It was a dark and stormy night. Just kidding. It was a chilly 75-degree, clear-skied night. Flash, Cowboy, and I were nestled in our beds, with nothing in particular dancing through our heads.
Around 6:30 a.m., which still felt like night because I try to sleep as late as possible every morning, I was awoken by a voice from beyond; it was coming from another part of the house. It was higher pitched than the Morgan Freeman type of voice I imagine my Creator having, so I knew it wasn’t the Almighty. Yet, The Voice was familiar.
Thinking perhaps it was my imagination, I tried to go back to sleep. But just as I was drifting off, The Voice spoke again. This time, I could understand what it was saying.
“Are you pulling my leg?” it screamed.
I knew it was Mike Wazowski, who co-starred in Monsters, Inc. He continued his soliloquy of whining from our Workout Guest Room – it’s our manly guest room.
“Do I look scary enough? You got a mirror? Where's the mirror?” he asked.
I jumped up and ran to the Workout Guest Room, where Mike and a trillion other stuffed creatures rested on the bed. Several days earlier, I’d meticulously put each of them in the dryer on the warm air cycle, to dust them off. Cowboy’s allergies have been off the charts since October, so I thought it might help.
“Shhh,” I told the inanimate object, not wanting Cowboy to wake so early.
“So, you had enough?” he said, as I skidded to a stop, and grabbed him by the arm.
“Hey watch it! I need that arm for scaring,” he screamed. “Why don't you pick on someone your own size? My arm! If you do that again, you're in for a big surprise.”
If you don’t shut up, you’re in for a big surprise, I thought.
I opened the Velcro on his back to locate his on/off switch; there was none. I’d never seen a battery-operated toy without an on/off switch. I was too tired to get a screwdriver and take out his batteries, and I knew he’d talk during the entire procedure.
Maybe putting him in the dryer messed up his voice box, I reasoned, but he was only in there for 15 minutes.
I didn’t want to unset the house alarm to put Mike in the garage; the beeps could wake Cowboy. That extra hour of sleep is gold to all of us. So I put Mike in the living room.
He waited until I’d crawled back under my covers before he started on me again. “Ahhhh. How was that? Did I scare you? Did I? Did I? Did I?”
I put my pillow over my head, willing Mike to shut up.
He must have sensed my irritation, as the continued, “Boo! Were you scared? Were you? Am I too scary for you?”
Desperate monster times call for desperate measures. I ran to unset the house alarm, and put Mike on the garage shelf by the dryer; it was my intimidation tactic. Mike was quiet. “Who’s scared now, Mike? Afraid of taking another spin?” I cackled, as I opened the door to the house.
But as I closed the door, my green nemesis had the last word. “Hey kid, I got my eye on you.”
I locked the door behind me, as a shiver ran down my spine.
Later that morning, Flash commented on our rude alarm clock. “Why was he doing that? Are his batteries going dead?”
“Not fast enough,” I answered.
I didn’t think much about Mike for the rest of the day. Or the next. But on the third evening since his jail sentence, I brought him back in; I didn’t want him to get dusty in his dungeon. Of course, when I picked him up by his leg, he protested, “Okay buddy are you pulling my leg? A good idea; I could use some longer legs.”
At least his attitude was improving. For a minute. Then he added, “Okay buddy, you can let go of my leg now.”
I tossed him onto the dining room table; having learned his lesson, he was quiet all day and night.
The next morning, at 6:30 a.m., Mike was at it again. I stomped to the dining room, and put a pillow over his face. Which, I knew, wouldn’t completely drown out his voice. But this time, he shut up quickly. Clearly, I had put him in his place with that three-day eviction from the family.
It was a quiet, ordinary evening at home.
The next morning, Mike woke us up again, at 6:30 a.m. “Hey hey, watch the eye, pal; watch the eye. Oww, my eye, and I only got one good one. You wouldn't pick on a guy with one eye would you? Oh yeah, yeah, all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”
Clearly, he has an obsessive nature.
Flash and I stared at each other. “This is the third time he’s done this at 6:30 a.m. It’s like The Amityville Horror, where the husband wakes up at 3:15 a.m. each day. But with a Pixar poltergeist,” I said.
I guess Mike heard me, because the next morning, he got his revenge by changing reveille to 5:30 a.m. And just to be sure I was getting his message, he also spoke at 5:30 p.m. that same day, informing me that, “Remember, we can do anything we want, if we never give up!”
Indeed. He was persistent. This time, he was exiled to the garage for a longer sentence time, for his rebellion. Clearly, his mission was to take over our household. I had to turn up the TV volume to drown out his voice echoing in the garage; after several minutes, he finally gave up the fight.
Our home was peaceful again; we had five days of bliss.
Until last Tuesday morning. After having a horribly bizarre dream, I woke up to a deep voice speaking. Since Mike was in the garage, I thought perhaps I dreamed it. That morning was business as usual. We’re short-order cooks Mondays through Fridays, making Cowboy’s breakfasts and lunches, giving him his vitamins, slathering him in essential oils, and doing breath checks to make sure he brushed his teeth well. You’re never too old to have your mom check your breath; it can make or break a young man’s social life.
A few hours later, after Cowboy had gone to his vocational program and Flash was at work, I started thinking about that deep voice I heard. Out of curiosity, and for the sake of my waning sanity, I called Flash at work.
“Did you hear a voice this morning?” I asked.
“Yes,” he exclaimed. “What was that? Was that Sully?”
“Oh my gosh, Flash. I thought that was him.”
“Do you think it’s because his batteries are going bad?” Flash asked.
“No, I think our house is make-believe haunted. I didn’t even put Sully in the dryer last week, and he has never spoken before. All he ever did was growl when we pushed on his tummy. I didn’t even know he could talk. I guess he didn’t have anything to say until today.”
I went to the Workout Guest Room, and picked up Sully. Staring into those big bugging eyes, I pushed his stomach. All I heard was a growl; I’m sure he knew where Mike was, and he didn’t want to meet the same fate.
Sully hasn’t spoken since. Mike is in the garage indefinitely. It’s a nice arrangement. Better to keep them separated, rather than my being the subject of their gaslighting attempts.
Two days ago, I was washing dishes in the kitchen, when I heard a noise. Slowly, the door from the kitchen to the garage opened. By itself. I half expected Mike to stick his spindly green leg through the doorway, then walk up to me, complaining about his living conditions. All I saw was the darkness of the dungeon. I shut the door, then quickly turned the deadbolt.
Yesterday, when Cowboy and I were at a doctor’s appointment, Monster, Inc. was playing on the TV in the waiting room.
“The universe is trying to tell me something,” I told Flash later. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’d prefer it not be communicated through monsters.”
Flash laughed.
But I’m not laughing. If Woody, Jessie, or any other inanimate objects start holding conversations in our home, we’re moving. Somewhere far, far away – to infinity and beyond.