I have 2 older brothers. They both left for college before I was in 6th grade, so basically during my teenage years I was an only child. I did my best work in my younger years. They should thank me for being such a cool little sister who never ever ever annoyed them. Okay, okay…even I can’t keep myself from laughing.
I’m sure my parents were excited to have a lil girl after the boys, if for nothing more than a change of pace. Little did they realize that I’d be the one into fencing. And shooting. And hunting..It’s my momma’s fault…she said they could play any sport except football because she was afraid one of them breaking their neck. In overhearing that conversation, all my young mind heard was “any sport” regardless if it was directed at me. I’m sure she was thrilled when I came home and told her in 9th grade that even though I made the team, I decided against cheerleading..nonono…I’m gonna run around with a lethal weapon & stab people with it!!!
I’m sure that just prepped her a wee bit when I got into shooting later on.
Like every younger sibling, I looked up to my brothers. I played with (destroyed) their Transformers, unsorted all their Legos, somehow corrupted a game on our old Commodore 64. I’d embarrass them to no end when they’d have friends over because all my dolls were always strewn about, half-naked, as I was always “creating” outfits for them. I’m actually surprised my one bro let’s his daughter have Barbie dolls. I thought I scarred him for life.
I remember my phone answering privileges being revoked because, at 7, every time a girl called for one of my brothers I’d cheerfully ask them if they were gonna get marrrrrrrried & giggle. Just like that. Like a typical innocent lil girl who had no idea what teenage dating was all about.
And still, no matter how much I annoyed them, how often I’d push their buttons, they were always there when the thunder got too loud or when the boogie man would haunt my dreams.
Except when I saw Chucky for the first time. I was at a friend’s house (they had cable, we did not) on a nice warm summer night. The movie finished just after sunset and it was the longest walk home ever. EVER. Twenty houses really is not that far but when you keep thinking about your Baby Alive doll sitting on your bed just waiting for you to go to sleep…well, I came up with a plan.
When I got home, I ran upstairs, grabbed a pillow case, shucked it over my doll with that stupid painted-on grin and into my brothers room I went spinning the pillow case as I walked (to suffocate the demon, of course). I crossed the threshold and shook the doll out. It rolled a few feet. I was satisfied, although in hindsight, I should’ve rolled it under one of their beds. I left their room hastily folding the pillow case back up so no one would notice.
Fear paralyzed me in the morning when I woke up with that possessed doll on my pillow, it’s plastic, unblinking eyes staring right at me.
I threw that doll so hard across the room I’m sure I thought I killed it.
I don’t care which one of them returned it; they had no idea the horror they were about to inflict upon me. The gesture in itself occurred to me weeks later. They could’ve just tossed it in my doll pile.
