Poltergeist, Then and Now

Spoiler Alert!

If you haven’t seen Poltergeist, shame on you. 

Go watch it first.  Then read my post.

Post Part 1:  A Trip Down Nightmare Lane

May 31, 2012

I was still in jellies when Poltergeist first hit the big screen.  I think my parents were sensible enough not to take their five-year-old daughter to see this horror flick in the theaters (even though it was rated PG, yes you heard me right), but I have vivid memories of watching it on our TV when I was still very young.  Some would say too young, but we were a hardier stock, we children of the 80’s.  Plus, if my older brother was watching it, I was surely pitching a fit to see it too.  I remember laying on the floor on a sleeping bag in front of the television being equally traumatized both by the poltergeist itself AND the creepy little lady trying to rid the house of it.

Even though I haven't seen the movie in at least 15 years, certain images are still tattooed on my brain. Little blond Carol Ann with her hands pressed against the static of the TV screen.  Her innocent little voice chanting, “They’re HERE.”  The chairs moving across the kitchen floor by themselves.  The poor kids trying to stay calm by counting the seconds between the lightning and thunder.  The giant tree that sucks the little boy out the window.  The skulls popping up in the swimming pool.  The mom's hair turning gray overnight.  (For some reason that disturbed me for years-- I think I worried (still do?) that it would happen to me).  And of course, the clown doll.  The clown doll that was disconcerting to begin with and became absolutely horrifying as soon as it disappeared from that chair and you just KNEW it was under the bed. 

The mere thought of the movie Poltergeist gives me the chills and makes me hug my arms close to my chest and look over my shoulder.   Then the other shoulder.  Then the first one again just to be sure.  And tomorrow night, on the 30th anniversary of its release, I am going to see it again.

The Alamo Drafthouse Ritz is showing Poltergeist on the big screen and my husband and I will be there, clown doll in tow.  (It's actually a talking Krusty the Clown doll from The Simpsons and not very creepy at all.  But, surprisingly, when I posted on Facebook that I needed to borrow a large creepy clown doll to take with me to a horror movie at a dinner theater, no one responded.  Strange, I know.  So Krusty will have to do.  I plan to use him as a viewing shield during the scary parts.  And, if I could control the things he says, I would risk getting kicked out of my beloved Drafthouse by pulling his string at just the right moment to make him say, "I'm Krusty the Clown and I'm going to kill you!")

Anyway, I am psyched about this.  It's the last day of school tomorrow and not only that but the last day of my teaching career, and I say what better way to commemorate a school year like this than with a night of terror?  I'll be there an hour early at least.  I only hope I don't spill my beer on myself when I jump.

Post Part 2:  This House is Clean

June 1, 2012

I had predicted that I would have trouble sleeping after seeing Poltergeist again.  But I thought it would be out of terror, not giddy child-like excitement.  Don’t get me wrong—the movie is still scary.  The movie will ALWAYS be scary.  I remembered that, and it held true.  I jumped out of my skin at least three or four times, and that infuriating clown STILL got me even though I KNEW he was going to get me.  (Isn’t that the trick though?  It knows what scares you. *shiver*)  What I did NOT expect was to walk out of the theater impressed with what a great movie this is.  Don’t laugh.  If you haven’t seen Poltergeist since you were a kid, go watch it again.  It hasn’t changed, but you have.  And it still holds up.

When I was a kid, I was watching the movie from the kids’ perspective, picturing being sucked into the closet by the evil whirlwind or being so traumatized after getting eaten by a tree that you can barely even call your mom’s name even when you hear your little sister’s voice coming from the television.  But this time I am older than the parents in the movie and, even though I am not a mom myself, tonight I was seeing the experience from her eyes.  Pardon my language, but the mom in that movie kicks ass!  I love how open-minded she is about the whole thing originally and how she bonds with the first lady that tries to help them.  And then, at the end, I’ll admit it, I felt a few tears prickling at my eyes when she yelled, “Stay away from my babies!” and fought that demon with everything in her power.  She was awesome.

However, I did do the math when the dad gave the family members’ ages and was shocked to learn that they had their first daughter when the mom was only 16.  Scandalous!  It was also a little surprising that the movie was rated PG even though the parents were smoking marijuana.  Not that I am bothered by that—just surprised.  It’s not the two minutes of pot-smoking that should have earned the movie a higher rating.  It was the EMOTIONAL SCARRING AND LIFE-LONG TRAUMATIZATION OF CHILDREN that should have done that.  Sheesh.

