Category: Traumafessions

Dear Kindertrauma,

I love your site! I came across it while searching the web for a good list of Christmas-themed horror movies. I have to say, the one thing that truly creeped me out as a kid was a certain TV show. I don't know if anyone else fears this "kid show" the way I did, but there was something about it that just didn't work with me.

The show was "You Can't Do That On Television," which came on Nickelodeon. I don't remember a whole lot about it, because I never wanted to watch it, and because maybe I've chosen to forget it. It was just too bizarre. It was like all these normal kids were trapped in some kind of alternate dimension. The kids were the only sane ones. You had a bum named Barth who cooked rats and garbage into his hamburgers, and the kids had to eat it. You had these clueless parents–I remember the mom of one kid as this strange, pale-looking thing that seemed like she was heavily drugged, or had just walked out of some hellish landscape beyond anyone's comprehension. Worse of all, it seemed like there was no escape. The kids were trapped in this world. There was no way out. And if you said certain things, slime splattered down on your head out of nowhere. I hated this show. To this day, I don't want to see clips of it, or even hear about it. Anyone else have these same feelings?

Something else I remember from an early age: waking up in the middle of the night and wandering into the living room to get something to drink, where my dad was asleep on the couch and an HBO movie was on the TV. In the movie, a guy had a large drillbit on the end of his guitar, and when he played it the bit started whurring away. I watched in horror as this psychopath strummed chords and thrust that drill into screaming women. The movie, I later came to discover, was "Slumber Party Massacre 2". I thought about that maniac for many long, sleepless nights. And I could hear that drill in my nightmares.

Brian Joynt,
Author of Blind Date

I was very little when the OJ Simpson trial was going on. I did not understand it. It absolutely terrified me to listen to the news and everybody trying to say how they thought everything happened, especially with that ice cream melting.

But the thing that REALLY scared the ever loving crap out of my tiny self was when one local news channel brought in a CGI expert who made a primitive CGI rendering of what they thought happened. They were these badly done 3d models of people that basically were blocks with blocky arms, domed heads with just eyes on them (dead, soulless eyes). The "OJ" model stabbed whoever it was he was accused of killing with a knife. But it was all in slow motion and horrible.

I was so scared, and I ran into my room and cried in terror and begged my mom to call someone, preferably the news studio. I'm not sure what I expected her to tell them, but I was just so horrified.

As a child your life tends to revolve around one basic idea: "fun." Everyone spent their childhood with no other thought than how and when "fun" would be had. Nothing was a better catalyst for fun than toy, everyone had at least one, you shared them, you bragged about which toy you had, how many toys you had, how rare that toy was…You loved them. Of course you did. It's a TOY. Its main purpose is to instill joy into your life but what happens when that toy doesn't love you…?

What happened was: "Child's Play". If for no other reason than the fact that the sanctity of a child's toy was, in 88 terror drenched minutes, systematically pried and erased from you memory. Child's Play scarred me for life there is not just one all encompassing reason for that scar which still resides deep within my psyche, burning white hot every time I'm alone or within the vicinity of an inanimate doll toy. Brad Dourif's voice for Chucky was just about enough to induce a nice portion of urine in my undies. Maybe it's the fact that he sounded like how I imagine the guy from all the Truth ads did, right before he acquired that hole in his throat. Or maybe it was even the fact that despite the fact his soul was transferred into the vessel that was a child's toy he still, with gusto and apathy, managed to keep a fucked-up, distorted joy in his voice. Whatever the case, it was the perfect way to kick start my fear.

As if Brad Dourif's voice acting wasn't more than enough for my adolescent mind to take, next was the rest of the movie. Eerie music, jump scares, and "run-for-your-life-even-though-it-doesn't- matter-because-that-doll-used-to-be-an-accomplished-killer" suspense. Chucky's implied "innocent child doll look" was, in fact, not freaking innocent at all. The stubby little fingers, overly colorful attire, OH AND THE FACT THAT CHUCKY HAD CRAZY FUCKED UP RED HAIR AND FRECKLES. In my defense I am in no way an advocate for ginger fear mongering but nothing you can say will convince me that it's not creepy. Something about the look of someone with ginger qualities just doesn't sit well with me. Something in me says: "That just isn't right. He doesn't like it and neither do we."

*As a side note I'm aware that stubby little fingers don't tend to instill fear. That may be an isolated incident.

