I don’t know about ya’ll, but I grew up with FIVE siblings. And most of us were on purpose.
Oops. I’m sorry. I’m trying to get better about the whole “being dramatic” and ~exaggerating~ thing…I am one of FIVE siblings. I have a hard time wording that because it’s easy to add shock value, and sometimes I did consider myself my own sibling, being that I am the middle child and was traumatized many times by the likes of a shapeshifting and quick shooting embarrassing photography sister. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I have a brother too, but he’s an angel.
So let’s just talk about the three sisters -ahem- two older sisters, E and N, but mostly just N who made me believe all sorts of wild things throughout my childhood. Thankfully, these experiences have *sniff* *sniff* made me who I am today, so I will muster up the courage to retell them in efforts to shed light on what it’s like to have an older sister.
You’re probably wondering about my younger sister, L, well let’s just say tradition is often passed on in this family, and she’d probably write a blog similar to this one except about what I said to her – like that one time in February when I got so excited for April Fool’s Day coming up in two months that I declared it unofficially April Fools and went to her room (excuse me, nursery) and told her to put a new diaper on quick and get dressed because mom and dad are TAKING US TO CHUCK. E. CHEESE if you’re a good girl! Anyways, back to me. I’m the middle kid. I need more attention.
In my mind, sister based offenses are especially heinous. These are my stories. . . dun dun.
1. When I was six years old, I shared a room with N, and she HAD ME CONVINCED that she turned into Bob the Tomato after 9pm. You know? This guy!!
On any normal day, poppin Veggie Tales into the VCR would not scare me. I may have been a little wimp chewing my blankie, but I enjoyed watching those vegetables sing and dance.
N and I shared a room. Apparently I was a talker at night and wouldn’t leave her alone. We had bunk beds. I know it sounds fun, and it was. For me :). I could just lean rightttttt over the railing like a monkey at the zoo (which happens to be her greatest of fears) and peek down and make her talk to me until I fell asleep.
That’s how she devised this evil plan.
She couldn’t handle it…I resembled her greatest fear of a monkey, so she decided to become something scary all on her own, and I fell for the trap.
I kept a clock close to my bed. And by clock, I mean a cassette tape player that had a little digital screen on it, and I watched the minutes pass carefully because I did not want to be out of my bed when she transformed LIKE A WEREWOLF IN THE NIGHT into that big, red, plump tomato man!
[I do not like scary faces. I used to make mom fast forward through Beauty and the Beast when he finds her in the castle and yells. Twilight hadn’t even come out yet, but I knew what was possible, and I wasn’t going to take any chances.]
Although, after many nights, I grew skeptical as I sat there thinking to myself instead of talking to myself, and at 8:57 I tried my sneakiest to climb over the edge of the bed. But you know what it’s like when a mouth-breathing, tomato-fearing kid tries to be sneaky.
Suddenly, I began to hear that fateful song, and I knew it was happening: ifffff you’d like to waltz with TOMATOES UP. AND. DOWN. THE GROCERY AISSSSSLEEEE.. I swear I began to see red. The room was filling with red, and the song grew louder, and I couldn’t feel my sister’s presence anymore. She was a vegetable. And this wasn’t a Lurlene McDaniel novel, no, this vegetable was awake and craaazzzy. Which seems counter-intuitive to her attempt to go to sleep easier now that I think of it. But that made me fall back in my bed quick. Wouldn’t you if you had the impending threat of a large animated tomato singing ominously in your room??
2. Around the same time as the tomato trauma, N also had an alter ego. “Crazy Grace.”
A singing tomato is one thing, but this a whole other whirlwind. This character was somehow morphed in my sister’s mind and spit out for my entertainment from a blind character in a radio show, and the amazing Houdini who we had just done a report on in our homeschooling.
Precious Gems Academy, mhmm. Look it up. Just kidding you can’t because it’s that exclusive.
One day when we were playing in our room, my sister spontaneously came up with a new game. She told me to close my eyes, and I thought she was just hiding her diary again, but when I peeked this time, she was swirling around in a circle instead of shoving a diary in her sock drawer, and then she fell on the floor and had a funny look in her eyes.
“IaaaaaaaaMMMMM CRAZZZY GRACEEEE”
It was like having a whole new playmate except this one was blind and only had one volume: extra loud. The misrepresentation of the blind must have been horrendously offensive to anyone who heard my sister running into walls and talking to the toilet. She could also travel through time and space by jumping into books! (bashing her head into a chapter book on the floor) It was quite an adventure, but I’ll tell ya it was not fun to go to library with Crazy Grace.
3. *shivers* Quasimodo
The major difference between my sister’s many shape-shifting abilities is my degree of belief in them.
Here’s the thing. A singing tomato in your bedroom, that’s kind of fun to be scared of. And a time traveling, clumsy girl with her eyes shut was a fun game, but I knew it was a game. I knew my sister would snap back into herself at some point.
But this lie was no game.
I tried to find a picture of the torture device to which I’m referring, but I could only find reproductions of the demonic artifact on the first page of Google images, and I wasn’t about to look on the second page after the trauma I’ve been through.
I am almost too choked up to continue.
Sometime before I was alive, my sister happened to get the scariest Burger King toy known to childrenkind. It was a little plastic toy that looked like a golden baby rattle. But it wasn’t for babies. Except to horrify them!!
My sister figured out she could manipulate me with the single threat of pulling out this rattle. She wasn’t gonna hit me with it. She wasn’t gonna wave it around in my face and make me jealous of the toy. Worse.
If I did not get her a glass of water when she was parched in bed (before she turned into the tomato), she threatened to press the little purple button right underneath the top of the rattle, releasing the spookiest
demon Quasimodo puppet you’ve ever seen!
I think I had only seen his face once when she actually followed through with the threat, but it became psychological like that movie Jaws. You know? They keep playing that duh nuh duh nuh – duhnuhduhnuhduhnuh sound and the camera movements change so you start to become more scared of seeing the thing you don’t even see because you know it’s coming? I had never even seen the movie this puppet was from!
Flashback to most days back then:
“Noooo. I’m comfy in bed. I don’t wanna get you water.”
“QUASIMODO’S GONNA GET YAAAA!” *whips out freakish toy*
“Yes, ma’am! Your water. Here it is. It’s here please take it may I have the pleasure of pouring it gently down your throat please put it away!!!”
So what’s the lie here? He couldn’t get me. He was just a silly puppet hiding in a little dome. But he could look at me. And like I said, I don’t do well with scary faces and a visual memory. Fear can have a strong power if you let it.
I don’t know where this toy is now that I think about it…let’s hope it doesn’t surface. I think it would still work. I’ll carry water bottles just in case.
I better stop here. I might have revealed too much of my sister’s childhood scare tactics.
Ok, sorry for the jump scare, but there’s no trigger warnings with the hunchback of Notre Dame.