I REMEMBER SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM WITH MY LITTLE BROTHER, WATCHING HORROR MOVIES ON THE VCR.
First, Swamp Thing. Then, Lost Boys. It was Halloween time, all the leaves had changed. We would have probably played some Nintendo, at that point, but the Nintendo was broken. No matter how hard you blew into the games, they just wouldn't work. A flickering blue screen.
I was nine and he was eight. Jittery little lunatics with bad haircuts and wild ideas.
We would have played outside. No amount of football and bike riding could bore us, but it was raining. Cold, runny nose rain coming down in sheets.
So, a third movie.
This one, would become my brother's obsession.
It's the story of a paralyzed kid in an electric wheelchair who lives in a small town. People start to turn up dead and the police start to look for a maniac on the loose escaped from an asylum or something, the boy of course, is suspicious that it's a werewolf.
Little kids fantasize about that kind of thing all the time. Vampires sweeping in, taking over. Werewolves everywhere. Finding some trinket in the dirt that a god-damn genie comes out of. I remember when I was nine years old. I was pretty sure that German terrorists were gonna take over the elementary school and it would be up to me and my friends to stop them. Disappointing when these things don't happen.
These scenarios unfold into infinity, within the brain of a small child. You know that. Do you remember hiding under the blankets, because you were safe under there? Do you recall being afraid to swim in your own pool because of sharks? How about ghosts? How many ghosts roamed the life of your childhood? Probably thousands. You almost knew how to fly didn't you? You thought if you hit a jump just right on your bike you could just keep going up over the sun.
Now you are an adult. You are boring.
You traded the absurd dreams that used to make you interesting- for a mortgage payment and a desk job. You don't even think werewolves are real anymore. You suck.
I'm not sure if Silver Bullet is a good movie. I haven't seen it since I was a little boy. I remember less about the movie and more about what happened because of the movie.
My brother , who had been a very lazy eight year old, suddenly wanted to do chores. He approached my dad and told him he would take out the garbage and he would wash the cars. He would even rake the leaves. Rake the leaves? What kind of asshole wants to rake leaves?
This went on through the autumn. My little brother, the little worker. Pocketing little wads of money weekly. Though, he never spent it. He wasn't buying candy with it. He wasn't buying toy cars. I took my allowance to the video store and the book store. Somebody should have caved my head in.
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What The Gypsy Saw:
by Steven Gulvezan
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