The end all be all of this breaks down to the corruption of innocence, something even my childhood mind was able to grasp. To this very day I refuse to sleep in a room with inanimate dolls. Even before Child's Play they were frightening enough; every second around one was another second for the doll to come to life. Then it did. In my living room at age 8 and I've never been the same since.

UNK SEZ: Thanks for the traumafession Mitch! I don't mean to ambush you but as a ginger myself, I must disagree with one thing that you said. I have a good sense of humor about ginger jokes and partake in them myself sometimes and I have no problem with folks finding me creepy (I am) or even suggesting I have no soul (I own several) but whatever voice in you is saying "he doesn't like it and neither do we" is at least half incorrect. Speaking for myself, I can tell you that I do like having red hair. When I was a kid I thought I didn't but as I grew older, I realized that it was actually other people's reactions to it that I didn't care for. No harm, no foul, I still enjoyed your traumafession, I just thought you should know that not everybody who looks different or falls into a minority is wishing they didn't. Personally, I've seen what belonging to the majority can do to a person and it's not much to envy. On the other hand, I will give you this- Chucky with any other hair color? It just wouldn't work.

I just want to know if I'm the only weirdo out there that was traumatized as a kinder by Tevye's dream of the butcher's wife (Fruma Sarah) in Fiddler on the Roof?

Backstory: Tevye has promised his daughter Tzeitel's hand in marriage to the local (rich) butcher. Since then Tzeitel has begged Tevye to let her marry her true love Motel instead. Tevye wants to oblige, but he must convince his wife first, so he tells her he has had this prophetic dream.

Some people were traumatized by flying monkeys. I was traumatized by the butcher's wife.

Thanks, Lynette Fromme

Dinosaurs.

You know why?

Frakking LAND OF THE LOST, that's why.

I was still having nightmares in college about that evil sumbitch T-Rex in the opening credits when JURASSIC PARK came out and gave the nightmares new heretofore-unimagined dimensions.

I was in college at that time.

It persists to this day. I am a 40-year-old attorney and widely regarded as a deeply terrifying person in general. Still have nightmares about dinosaurs, and Fembots, and the flying monkeys.

— Jennifer L.

As a person that reads, I read everything you guys post. So I figured it was time to join the other readers in celebrating Kindertrauma by submitting a Traumafession. Here goes….

When I was young I was obsessed with unicorns. In fact, I "convinced" my friends that the scar on my forehead was merely the result of a horn removal surgery. So you'd be right to assume that THE LAST UNICORN was a must-watch and re-watch for me. But no matter how familiar I made myself with this cinematic masterpiece, it never failed to scare the living sh*t out of me.

First, there was Mommy Fortuna (read by ANGELA LANSBURY…FOR REAL) with the tree-stump for a head and her menagerie of abused and ill-willed animals. The Harpy was particularly menacing, what with its flesh-eating ways and all.

Next, there was the belligerent Skull with his red-glowing eyes (the more drunk he got the brighter his eyes would glow! WTF???), his riddles, and his costume jewelry. Nothing is scarier than a mean-spirited alcoholic skeleton dangling from the rafters….except for maybe….

The anthropomorphized, hyper-sexual, psychedelic tree that goes after Schmendrick the Magician like a total perv! And this, my friends, is only the tip of the creepy-probably inappropriate for children-iceberg.

But these days it's the universal themes of this movie that freak me out, as opposed to the characters themselves. Themes like life, death, genocide, jealousy, abuse, failure, materialism, opportunism, and all the typical sh*tty things that humans tend to do. Compared to the overall message of the movie the Skull seems like your average creepy, yet harmless, drunk cousin at Christmas dinner and the tree is now a mere cougar who has failed at Weight Watchers. But that Harpy is still freaky as hell. "Set me free! We are sisters you and I!"

— Violet R.

The tinkling music from THE TWILIGHT ZONE entered the room which, moments before, had consisted of my dad sitting round faced and contented on the couch and my mom collecting cups and plates from the coffee table. The room suddenly became filled with electricity and an undeniable current that the spirit world might soon emerge.

ROD SERLING appeared. He walked casually into our living room with black hair and a thoughtful glimmer in his eyes. He spoke as if to me alone. Secretly, at age nine, I had a crush on him. How could you not? He spoke in a smooth knowing voice. Cigarette smoke, unheard of today, swirled around his perceptive face. He knew the secrets of the universe and he was willing to give you a glimpse but only if you dared to journey with him through the Twilight Zone.

