Halloween Horror

I felt it last week. A presence in the house.

It began one night while I was feeding the baby. It was only 7:00pm but very dark. The only light was from a soft yellow polar bear nightlight and the glow-in-the-dark planets hanging from the ceiling. I sat rocking the baby and feeding him his bottle. It was quiet and peaceful. Kenzie was reading in her room with Daddy.

Suddenly I felt a chill. I looked around. Neptune was slowly rocking back and forth from the ceiling. A moment ago, it was still. I started to get that prickly feeling on the back of my neck. I looked down at Ketch, his breathing slow, the bottle nearly gone. He was asleep.

I stood up and carefully carried him to his crib. I lay him down in between his stuffed Raggedy Anne and Andy dolls. I closed the door silently and decided to shake off the creepy feeling following me out.

Day 1: I woke in the middle of night. I checked the video monitor and the screen was blank. The baby must still be asleep. I looked at the Kenzie's audio monitor, the lights flickered. Hmm... odd. It could just be her sound machine setting it off. I did have it turned up pretty loud to "wave" mode.

There it was again.

I heard a soft groan, barely audible without my hearing aids in. I grabbed the video monitor and switched it to Kenzie's room. I didn't see anything moving. I sat there, not breathing, worried I would miss something. After a minute or two, I switched the video monitor back to the baby's room.

With a final sigh of relief, I checked my phone; midnight. I closed my eyes.

<Click> The video monitor switched on, lighting the dark room. I grabbed for my glasses off the nightstand. The baby was moving. Just barely.

My kids are sleepers. They rarely ever even kick off the monitors. This is weird.

I laid there, wide awake, watching and listening. The video monitor clicked off about two minutes later. At some point I fell back asleep.

2:30am I jolt upright. The baby is crying. Video monitor blazing. I hear another noise, the audio monitor was crackling. I jump up, glasses still on, and stumble down the stairs. I am thrown forward, face first onto the wood floor. I looked back at the culprit. Dan's hockey bag was blocking the entire hallway.

Both kids are crying. The only light on downstairs is a nightlight illuminating the hallway to the bedrooms. I pause outside their rooms, one last hope that they have fallen back asleep in the 10 seconds it took to get downstairs, and the 2 minutes it took to pick myself up off the ground and find my glasses. Silence.

I slowly and quietly open the door to Kenzie's room. I can only see a crumpled blob laying on the bed, that must be her, still asleep. I leave the door ajar and turn to open the baby's door.

His room feels cold. It's quiet. I contemplate finishing the night on the twin mattress on the floor of his room. The glow-in-the-dark planets darkened hours ago. I crept to the edge of his crib and peaked in. It only took a moment to see why he was wailing only moments ago.

I snatched him up, eyes popping open as I lifted. Screams rising from his tiny body. Liquid coming from his nose. I heard a cough behind me and turned. Standing in the doorway was a person no bigger than Kenzie. Hair in a rats nest, faced tipped down, but eyes looking up at me. She was clutching a stuffed bear. Liquid from her nose glistening in the nightlight.

As I started to feel my own scream rising in my throat, she turned and ran toward me, footy pajamas softly squishing the carpet. A cry escaping her mouth. It was Kenzie, but it didn't look like her. Something was different. The baby began to wail in my arms, as Kenzie cried out.

I picked her up and carried both of them to the living room. I was afraid to turn on the light for fear of what I knew to be true. I set both of them down on the couch and reached for the light switch.

They both screamed when the light came on. I looked at them. Eyes red and blotchy, hot to the touch, thick ropes of snot coming from both nostrils. It had them. The virus!

My gut told me to run, but instead I went to work administering Tylenol, sucking snot, and wiping off their faces. By the time we finished they resembled humans but I couldn't be sure. After putting them both back to bed I bathed in sanitizer and said a prayer that I wouldn't be infected. I passed out just before sunrise.

Morning came moments later. 6am to be exact. I rushed downstairs for another round of clean up. The baby lay on his play mat uninterested in his hanging toys. Eyes scanning the room, possibly looking for a victim.

<Swat> Not interested.

The young lady appears to be trying to attack me. She is relentless and won't stop until I am infected. I try to run away but she sadly says "hug" and I am forced to squat down and open my arms. I believe they have implanted me with a microchip so I must do as they say. For being so small they seem incredibly intelligent.

