Second verse same as the first
Maybe it’s a personal bias, but for me, there is nothing more terrifying as creepy children.
I remember watching “Pet Sematary” at a middle school slumber party-words could not convey the utter terror in which I lived for weeks.
The creepy child in question, a blond moppet named Gage, toddles around innocently until he is hit by a previously foreshadowed (and therefore ominous) semi-truck that roars down the dirt roads of his rural town. In anguish, Gage’s father pulls at his own hair, gnashes his teeth, and then promptly scoops up the goop that used to be his son and buries it in the nearest former-Indian-burial-ground-cum-haunted-cemetery. Er. I mean, sematary.
Understandably, the boy comes back altered.
Even though the cherubic grin and other extremities are once again in tact, the boy is now demonic.
Running at his family with a butcher knife, Gage still emits that childish giggle-the giggle that signifies whole-hearted American innocence. That light-hearted giggle we still remember from our favorite childhood games. Something about this particular laugh-the wrongness of it, how it twisted something so innocent into something so corrupt and perverse-haunted, and has continued to haunt me.
Give me your Frankenstein monsters with their Halloween head bolts.
Show me your Dracula, complete with bad Eastern European accent and widow’s peak.
I can deal with your axe murderers and their nipple belts, though barely.
But leave the goddamn demon children at home.
I remember watching “Pet Sematary” at a middle school slumber party-words could not convey the utter terror in which I lived for weeks.
The creepy child in question, a blond moppet named Gage, toddles around innocently until he is hit by a previously foreshadowed (and therefore ominous) semi-truck that roars down the dirt roads of his rural town. In anguish, Gage’s father pulls at his own hair, gnashes his teeth, and then promptly scoops up the goop that used to be his son and buries it in the nearest former-Indian-burial-ground-cum-haunted-cemetery. Er. I mean, sematary.
Understandably, the boy comes back altered.
Even though the cherubic grin and other extremities are once again in tact, the boy is now demonic.
Running at his family with a butcher knife, Gage still emits that childish giggle-the giggle that signifies whole-hearted American innocence. That light-hearted giggle we still remember from our favorite childhood games. Something about this particular laugh-the wrongness of it, how it twisted something so innocent into something so corrupt and perverse-haunted, and has continued to haunt me.
Give me your Frankenstein monsters with their Halloween head bolts.
Show me your Dracula, complete with bad Eastern European accent and widow’s peak.
I can deal with your axe murderers and their nipple belts, though barely.
But leave the goddamn demon children at home.