Hi, I’m Belle. I’m 32 years old and terrified of the dark. I am also the mother of a funny, little three year old Peanut. The hardest part about being a grown up is…being a grown up. I know that if I want Peanut to grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted Brasil Nut (or other large, grown up nut), I absolutely have to keep my own fears, neuroses and phobias in check. So far, so good. Rather than squealing, scampering and cowering in fear when she happens upon a spider, Peanut loves spiders and names all the spiders she meets in her daily life, she says they’re her friends. Result! When digging in the garden, she doesn’t jump back in horror or cry out in alarm when a worm crosses her path. Oh no. She takes great care in digging up the garden for the express purpose of finding worms she can hold and stroke. So, the master plan has worked. I have, it would seem, managed to master most of my phobias when Peanut is around. I stay calm and I am outwardly as cool as a cucumber, whilst inside I'm dying a thousand deaths to watch the six inch long millipede wriggling around in her hands. I’ve smiled and showered praise on her, as she proudly shows me the giant hissing cockroach she’s cuddling (and which appears to be trying to crawl up her sleeve *fainting*).
The one thing that still turns my blood cold, the thing that still strikes fear into my heart, is my fear of the dark. So, tonight, ladies and gentlemen, let me set the scene: I'm sat in the dark in Peanut's room, I hear Matthieu close the outside door behind him as he heads up to the farmhouse to talk the landlord about our water bill. I'm serenely singing lullabies to Peanut, when suddenly...THAT scene from The Others pops unbidden into my head. Now my heart is racing, I'm instantaneously paralysed with fear and I have to shut my eyes to try to block out the image of the old blind woman under the veil, when the Nicole Kidman character is expecting to find her daughter. Only, that’s not helping. Shutting my eyes is only making the image more vivid.
I open my eyes, but suddenly Peanut’s entire bedroom is transformed into some nightmare landscape straight from the dark recesses of HP Lovecraft’s mind. A pile of blankets is hiding a creature just waiting to jump out at me. The white shirt hung out for Peanut to wear tomorrow is now a phantom of unimaginable horror with dark designs on my soul. Every shadow is alive with unknown demons. I’m stuck fast, utterly crippled with fear, yet somehow I've got to travel the hundreds of miles from Peanut's bed to her door, in the pitch dark. Meanwhile, a slideshow of every horror film I’ve ever watched, every scary book I have ever read, every chilling radio programme I have ever listened to is playing on a loop in my head, leaving me completely immobilised. Anyway, what’s the point of escape? Once I make it to her door, I still have to negotiate the creepy hallway with the reflective window at one end and the deepest, darkest abyss of shadows at the other end. In my current state of abject cowardice, it seems to me that the best plan of action is to stay in Peanut’s room where there is, at least, a safe, snuggly Peanut to protect me from the distressing goblins creeping in the shadows. Yes, I, a grown woman in my 30s, was seeking protection from a toddler. What kind of nonsense is this? I gathered up my courage (which was now in quivering jelly form), gave Peanut goodnight kisses and cuddles, then somehow managed to dash into the hallway, switching on every light from there to the relative safety of my sewing room.
And do you know how this whole accursed situation came about? Today I told Elle about how the church hall in Paris, where Matthieu and I had our wedding reception, was decorated with creepy photographs that put me in mind of the book of the dead from The Others. This then reminded me of that scene in the film where Nicole Kidman uncovers the creepy blind medium when she is expecting to find her daughter. I then felt compelled to share with Elle how I am sometimes freaked out by sitting in Peanut’s room in the dark, when I put her to bed and sing her lullabies. I told her that sometimes I imagine that the blankets at the end of Peanut’s bed are the spooky blind medium from The Others. So, all I have to say is, curse you creepy old medium from The Others! And curse you too Nicole Kidman, for delivering such a masterful performance in a well-made psychological thriller/ghost story!
Elle, let us never speak of this again. The end.
Love,
Belle
The thought of picking up worms makes me want to vom. Just sayin'.
ReplyDeleteThat is why your child (Danniel) is neither happy nor well-adjusted. Only joking. Sort of.
ReplyDelete