In a Dark, Dark Childhood

I’ve always loved darker tales; the commentary and sadness of The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, the extraordinary folktales of The Storyteller by Jim Henson—all the writings of Roald Dahl. The storybook in Resident Evil: Village is often commented as too scary a tale for a little kid. Not me; I would have treasured such a book.

Among my favourite stories, the ones I recall often, are “Alligator Pie” written by Dennis Lee and illustrated by Frank Newfeld; they didn’t shy away from reality. I’ve always remembered one particular illustration—I recall thinking, “Why are there body parts in a cupboard?” Too dark? In context, not really. It was imaginative writing, sincere, from the heart; it was creativity.

One of the most creative bedtime stories is one my sister would...challenge me with. It was taught in many schools, it’s in books and plays, its been described as a folktale, and it’s been rewritten as many times as there are children in the world. It’s the Dark, Dark game. I don’t know where she first heard the Dark, Dark game or why we started inventing new stories. It begins outside, leading to a house, and to a room or closet or box containing a ghost.

Many, many nights as kids in bunk beds, my sister shared this type of story with me. Instead of recounting, we invented new scenarios, different scary places, and exercising our own ideas of what frightening meant. Also, on many nights, the statement rang out, “Don’t start that! I’m trying to sleep!”

And now because of my big sister, I love scary movies and games, hauntings, Halloween, and thunderstorms at night. And a shared appreciation for all things spooky; these were the moments where we learned to be afraid—and how to conquer fear.

Now that I’m all grown up, why would I ever stop playing:

At the end of a dark, dark road,

is a dark, dark forest.

Deep inside the dark, dark forest,

is a dark, dark gate,

...rusted off its hinges.

Beyond the dark, dark gate,

is a dark, dark drive.

At the end of the dark, dark drive,

is a dark, dark fountain,

...guarded by stone gargoyles.

Past the dark, dark fountain,

are dark, dark cobblestones.

Across the dark, dark cobblestones,

are dark, dark steps,

...leading to a mansion.

Up the dark, dark steps,

is a dark, dark door.

On the dark, dark door,

is a dark, dark knocker,

...a wolf’s head, with no answer.

Inside the dark, dark mansion,

is a dark, dark parlour.

By the dark, dark parlour,

is a dark, dark staircase,

...a spiral staircase leading up.

At the top of the dark, dark stairs,

is a dark, dark corridor.

Down the dark, dark corridor,

there is a dark, dark door,

...to a child’s bedroom.

In the bedroom is a dark, dark doll,

resting on a dark, dark bed.

Next to the dark, dark bed,

is a dark, dark dollhouse,

...identical to the mansion.

Inside the dark, dark dollhouse,

in a tiny dark, dark bedroom,

is a tiny dark, dark doll,

...positioned as if winding a music box.

And outside the dark, dark dollhouse,

in the dark, dark bedroom,

a dark, dark music box plays.

For the dark, dark doll,

now danced on the dark, dark bed,

...blissfully ignoring you.

And there you would stay...unless you run from this dark, dark place...in the order you arrived...

From the dark, dark doll you run.

Away from the dark, dark bed,

out the dark, dark bedroom, 

along the dark, dark corridor,

down the dark, dark stairs,

through the dark, dark parlour, 

out the dark, dark door.

Past the howling dark, dark door-knocker.

Away from the dark, dark mansion,

Along the dark, dark cobblestones,

past the dark, dark fountain gargoyles,

down the dark, dark drive,

beyond the dark, dark gate, 

out of the dark, dark forest.

Out, running down the road—to stop and stand by the highway, next to your car. 

Busy vehicles rush by, unaware of your plight. You get into your car, and as long as you left in the order you arrived, there will be no dark, dark doll sitting in the back seat.