I felt as if I had a special connection to ROD SERLING. As if only somebody with my understanding of the inner workings of people could be of any interest to him. I felt as if I shared a special bond with this man who penetrated the depths of human life. I braced myself. My stomach fluttered. My mom gave me sideways glances trying to protect me from my own curiosity.

"Please mom, let me stay up for THE TWILIGHT ZONE." I had jumped up and down earlier as I begged my case.

"It comes on too late. You have to go to sleep."

"There's not even school tomorrow."

"You'll be frightened. Remember when your camp friend Rose Hoffsteader told you those scary stories. You couldn't sleep."

"I won't. I promise. This is different. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE."

I sat cross-legged in front of the television with my stomach in my mouth and my hands pushing down on the half worn rug. My fingers and toes felt icy. Just the sound of the music made breathing difficult and snacking impossible. All my energy was focused on just sitting there.

A woman lies in bed with her face wrapped in white gauze bandages like a mummy. There is a slit for her mouth and a place for her nose to breath. The room is dark and sterile. A doctor and a nurse stand over her bed in silhouetted figures. They are talking with her. She is telling them that she hopes the operation worked. She had been so ugly her whole life. This is her last chance to become normal looking.

It seems that the ugly deformed people are exiled from this place where she and the doctor live. The outcasts have to live on a special island or another planet. This woman so much wants to become normal looking and live like everybody else. She told the doctor that all her life she had been ostracized and people ran from her.

The hospital room is so still with dim lightening. The possibility of seeing an ugly face looms. My body was stiff. I sat with my hands ready to cover my eyes and my legs ready to bolt. The doctor says that he will remove the bandages the next day.

He begins to take the bandages off. My hands were over my face as I watched through slatted fingers. It was impossible to look away. Yet the scene is so dark and empty. The bandages are painstakingly unwrapped. The woman is beautiful with blonde hair. I felt my shoulders relax as relief poured though my body. But wait…she is upset. Everyone is so sorry that the operation did not go well. I became confused. She looked fine. Then the camera zooms in on the doctor's face which had previously been hidden by the nurse's back. His face is totally deformed with a pig like nose, bulging cheeks and twisted eyes.

I screamed and ran for my life, out of the living room into the hallway.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The tinkling music was back. It permeated the house, in my bedroom; in the bathroom … I was trapped in THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

— Jessica B.

UNK SEZ: Happy Halloween! Recently our good pal Stacy Pershall gave her students a special Halloween homework assignment and got them all to write some traumafessions for Kindertrauma! Here is the first one out the gate, a very scary memory of one Cessie Adair! Take it away, Cessie!

Uncle Jed and his new wife, Fran went to bed early, leaving Brad and I upstairs to stay up late watching TV. I had been doing aerobics after dinner so I was still wearing my tan leotard that mademe look like I was naked. At twelve years old I was already concerned about body image. Even though I was muscular with a dancer's body, I was already concerned about being fat.My brother was sitting on the couch against the wall directly across from the open stairwell that led to the bedrooms downstairs of my aunt and uncle's town house. I had a hard time sitting still so I was stretching and pirouetting all over the living room carpet that was the same colour as my leotard.

The television was on the top shelf of one of those flimsy rolling type stands with wheels on the bottom. "Don't Look in the Basement" was on. I think part of the reason I couldn't sit still was because the movie was scaring the crap out of me. Even though I loved scary movies, I was driving myself mental with some kind of morbid desire to scare the daylights out of myself.

Not only was I driving myself mental, I was also driving Brad mental, getting in his way so I could do a handstand without breaking any thing if I fell. "SIT DOWN!!" he yelled at me. "No! I'm doing my exercises and working on my dance, numbnuts!" He kicked me in the leg so I sat down hard on the floor and glared at him. I decided I would just do my stretching on the floor and pay more attention to the movie.

The movie was getting more intense and I remember the new nurse in it finally discovering that there were bodies in the basement. As she was going down the stairs I started to freak out because in the window directly to the right of the television I saw a shadow of what looked like curly hair.

Pause. I felt someone spying on me. Perverts and creeps from before this day had already caused paranoia in a child who really should be too young to know that someone wants to rape her.As the innocent nurse was finding bodies and the other nurse who was crazy was doing everything she could to stop the new nurse from escaping, I suddenly jumped up without thinking and ran to the kitchen to scope out the knives. I paced quickly on my tippytoes, back and forth in the galley kitchen. The vinyl floor felt so cool compared to the rest of my body. As I looked at the knives I thought that getting a knife was too dangerous and he could kill me with it. Just as I decided to not grab a knife I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. They were soft but quick and just before he tried the door handle to get in, I locked the door.

