everyone knows on some microbial level: dolls are fucking scary dude! The closet was bad, but it could be shut. When I had the courage, I would run to the closet door, shut it, then scurry back to my bed. 

You can’t shut dolls. They can only be destroyed.

And are you really going to break your mother’s heart by destroying the doll she worked so hard to buy you? Huh?! You unloving bastard!

Let me introduce you to my nightmare, as well as my roommate for several years!

Look at that sumbitch! The unblinking eyes! The long, reaching arms! The open mouth willing to suck your soul! The banana! This thing may have been the catalyst for my sleep paralysis. Do you know what sleep paralysis is? It’s when you’re awake, but your physical body hasn’t come out of the paralysis yet. Did you even know that you go into paralysis when you sleep? 

Think of sleep paralysis as reverse sleep-walking. It’s terrifying. Imagine waking up, but you can’t open your eyes and you can’t move. You can hear the radio your mom has on downstairs as she makes breakfast. You hear your sister getting ready in the bathroom. But what’s this?; you also hear something shuffle around your bedroom. You also feel it’s presence. You feel it, man! You feel like something else is there with you. And it’s big. And it’s dark. You feel it get into bed with you. It weighs so much! You can’t breathe! It dips its head and looks at you in the eyes. But you can’t see it! You try to scream, but you can’t fucking breathe! It cups your head with its moist hands and brings you closer to its bright yellow eyes and it screams in a low vibrating howl you can feel and hear at the same time! And finally, after an endless era of trying, you scream. 

Sleep paralysis is no joke. The hallucinations are so extreme and feel so real that it’s usually the cause of alien abduction reports, or demon possession stories, or out-of-body experiences. In reality, it’s your brain being lazy – it woke up; but forgot to start the engine.  

The earliest sleep paralysis episode I remember starred this fucking monkey. It wasn’t much; I remember the episode starting, I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I could sense my room, and I could hear the TV because I forgot to turn it off. I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t open my eyes. But I could still sense the room. So, in a way, I could sense the TV as it projected snowy static, I could sense my brother’s bed, I could sense him as he slept. I could sense the wooden chest between our beds. I could feel the breeze from the open window behind the chest. And I could sense the monkey as it sat there, mouth agape, eyes fixed open, staring straight at the TV. Then, I sensed the monkey as it blinked and turned its head to look at me. I couldn’t scream. I had to wait, in terror, as the monkey stared and blinked for what seemed like an eternity.

I still have sleep paralysis episodes. They don’t happen as often as they used to. But it’s still a trip down hell when they do. The worst episode by far was a pretty simple one. I slept on my side with my back turned to the open part of my bed; my front side faced the wall. A large presence loomed beside my bed, facing my back. I could hear whatever it was sharpening a knife. That’s it. A big looming presence as he sharpened a knife to my back. I think it was the worst because it was the most audible. I can still hear the metallic screams of the knife as it glides up and down the sharpener some nights when I’m alone. God, I’m so fucked up.

For years, I kept throwing the monkey under the bed or knocking it behind the chest, or anywhere I could think so I wouldn’t have to deal with it. But it always ended up sitting on the chest between our beds. I want to think Mom kept putting it back; but who’s to say the damn thing didn’t climb up and sit there itself?

Now, I know I called myself a stupid child (because I was), but I wasn’t dumb. I knew, logically, that the nightmares were just that: a nightmare. An illusion brought on by an overactive imagination. I didn’t know what sleep paralysis was at the time, I assumed that it was just a really bad nightmare that happens on occasion. But, nothing could prepare me for what I saw one day as I stepped out of the bathroom and into my room . . . I saw the damn monkey move. 

“Ah Kiko, you’re just trying to scare me now! Quit it. Seriously, quit it. Let go of my arm!” I hear you say as you read that last part. But it’s true! The monkey doll moved. It was hunched over and trying to stand up. No imagination. No hallucination. No dream. Imagine a small little Kiko as I stood in shock at what I saw. Presumably, before my brain snapped in two, I remember my mind speeding and processing one thought: it’s all real! Ghosts, goblins, spirits, God, Santa, the Devil, the Tooth Fairy, Michael Jackson . . . they’re all real! Sure, I believed in some of those things at the time, but this was really real proof!  My heart raced, my chest hurt, I couldn’t move, I started shaking. No flight. No fight. Just a pure surrender to madness. This was reality, and the monkey was fucking moving! However, before I shat myself, I noticed something else moving; not just the monkey. There was something behind the monkey. I leaned in a bit to see what else the gates of hell hath wrought. Out from behind the monkey, the family cat jumped to the floor and sauntered her way past me out of the room. As she walked by, she meowed at me. It’s the only meow I think I’ve ever been able to translate – “Dumbass”. 

