The fears of children

I mentioned some nightmares of mine in an earlier post, and a recent development in the life of an old schoolmate of mine has forced me to revisit their origins a bit... So bear with me, people. I'm gonna take you into the mind of a 3-year-old me.

It all started with a statue. I guess my mom was trying to embrace a little African heritage when she bought the set. They were a pair of hand-carved wooden figurines - one male, and one female - about ten inches tall and painted black. They were crudely made, and as I didn't really understand human anatomy at the time, I thought they were both men. The male, the real male, wasn't all that special. I remember he had a beard, and was holding a long staff. Maybe it was a spear. But the female... I don't think I'll ever forget her face. Very angular, large lips, a narrow nose, and almost feline eyes, except that she had no irises or pupils. Just two, empty, cat-like eyes that stared straight ahead. She wore a sort of dress that left her shoulders bare. And her hair... It stood straight up, but was parted in the middle... Like a great V, or two thick horns shooting up from her head.

I suppose I was drawn to those statues, most likely because my mother put them on the bottom shelf of a sort of display case that my father built. Bottom shelves are the realm of children. Put something there, and it's like you're giving it to them. I used to pick up the statues and make them fight each other (staff/spear man always won) or use the V-woman as a villain for my Lego armies. Even then, she just creeped me out, so I tried my best not to look into those eyes.

But one day, I guess curiosity got the better of me, and I took a close look at the V-woman statue. The etch marks in the wood. The detail on the dress. Those dark, soulless eyes. They were hypnotizing. I'm not sure how long I stared into them, but I remember it took my mother calling my name to snap me out of it. I decided not to mess with the V-woman anymore, and put her back on the shelf.

That night, I went to bed without a care in the world. The realm of sleep was mysterious then. I would disappear, or cease to exist for hours at a time, and somehow come back refreshed and ready to play the next day. It's fun, actually. Well, it was back then.

Shortly after I drifted into non-existence, I found myself walking through a museum with my mother. I remember brown walls, glass cases with backlighting, and hundreds of tall, faceless strangers with droning voices. My mother held my hand as we walked, and I remember feeling...happy.

Then something caught my eye. An old suit of armor. Rusty, and dented. I dragged my mom over to it to get a closer look. Of course, I couldn't resist reaching out to touch it, but the moment my finger came within and inch of the armor, the whole thing came crashing down. It sounded like...pots and pans clanging on the ground. I leapt back, and turned to my mother to explain that it wasn't my fault, but when I saw her, it looked like she was dissolving, all the grains of her body crashing down like the armor. I almost screamed, until I realized the entire museum was doing the same thing. Crashing down...leaving nothing but darkness around me. The people were screaming. I could hear all of them, all that terror. I shut my eyes, and covered my ears--if you can't perceive it, it's not happening.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a ruined temple of sorts, made of gray stone. There was no roof, which meant I could see the sky. The green, turbulent sky. In the middle of the temple was another statue, made of the same stone as its surroundings. This statue was a kneeling man with his head bowed. I walked up to it and noticed that on the base of the statue was carved three letters. O. X. X.

To this day, I'm not sure why I did it, but I read those letters aloud,

"O...X...X?"

The ground began to rumble. The sky swirled. Thunder rumbled. And crack! The base of the statue split. From that split oozed a thick black liquid that slowly encircled me. I remember seeing the ooze leap, straight up into the sky. I looked up to follow it, and then...darkness. Darkness filled with a thousand screams.

I was in my bed. It was still night time. My sister was in her bed next to mine, sound asleep. I guessed I had come back to this world a little early. I rolled over onto my back, and wondered if I should wake her up and tell her what I had seen. But when I went to open my mouth, no words came out. Then I felt them. Hands. Two invisible hands grasped my wrists and pinned them to the bed. Two more gripped my ankles. I couldn't turn my head. I couldn't scream. I could barely breathe. Then I heard it. It was a rhythm... It's hard to describe, but it was deep and drumming, yet it had a melody to it. It played over and over...

The door to the bedroom creaked open, and in slipped a blurry figure, dark, with glowing greenish yellow eyes. It was smoky, but it had the form of a man. Its movements were quick...jerky. Staccato. And atop its head shot two great horns, straight up, and parted in the middle, like a great V. It shifted closer to me. The rhythm grew louder with each moment. I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake up my sister, but as far as I could tell, she was still sound asleep.

It was right next to my bed.

The rhythm was pounding.

It reached out one smoky hand.

My heart was throbbing.

It grabbed my face. There was an explosion of pain, like needles piercing every inch of my body. And with the pain came those thousand screams, and then my own, joining them in one terrible, agonizing crescendo...

And then I woke up.

I think I just stayed in my bed that night. Too terrified to go back to sleep. Too terrified to make a sound, or even test my voice. Far too terrified to go find my mother... Who would believe me? I lacked the words to even explain it.

That was just the beginning. For ten years I fought with Oxx. He struck in strange ways, each one more abstract than the last. My parents came to know his name. My sister came to hate the nights I had to sleep in her new room. I came to hate sleep all together. I was never safe from him. At a moment's notice, a good dream could turn bad. A peaceful vision could be shattered by those screams. That pain. There was no getting used to it. There was no escaping him. My prayers became hour-long pleading sessions to God, begging Him to keep me safe at night. I kept a Bible under my pillow to show my dedication. Sometimes He helped, most nights, He didn't. I died thousands of times in those ten years. First I was scared, then I was embarrassed, and finally, I was angry.

At age 13, I asked my mother to throw away that statue. And she did. And Oxx has yet to return. His echoes still exist, though. I can feel the threat of his return in all my dreams. But he never does. There is no pain. No screams. But my mind has only recently been able to dream freely. To sleep deeply.

And all this...from a statue.

You see, children's minds are amazing. To them, the world is still "soft". It's rules and laws are malleable, and wide open to interpretation. They lack prior experience from which to establish those rules. So they come up with wild ideas.

I'm thinking most people don't quite understand children's fears... Objects are more threatening...more powerful than people. They cannot be spoken to. They do not rest. They are forever looming. Staring. Even while you sleep, they are watching. Who knows what they can see? Who knows what they are hiding? Who knows if they are your friend or your enemy?

Because of this, children choose protective objects. Blankets. Teddy bears. Jackets. But this actually increases their terror... It makes perfect sense. If a blanket can protect, other objects must be able to harm.

My old schoolmate is having a similar problem with her son. To an outsider...to an adult, these things seem silly. That's understandable. A killer statue? Kinda lame. Parents smirk. Older children laugh and tease. But when fueled by the fears of a child, those nightmares just grow, and grow...

If you're lucky, your kid will grow up and find a way to deal with it. Might even give him or her a little character.

...or you might be paying for therapy.

Just sayin'.

J