It's Halloween my darlings and a night when we all must face our deepest, darkest fears. I know that it is unnerving, but we need to put on our grown up faces and stand firm in the face of terror. Together, we can do it. I know we can. We are not going through this alone, you see. Each of us is doing battle with our own personal demons and it is through sharing that we can find our common bond as well as the strength to conquer our nightmares.
To that end, I shall share with you the horrors I have faced of late. These are the things that make Sheepie want to crawl into her bed and cower beneath the covers until it is all over. Read on, if you dare! It won't be pretty, but it will help to forge the steel in your spine. I promise.
The Tale Of The String Slasher.
I continue to knit and crochet like a woman possessed. I am not possessed. That is another kind of horror story. This one is scarier because it could happen to any of us and possession only seems to happen to people with the flexibility required to turn their heads a full 360 degrees.
I have discovered over the past few weeks that I am somewhat incapable of counting. Or measuring. Or noticing large holes before it is too late to do anything other than tear apart nearly finished objects. I am known as the Frankenstein of the knitting world. It's all just ripping and repairing. Yarn cries out when it sees me.
I've managed to finish a few things, of course. But there are dismembered bits of garments and accessories all over my living room and I've no doubt that the authorities will be here at any moment. I am not even bothering to clean up the crime scene. I'll just go quietly when the time comes. Then I'll sit in my cell and await the book offers. I think that the screenplay will do very well, too. I'll be just fine.
The yarn, however, must suffer.
The Demonic Decorator.
Once there was a boy. He had a name, but was generally known as The Boy For Whom All The World Is A Stage. His teacher's name was Ms. Sheep and she was a remarkably tolerant woman. She sometimes used part of the last period to beat her head against her desk, but mostly she presented herself quite professionally.
She had but one rule, this paragon of educators. She did not wish for children to go into her office without permission, nor did she want little fingers touching the stuff she kept in that office. If the darling children asked, they could enter. Otherwise, they needed to keep the heck out of there.
But TBFWATWIAS could not seem to remember that rule. He wandered into Ms. Sheep's office many times during the day. Every day. Sometimes he would sit at her desk. Sometimes he would open her window and shout merry greetings to people in the parking lot. He meant well. But TBFWATWIAS wasn't much for long term memory. Or short term memory. Or microscopic measurements of memory. He just kept forgetting.
Finally the day came when he realized that his teacher was going to kill him. Not the fake kind of killing. The real kind. He could tell by the way the big veins in her forehead started to throb. So TBFWATWIAS made a decision.
He would create his own office. Then he would have no need to mess with Ms. Sheep's stuff and he might live to see his own high school graduation.
The classroom was virtually shut down for two days while he selected his space and raided every corner of the school for supplies. Chairs were tested for comfort and fabrics selected for his "Butt Support Pillow." A spider plant was arranged next to his mostly unused notebooks and measurements were taken to ensure that he had space to set up his laptop. Lastly, he went online to find a picture of his hero. Once it was located and printed, Ms. Sheep was directed to the teacher's lounge where she was to laminate the picture, together with its decorative mat. Once it was secured to a cardboard stand, the beatific smile of Oprah Winfrey could inspire his every academic endeavor.
When it was all finished, TBFWATWIAS stood back to admire his work. It was perfection! He went to find Ms. Sheep so that she could exclaim over its aesthetic charms. She was nowhere in sight, though. He searched and finally spied his teacher in her office. Her head was thumping softly against her desk and she was muttering something about how she now knew why test scores kept dropping. He wondered if he should go in and check on her but, in the end, decided against it.
He didn't feel the need to go into that lame office anymore...
Fang: The Tale Of The Terrible Teeth.
The Very Complicated Kitty is bored. And has dental problems. I don't know if I ever mentioned that, but it is one of the complications. Lately, he has decided to deal with both matters by chewing. He likes to chew things. Mostly, he likes to chew things that fight back a little bit. He has gnawed on the plastic wand that supports the toy on the Automated Kitty Distractor. He has nibbled on book covers. I used to have leather ties on my slippers but they are gone and I'm pretty sure he ate them. Sometimes I have to shoo him away from electrical appliances because I can tell he is thinking that the cords might provide a heck of a good chew.
That is pretty bad. I don't want him eating electrical cords. He is the light of my life, but I don't wish for him to actually glow. That would be bad. But this is not the truly horrifying thing. No. It is much worse than that. It is the worstest thing ever. Get ready for your blood to run cold, my friends.
Yesterday, he discovered the joy of chewing on circular needle cables.
I don't think I need to say anything else. You are now probably cowering in a corner somewhere and your family is thumbing through the phone book looking for Professional Help. I know I needed it when I discovered the tooth marks...
The Bowl Of Temptation.
I can hear the sounds of happy children running freely in the streets now. They scream. They laugh. Some of them are quiet and they are the ones that scare me the most because it's the quiet ones who carry the most toilet paper on Halloween.
But they don't scare me quite so much as that bowl in the kitchen. It is white and used to be at my grandmother's house. It is sitting on the counter. It is filled to the brim with candy.
And it speaks.
It says, "Sheeeeeepeeeeeee! You know you aren't going to have any trick-or-treaters. You almost never do. You don't even want them to come because it means you can't put on your pajamas at noon on a Sunday. You want them to stay outside where they belong. But you bought candy anyway. I wonder why that is?"
"Ah, yes! I remember. You tell everyone that you buy it for the children, but that is a lie. You bought it so you could eat it after 8:00. You pretend that you are a good-hearted woman who wishes to give treats to costumed kiddies. That way everyone will think you are a good sport and filled with the spirit of Halloween. But you know you are going to eat all of it. You started last night. You know you did."
"Oh, sure. You can tell everyone that you were just testing it before handing it out to defenseless children. We know the truth, though. We know that you like candy. And that you ate it for dinner last night. We know that you are going to do it again tonight. Why not just start now? Why wait? Why put off the inevitable? You are weak. You don't have the strength to resist. Just do it."
"You know you want to..."
I hate that bowl. I hate that it sits out there all smug and judgmental. I hate that it thinks it knows me. I hate that it wants to tempt me. I hate that it thinks it has the right to do so.
Mostly, though, I just hate that it is right.
Yes, Halloween is very scary. We just have to hang in there for a few more hours and it will all be over. Light all the lamps, put on a sweetly sentimental Disney movie and think good thoughts. Before you know it, this night will be nothing more than a distant memory. We must be strong and then we will be victorious over the forces of Darkness.
Or will we? Tomorrow is Monday, after all...
I would like a typo better
4 days ago