Hours later a booming deep voice is calling downstairs. I am getting even more nervous but I am not sure why. He appears in a robe holding a tissue, only he isn't sad. He heads for the medicine cabinet in the kitchen searching for sustenance. He pulls out several pills and swallows them. He turns on me and speaks in his ultra deep voice. For a moment I think I recognize him as my husband. I push those thoughts aside, Dan's voice isn't this deep and he never comes down before a shower and jeans.

Luckily he doesn't wait for an answer and turns and leaves. I grab a Lysol wipe and clean up whatever he touched. They won't get me. I won't let them.

The day is long and lonely. No one seems to be hungry, happy or coherent. I make the best of it, trying to douse the house in sanitizer the best I can.  I don't have any protective clothing, snow mittens and a ski mask are the best I can find.  I put them on, but it makes me a target, so I put them away in order to blend in. Bedtime comes early for everyone and I can feel a headache coming on. I close my eyes knowing it won't be long before I will be up again.

You can't hide Mommy...

Day 2:  The virus has infected me. I can feel it slowly eating away my energy and good humor. I am still trying to fight it, although I have given into my issued uniform of fleece pants and an old T-shirt. The little ones seem to be dressed in footy pajamas. I believe they are trying to brainwash me, but I have no energy to protest. We sit for hours watching endless loops of Frozen.

Day 3:  I fear the virus has officially taken over. I have lost my will to fight it. I sit with glazed eyes staring at a box with moving pictures. The brainwashing has finally taken hold. I can't get the words "Let it go" out of my head. I can only assume they are talking about my will to live.  I can't breathe. My throat is sandpaper. Sleep in impossible although my eyes are heavy.  I am officially a Mombie.




 

 

The Possessed Doll

In honor of Halloween I have two scary stories to share. This is the first.

This story is very real, although you may be skeptical. Those who have seen the doll know there is something behind those vacant eyes.  I saw that the movie "Annabel" was based on a true story. So I thought I would share my true story.

EEK!

The Doll:

Easter 1980-something: I found my basket in the upstairs closet, but I was told I had one more big present to find.

After having exhausted my search, and knowing where it probably was, I headed for the downstairs bathroom. It was always an eerie room I just didn't like. There was no bath, just a shower with a frosted door, an off-white toilet, and orange with brown and silver diamond zig zagged wall paper. (It still looks the same.) It was always freezing.

I pushed open the door, and even though I knew my present was in there, I still let out a gasp when she was staring back at me in the mirror. My new doll. The Cabbage Patch Little Miss Executive. She was standing up in her box inside the closed shower stall... her gaze, distorted from the frosted glass of the shower door, didn't look innocent. Her pigtailed, red hair and freckles would rival Chucky.

A sampling of some Halloween décor, notice the doll next to the pumpkin.

I opened the shower door with my eyes closed and snatched her out. It wasn't long before things started getting weird. I had a feeling she was moving when I wasn't in the room. Even now as I write this I can feel the prickles on the back of my neck. Whenever I walked into a room she was in, it felt chilly and... off.

Our house was a tri-level. The lower level held the eerie bathroom and my playroom, next to the family room. My playroom had brown shag carpet and vertical striped wall paper in creams and browns. I had a small strawberry shortcake kitchen set, high chair, stroller, and cribs for my dolls.

One night my parents went out to the store. Yes by todays standards I was too young to be alone, but back then you relied on neighbors if your kids needed any help. My friend from next door was at my house and we were playing in my play room. We decided to take a break and drink some cherry kool-aid. We ran upstairs to the kitchen and set out 2 Garfield mugs my parents got from McDonalds.

Remember these?

 

I filled them to the brim with the red liquid and carefully carried them back down to the playroom.  It was dark outside and the lamp was illuminating the room.  The Doll with her soft white body and hard peach face with freckles, sat undressed, at my white wooden high chair. I set to the two full mugs on her tray.

"Do you want to play a game?" I asked.
"Sure!" My friend said.

We headed to the top floor to find a game from the closet.

As we crossed back into the threshold of the playroom, with Monopoly in hand, I froze. Heart beating fast, I surveyed the room. My friend stood next to me, looking at the Garfield mugs.