Anyway, I loved it.  I loved the whole movie, from the Star Wars bed sheets to the steak inching its way across the kitchen counter to the headless doll that Carol Ann cuddled with in her bed.  I could go on and on (perhaps I already have?) but I will stop.  All I have to say is that if my husband (who is leaving on a business trip tomorrow) rigs our TV to show nothing but static when I turn it on (like he suggested he might) he is going to WISH there were a poltergeist in his house when he comes home.

[Side Note:  I highly recommend going out in public carrying a talking Krusty the Clown doll.  Because of Krusty, my husband and I started chatting with the two guys behind us in line for the movie.  While some people chuckled at but then ignored the clown and others did that thing where they SLOWLY rotate so that they have their backs to you and try to pretend you don’t exist, these two gents embraced our Krusty-ness.  (Poor word choice.  I admit it.  We’re powering through.)  And after talking for a bit, we came to realize that:

- New friend #1 is from the same hometown as me.

- New friend #1 now lives near where my husband grew up in Maryland.

- New friend #2’s wife was in my graduating class at my high school and I knew her sister.

- New friend #2 and my husband work at the same company.

So there you have it.   The world is, in fact, tiny.  We’re all best buds now.  We have matching friendship bracelets and are getting a time-share together.  We may all co-sponsor a baby whale.  Anyway, I reiterate, when you go out in public, you should take a talking Krusty the Clown doll with you.  Enough said.]

Creepy Things

Recently I took a break from the memoirs and young adult novels I’ve been reading and picked up some short stories of the “creepy” genre instead.  First I read Horror Stories: A Spine-Chilling Collection, chosen by Susan Price, which was great.  It contained favorites like “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allen Poe and “The Room in the Tower” by E. F. Benson (a story so creepy I kept checking behind me as I read it), as well as some eerie ones I hadn’t heard before like “Something” by Joan Aiken and “The Affair at 7 Rue de M—“ by John Steinbeck, which is about a sinister piece of bubble gum which takes on a mind of its own.

Next I read More Spooky Texas Tales by Tim Tingle and Doc Moore, which included modern versions of stories about such creatures as the chupacabra and “Skinwalker”.  It was only ok, but did have a few gems here and there.  One of my favorite lines came from “Screaming Banshee Cattle of the Night Swamp”.   In this story, a little boy is with his dad, driving across east Texas at night, and his father has just told him the tale of the screaming banshee cattle of the night swamp, those monstrous cows that look just like the rest of the herd until nightfall when they reveal their long sharp teeth and pounce upon human victims with piercing screams.  The boy, who only half believes the story, falls asleep, and when he awakes it is dark and his dad is pulling into a lonely-looking diner.  He tells his son to stay in the truck while he gets them some food for the road.  But not long after he is left alone, the night becomes frightening.  The wind picks up, the moon disappears behind the clouds, a storm rolls in, and the boy begins to hear a high-pitched screaming sound.  Terrified, he looks toward the restaurant for signs of his father and sees him, sitting at the counter, laughing and joking with the cook.  It says, “In the diner, life appeared normal.”

Such a simple statement, yet it holds so much meaning for me. 

One of my earliest memories is of a recurring nightmare I had, when I was around four years old.  In the dream, I am playing in an old red rocking chair in the back room of our house, climbing around on it and hanging upside down in it so that my feet point to the ceiling and my head dangles toward the floor.  Just a few yards away to my right, my mom and grandmother sit at the kitchen table, shelling peas into a metal pan and talking quietly.  To my left, I can see my pappy walking down the back porch, heading to the door to come inside.  The scene is normal, peaceful, right. 

Then, in an instant, everything changes.  No longer is it my pappy coming to the back door.  It is the thing, the monster, the creature, the phantom, and it is coming in to get me.  Suddenly, I can't move; I am trapped, upside down, in the rocker.  Suddenly, I can't speak; I try to call for help, but my voice is gone.  The nightmare advances in slow motion.  Me, trying desperately to move, to speak, to run… the thing getting closer and closer to the door, reaching for the doorknob, the doorknob turning… the panic growing inside me until I awake, drenched in fear.

The only thing about the dream that remains constant, is the scene in the kitchen.  Throughout my turmoil, my mom and grandmother continue shelling peas for dinner, utterly oblivious to my horror, and completely safe from it.  In other words, in the kitchen, life appeared normal.

Sometimes, when you feel creeped out, whether justifiably or not, you find comfort in being around others, in joining a group that knows nothing of your turmoil and carries on as usual.  There is the idea of “safety in numbers” and the feeling that nothing bad can happen to you if you’re surrounded by friends.  But other times… there is no amount of camaraderie that can protect you, no crowd that you can blend into to feel safe.  In times like these, the terror has targeted you specifically, and there is no way for others to rescue you because they can’t even perceive your danger.  And those are most horrifying experiences of all.

Sleep tight,

Carie