The cat. 

The cat was moving the monkey. The whole event was maybe ten seconds. No more fucking dolls from that point forward. Cats are jerks.

To this day, I can’t have some cuddly wuddly thing staring at me as I go to sleep. So, no dolls. If the room is clear of dolls, and the closet door is shut; then I might have a slight chance of sleeping. Until, of course, I start thinking of something that can’t be hidden away, or closed shut. I’m talking about – 

3. I STILL FEAR HELL

Yup! You heard it right. Straight from the atheist’s mouth. 

Let me set the record straight: I don’t believe in Hell; as a mythical place anyway. My current mental status though… 

Hell doesn’t exist. And when we die, nothing happens: blackness, nothing, nonexistence. For me, that is a calming thought and I’ll explain why in a bit. So, what am I so afraid of? It stems from my childhood; which is kind of a pattern if you haven’t noticed. 

Let me set the record straight: dolls and closet monsters are one thing; Hell is another. I may have an overactive imagination when it comes to monsters or ghosts or dolls or whatever, but those were different than Hell. As a kid growing up in the midwest and the south; Hell was real. And it’s beaten into your mind that it’s real. 

Hell is just a matter of fact when you’re young. You’re told that there is a place of constant torture. Of fire. Where the pain will never end for eternity. And, we’re all doomed to go there, unless you give yourself over to a bearded freak in the sky. This scared the shit out of me when I was a kid; to the point of real psychological damage. 

It’s one of the reasons why I turned away from religion. Even as a child (a fucking child!), I knew there was something wrong with teaching belief through fear. It didn’t seem right. It seemed cruel. It is cruel. And it’s still done to this day. I worry about all the children going through the same thing I did when I was young. The same psychological torture of being told they’re doomed and there’s only one way out. 

And what’s the reward for believing? I remember asking a pastor that very question. I asked what heaven was like. He told me that God is building a mansion in the sky for me and that I’ll spend eternity praising Him. “An eternity just shouting and praising?” I asked. “Yes!” he said.

“Won’t I, y’know, get bored of doing that after a while?”

“No! Because once you’re in Heaven, you’ll love doing it!”

“Like, I’ll be forced to love doing it?”

“No! It’ll just happen.”

“My mind will change to like it?”

*sigh* “In a way, yes.”

“Is there Mortal Kombat in heaven?”

“What? What is – NO! There are just praise and worship and an eternity of everlasting – “

“I like Mortal Kombat though . . . “

“Look, it’s better than the alternative kid. Would you rather praise God for eternity? Or burn in Hell for eternity? You’re being very rude right now.”

Be yourself. Respect your elders. 

Be curious  . . . but not too curious.

I guess what I feared most is the afterlife itself. To be honest, both feel like hell to me. I remember depictions of heaven in paintings and movies when I was a child: lots of clouds, lots of happiness, lots of those little harp thingies, for some reason. I was scared of heaven too. It didn’t seem joyous to me, it seemed boring.

Adults always gave me the same answer; it’s better than the alternative. I hated that answer. It was ingrained in my head for so long that after I stopped believing, it’s still kind of there. And I didn’t even go to church that much! I often wonder what type of person I would’ve turned out had I been a regular member of any number of the churches I had growing up. I wonder about the children who attend church with those extreme depictions of Hell today. No wonder they’re always trying to save me. If I thought someone was doomed, I’d want to save them too. 

Hell still keeps me up at night. The thought of dying, then dragged to a dark, hot pit as you melt and scream for eternity. No sir, I don’t like it. 

But, what if neither happens when you die? What if you go to a place of nonexistence? For some reason, this scares people even more than Hell. For me, it sounds like Heaven. Someone I love dearly is very religious, and I often ask her (out of sheer morbid curiosity) if she thinks I’ll go to heaven when I die. She always finds a way to say yes, but I can tell it’s kind of a struggle. I wonder if she really thinks I’m doomed and tries to soften the blow. 

Am I doomed? 

Only one way to find out, I guess.

Everything I have learned up to this point in my life leads to one thing when we die: nothingness. I want that to be true so much. 

I don’t want to burn.

I don’t want to pray.

I just want some fucking sleep . . .