One of them was propped on the lip of the highchair tipped toward the Doll. It was still full and could have just been placed their absentmindedly by one of us. The other one was completely empty except for a red ring around the bottom of the glass.

The Doll had red droplets down her soft white body.

We both screamed and my friend cried. "I'm going home!" I grabbed the doll and ran through the house and upstairs to our junk room. I threw her in and shut the door, never touching her again until Halloween, years later.

1994:  She had been packed away for years. I was telling this very story to my friends at school. They were laughing but intrigued.

It was around Halloween and we decided to meet at my house after school for a Ouija board séance. Why not? There had been other "disturbances" in the house since the Doll incident, but I choose to not believe.

We set up the board in my old playroom, which was now a computer room. I dug out some candles and closed the blinds.

We called upon a spirit and I can't remember what was said or who it was... but I decided to ask about the Doll. Of course first I needed to find her.

I pulled down the box labeled "Dolls" my mom had packed long ago. She was sitting right on top. Hard plastic face smashed in and one open eye. It definitely took the creepy factor up about 150%.

One of my friends shook in excitement. My other two stared at the doll as if it was about to come after them with a butcher knife.

We called upon the spirit again and I asked: "Is this Doll possessed?" The Ouija pointed to "Yes"

At an arrogant age of 15 I wasn't impressed. Yet.

"If this Doll is possessed, let her blow out this match." I struck the match box and held it to her face. The match went out.

My stomach clenched in fear and excitement. My friends shifted and started looking for the exit. I needed to see for myself again.

"If this Doll is possessed, let her blow out this match." I struck the match box again and held it to her face. The match went out.

Over and over I tried to keep the match lit for more than a few seconds before it went out.

Proof in my 15 year old mind that she was in fact possessed.

2001:  After being packed away for another 7 years, we decided to throw an epic Halloween party. I was in college and invited everyone I knew.

After 5 years of Halloween parties, my mom was coming up with ideas to make this years the best ever. She decided to pull out The Doll.

She drew scar marks on her face and strung her up like a marionette. At this point her eyes only opened if she was laying down, and closed when she was stood up. Still as scary as ever, so we added her to the décor.

She also setup the old playroom like the exorcist.  Now this was WAY before you could go to a Halloween store and buy a mechanical exorcist doll.  No. You had to make your own.

With a spinning motor, a Styrofoam head, and some face makeup she created a truly terrifying exorcist dummy. She added a wig, nightgown, and creepy hands and set the strobe light on her. As guests went to the bathroom they could see her through the mirrored closet doors.

I swear the possessed dolls spirit transferred into the exorcist dummy.  Disturbing was an understatement, as we turned on the motor and watched with horrified faces as the head started spinning in slow motion and then in the blink of an eye it was twirling so fast I thought it was going to spin apart. Only moments later to slow and pause looking right at us.

2014: The doll still resides at my parents house. Packed away. I refused to allow my parents to bring her to me, for fear that something horrible would happen on the trip. Also, I am terrified that spirit will haunt me again... or worse, my children.

For the fur babies everywhere.

Starchip
2002-2014

This post is for our greyhound starchip. Sadly, we put her down this morning.

She was one of the good ones. Never barked. Loved to graze. Happiest being alone to do her thing.

Pets are part of our family. It hurts when you have to make that decision... even when they are suffering.

We have old dogs. We had 5, until one passed in 2012. Then we had four. Now we have 3.

So long went by when we assumed children weren't in our future. In fact, on our 6 month anniversary (of dating) we adopted Hero our beagle. 13 years ago last week.

In retrospect that was a huge mistake. She was completely insane and had separation anxiety. She would poop and pee in the house every single time we left. Every. Single. Time.

So we adopted more dogs to ease the anxiety.  It makes sense right? (Idiots!) Within 3 years we had 4 more.

Hero, Starchip, Tully, Billy, & Chucky
This was our Christmas card a few years ago.

Chucky was the oldest greyhound. He was 8 years old when we adopted him. He had never had a family before until us. He lived in a crate his whole life.

His long gangly legs had arthritis in them and he always leaned on Starchip. As much of a loner as she was, in his last weeks she was his crutch. There was rarely a time he was standing that she wasn't there to let him lean against her.

