The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come freaks Scrooge out. For good reason. The Ghost, as the passage above hints, is the embodiment of the Grim Reaper. He is death incarnate, shrouded in black, hooded, mysterious. He isn't your normal yuletide figure. Picture a character in a Wes Craven film.
I leave my home at around 4:30 a.m. to go to work. It's always dark. My front porch is usually in shadows because the streetlight is blocked by a tall hedge of lilac bushes. On windy days, the shadows of the branches sway and crawl like living things. It kind of spooks me.
Ever since I started watching the series The Walking Dead last summer, I've had this recurring image/thought/idea about coming out of my house in the morning, walking to my car, and seeing a horde of zombies swaying down the street toward me. It's totally irrational, but I think about it each and every morning. It causes me to walk a little faster to my car, my heart pumping with adrenaline. I always make sure the key to my Freestyle is in my fist before I step outside. This morning, I got a start from a raccoon ambling the sidewalk. Actually, it was more than a start. It was a yell and then a sprint for my vehicle.
Yes, I am a weirdo. Even though my rational mind knows these fears are completely unfounded, I give into them each and every day. (This morning, driving down the highway, I came across the scene of a fresh roadkill. I passed by quickly, but the blood was everywhere. I couldn't identify what type of creature was the victim. But, again, my mind went to The Walking Dead.) I'm not a coward. I don't live my life in fear. I just have a few eccentricities. I also have problems with rodents, clowns, and Precious Moments figurines. (They're creepy. Big balloon heads. Huge eyes.)
Don't judge Saint Marty for this confession. And don't ever come to his house dressed as Emmett Kelly.
|Sure, it looks cute, but so did Charles Manson as a baby|