Aaron Kirk

And now I shall not ever, ever sleep again.

Revisado: 10-04-23

Puppets being exactly like they seem to be, felt and fur and plastic and moving in that familiar puppety way (one arm not doing much most of the time and the other one moving around like it’s on a thin rod; that bounce step walk and felt formed maw flapping open in shut) has never really scared me. I adore the Muppets and most forms of plush puppetry. Now ventriloquist dummies, sure: horrifying. Absolutely all of them are out to kill us. Creepy dolls? Definitely demons. But I have always thought that out of their normal context, see inside the walls of a building or appearing in rooms of some sort of old band in place, they could be scary, even if they met you no harm. The idea of them being alive and talking, and goofing off where they shouldn’t be without the aid of a human is creepy and that’s a fun idea. That’s why I immediately grabbed up this book and gave it a listen. And (in theory) I’m glad I did. Because it combines a bit of cosmic horror and the fascinating, suffocating dread filled idea of liminal spaces. For those reasons alone, I gladly went along for the ride.

And I still love them up it’s just as much. And no, I don’t think I have a newfound fear of them. But my side of the bed has a clear view of a dark hallway in our home, and I can easily, and regretfully already have, visualize a very short, furry puppet padding, its way down the hall towards me. So thanks a lot Ben Farthing, for being a really good and imaginative and thoughtful writer. He processed a primal fear that began in childhood for you and enclosed with in it, the melancholy pain and joy of memory, nostalgia, And people felt most like home. Keep it up man. I may just have to dream of my own existential nostalgia night terror novella of my own because this one hit the spot hit the spot. You monster.

Has calificado esta reseña.

Reportaste esta reseña