Chucky's last days. Starchip lurks in waiting in case he needs help.

 When we had to make the decision to put Chucky down, he was just a skeleton with one swollen limb, a host to bone cancer. He wasn't eating, he could barely walk, and he panted nonstop... a sure sign of doggie pain.

It felt like we were murderers. Our hearts had been ripped from our bodies and we would never be happy again. As time does, it healed our wounds and made us promise to do a better job with the others: More treats, more walks, more hugs.

Nothing could change that, even the arrival of our daughter 3 months later. But change happens whether you like it or not.

Barking would send me running with an angry face and a "SSSSHHHHHH!!" Which they would just look at me like I was crazy.

Filling the food and water bowls was a nuisance. I was constantly vacuuming dog hair.

Even the clicking of their nails on the hardwood floors would grate my sleep deprived nerves.

One dog started peeing in the house. We took him to a vet and they said it was emotional. He never stopped. It's been 2 years and a lot of diapers but we deal with it because he is a part of the family.

The joy of taking care of the dogs was replaced by annoyed thoughts - "just another 4 more beings to take care of before myself!" Now I want to punch myself in the face for those thoughts.

As much as I was annoyed, I still understood that our dogs were old and they had never been around babies, or children... or probably anyone that was under 21.

One day the inevitable happened.  Our oldest dog was napping on the living room floor. Kenzie was 12 months old and had just started getting more confident on her legs. She was twirling and fell over on him.

He jumped up and bit. As I turned around I just saw her crouched down on the floor with her head down. I grabbed him by the collar and ran him upstairs behind the baby gate. Kenzie sat crying on the floor and there were two little tooth marks on the back of her head.

I was furious, mostly at myself. I knew better than to leave him in the room with us. I couldn't do anything to him. He is old and partially blind. He wouldn't have learned anything from a spanking or yelling. I just vowed to never have him in the same room as the kids ever again.

Our dogs are old. All of them are headed down that road to weight loss, arthritis, and diapers.

I need to remember that they didn't ask to be stuck in a house with two tiny children during their golden years. They assumed life would be as it always was... just the pack.

So today I grieve for my beloved Starchip, so sorry old girl for throwing a wrench in your retirement plan. I hope you find Chucky in the meadow in the sky and can graze as much as your stomach will allow.

A message from our beloved vet in Colorado springs.

Let us never forget the fur babies we cared for before children.

Rest in peace old girl.

Here's looking at 34

Since it's my birthday I will follow suit with all suburban mom blogs and take a look at what 34 looks like from my point of view.

34 is...

• watching episodes of Goldbergs and remembering the "good old times" when you had to call when you got to a friends house, laser light shows at the planetarium, and roller rinks on Saturday mornings.
• getting together with friends and talking about Elmo and other sesame street characters before we all realize what we are doing and change the subject.
• Sleeping in means waking at 7:30am in a panic because no one has woken you up so there must be a carbon monoxide leak in the house.
• "Bedroom time" means the kids play in their room while I take a shower.
• Dinner is cold leftover shells and cheese my toddler took 2 bites out of and then said "All done."
• Napping means passing out for 10 minutes while Frozen is on.
• showing your kids how you can "own" the monkey bars at the playground which ends with you on the ground coughing because the wind was knocked out of you.
• Dining out is bouncing a baby on your knee while shoveling spoonfuls of pasta into your toddlers mouth, all the while staring at your, now cold, $15 meal.
• choosing to be punched in the face rather than going to a club.
• getting pissed off if I'm not asleep by 11pm.
• trying to write a blog post while my toddler is singing "Let it go!" at the top of her lungs while her little brother is trying to sleep.
• A moment of peace comes during the 10 seconds after I put both kids down for a nap before I remember I have work, cleaning and blogging to do before the kids are back up.
• asking for 1 birthday present: Botox
• not having time to look in the mirror, which is a good thing because you aren't impressed with what you see.
• having a house filled with all the inventory from babies R us.
• promising your husband you will wait for him to help move the furniture. Then doing it yourself anyway.
• feeling incredibly sore immediately following lifting anything that isn't a small child or baby.
• having your toddler tell you Ha-Bee Birf-dee and thinking it will never get better than this.