Then I saw it again, that shadow of a man's curly head outside the window in the living room. He wanted to hurt me. My heart was pounding and I didn't know what to do. Terror coursed through my veins like speedballs. Quickly, I was high on adrenaline. My brother was oblivious on the couch. He was used to me running around being a spaz. Then I saw him. The man was coming up the stairs. That's when I jumped up and down, pounding both feet as hard as I could with the weight of my fit, twelve year old body into the carpeted floor. I felt on fire with fear. I pounded as hard as I could. My aunt and uncle's bedroom was directly below us.

I screamed, "THERE IS A MAN IN THE HOUSE!!!" pounding the floor until I might pass out. Just as I finished screaming the man disappeared and my uncle came running up the stairs yelling, "What the hell is going on?" I was pointing at the window beside the TV yelling jibberish and pointing some more. Jumping from one foot to the other like I had to go pee right now. My uncle thought I was freaking out about the movie. "It's just a movie." He tried to calm me down. I said, "NO! There is a man in the window!" "He's coming up the stairs!" Uncle looked perplexed and said, "There is NO ONE there!" I cried again, "There is a man trying to get into the house!" Uncle ran down the stairs and into the bedroom across the hall from his room. I could hear him from upstairs. "Jill! Call the police! Someone broke in!"

When I timidly went to the bedroom my brother and I were staying in during our visit, I saw a moccasin on the floor. The guy lost it when he took off. The amazing thing is that he had to crawl under the patio to get into the window. It was a narrow space. How he got out so fast I will never know. What I do know is that I will never be able to think about or see "Don't Look in the Basement" without recalling that night.

Hello,

My name is Anthony Sant'Anselmo and I wanted to thank you for the labor of love that is your website. I, too, have yet to put away 'childish' things – and it all started with 'The Dark Crystal' back in '82… But before I delve into that, I should back up about twenty years when my father started a business to make an interactive child's toy, partnering up with Ken Forsse and Teddy Ruxpin was invented. Of course, it wasn't until 1985 that it finally came to fruition and was on the shelves just before the holidays. Already having a love of puppetry with 'The Dark Crystal' and 'Gremlins' – it was seeing the killer doll movie craze come forth a couple of years after Teddy's debut, that I couldn't turn back and I began making stop-motion animated puppet horror movies. I'm 35 years old now, animate for 'South Park' (a low-tech form of stop-motion puppetry) and I run a traveling exhibit of screen-used and replica puppets from horror movies of yesteryear called, 'Evil Puppets' – with an exhibit that includes Gremlins, Ghoulies, Critters, Trilogy of Terror, Troll, Monkey Shines, Meet the Feebles, Puppet Master and lots more. I have an online shrine (HERE) dedicated to these wonderful pieces, but the facebook page is really where the interactivity is.

We have a show this weekend at Spooky Empire in Orlando – should be a great time.

Just wanted to introduce and say thanks – I've gotten a lot of enjoyment from your site.
Anthony Sant'Anselmo

As a kid in the early 70's I loved scary movies..Horror Of Party Beach on Creature Feature? I was six and loved it! So you'd think I wouldn't scare easy. Not so.. Behind our quaint neighborhood King's Market in Burlingame, California stood an ominous structure: The Ice Machine!

This isn't the little box you pull out a bag of ice cubes, this was a huge structure that could fit ten standing adults. It worked like a regular vending machine, you put quarters in a slot and out comes a big block of ice. People needed ice for their highballs back then. And refrigerators were still pretty basic back in the 70's. Anyway, why did this thing scare me so much?

It was the bumping noises inside; when you're a kid you associate bumping with life, so, "My god something is alive in there making ice!" my young mind concluded. I'd be fine as long as I steer clear of it. Then one early evening my mom stopped by King's to get some staples or what not and we parked relatively close to that scary behemoth. My eye's widened. The front of the Ice Machine's front was open!

Now you'd think this would dispel any fears I would have of this creepy structure; I would be able to see its inner-workings. It just made it worse. Thick frost was billowing out and through it I could barely see the man-thing who toiled day and night to make ice. He was scraping the ice off the floor or some kind of maintenance. I was in Mommy's Cadillac, so I felt pretty safe. Nevertheless my mind mind was made up, that Ice Machine was to be avoided at all cost!