By: Alexis Low
Horror isn’t just on the screen or a written account. While its in every part of life, we probably don’t recognize it, because we have suppressed our feeling or simply ignored the problem and held no significance at the time. It takes one instance for us to be reminded something happened, and when we remember the unexplainable horror, we no longer know what to do. We come up with an unfathomable amount of logical reasons, working with one theory after the next, then we give up. This feeling is similar to the anime Erased, which tells of a man with powers to go back in time.
One day, the main character’s mother was watching the news of a child abduction, she asked him if he remembered that happening when he was younger. All it took was a simple horrific newsfeed, and he remembered a classmate who went missing and found later in a trash bag. He tries again and again to prevent it from happening, going from theory to theory, attempting to erase that event from happening. However, we don’t have that power, we only have theories of why horrific things happen, especially if they contain a hint of the supernatural.
I didn’t have the power to fix a past horror that occurred when I was younger. I recently watched a commercial about stuffed animals, and it reminded me of the strange occurrences of my imaginary friend, Monkey.
Before the event with my grandmother’s doll and The Twilight Zone, there was Monkey. He was my first imaginary friend, he fit in my hand, I talked to him constantly, and he even had his own place in the car. My imaginary Monkey and stuffed monkey looked like a combination of Curious George and the lemur from Zoboomafoo. He was my only friend, and since he was in my mind, I would always have him. However, in some type of crack-pot-theory, my parents gave me a physical version of my imaginary friend, in order to physically take him away from me (making the separation permanent); to my parents, I shouldn’t have had an imaginary friend.
Moreover, once Monkey got a ‘physical’ form, in the next couple of days, my sister’s hamster would be dead in its cage, the smell was horrid; I will never forget it. In the next few days Monkey was stolen from me, I asked my parents where my monkey had gone. They told me that Monkey needed to go, while the cranky garbage truck groaned and went on to the next house. I cried, but I had to ‘grow up’.
After the incident with my grandmother’s doll, I ran to my cousin’s house, to which I found my stuffed Monkey, he came back to me. I thought, ‘Why would my cousins have Monkey, they are too old for him?’, ‘Did my parents give him to them?’, but I quickly dismissed the thoughts. I was excited and overjoyed, however, when I went back home, my parents were dismayed and had a look of contempt at Monkey.
However, I didn’t understand why. Until, two weeks later, I started smelling a strange odor, a similar odor, from a while ago, it was death. I thought it was a dead neighborhood possum, dog, or squirrel. The bird I used to feed was dead, on the ground, by the birdfeeder. I thought it was the bird, but it was something else. I couldn’t figure out what it was until I was woken up by sirens and dogs barking; next door, in an abandoned house, a body was found, six feet deep.
Monkey was by the window, his back to me. I tried to reason why Monkey was turned that way, maybe I had rolled over too much in bed, but I laid all night in the same position.
Was it a coincidence? Did Monkey have something to do with this? The smell of death isn’t easily forgotten. Did my parents realize this before me, or was it just a brief response to end the conversation? Did he do something else? Was this really just a coincidence? To me, there are no coincidences. Monkey needed to go.