Thursday, June 19, 2008

"SATAN LIVES!"

This was screamed at me when I was about 7 years old. I was just an innocent child riding my bike, when a man sitting in his car on the side of the road threw his fast food trash at me as I passed by, peeled out, and stopped next to me to yell, "SATAN LIVES! I WORSHIP HIM!!!" (By the way, he looked like the black haired robin hood from the 80's British TV show. The man in the car. Not Satan.)

I never thought anything of this (I mean besides being terrified and emotionally scarred for life), until I actually met The Lord of all Demons.

Last night I’m turning off all my lamps in my hotel room so I can sleep, when this giant black flying bug the size of China comes out of the curtains. Not wanting the beast to fly into my face while I’m dreaming peacefully, I try to open my sliding doors to let the “little guy” out. But guess what, they're electronically LOCKED. (I guess so drunk people won't try to jump over the edge) No go there.

Of course while trying to open the doors DESPITE the lock (I actually considered pulling out the wires in an act of desperation), the monster vanishes. I poke around the room for awhile, but nope. Nothing.

3am. I hear this rapid clicking sound, wind blasting into my face from the giant wings of Satan himself. I get up. Grab a towel. And smote the demon on the side of the wall.

Being quite proud of my kill, I pick it up to admire my prize. The thing had pincers that could bite through solid cast iron, eyes that glowed bright red, and claws that Wolverine would be jealous of. I couldn’t waste such a trophy in the toilet, so I put it on the bathroom counter, figuring it'd give the maid a little scare.

Now I could return to my wonderful dreamland. The evil presence had been lifted from the room.

Brushing my teeth in the morning, I vaguely remember the battle that ensued just hours ago.

I gotta take a picture of this thing!

But wait....its nowhere to be found. Not on the counter where I so carefully placed it. Not under the counter. Not in the trash.

I'm not sure what's worse. The thought that the bug crawled away to die somewhere respectable (leaving a decaying corpse under my bed or in my underwear), or that something even bigger carried it off.

Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to that guy who screamed at me. Was he aware that Satan was staying at the Westgate? I would love to find him today, and see the look on his face when I tell him that the demon he so worshipped is now rotting in my hotel room.

8 comments:

ash said...

ryan, you must blog more. i so rarely laugh out loud at what I'm reading but I do so EVERY time you tell a story. :)

Laura Miller said...

hmm...maybe it's normal to have strange encounters with crazy old people as a child.
It makes things spicy, and some of my fondest memories involve crazy old people yelling at me from their porches.

Gene said...

I would've enjoyed seeing you in action. As I was reading the story I was imagining how it would feel to find a potato bug in the bed.

Ash said...

didn't some old lady yell something similar to you one day while riding her bike? that seems like a familiar story... but maybe I'm remembering wrong.

ryan said...

the old lady just said

"ryaaaannnn....YOU'RE wieeerd."

Anonymous said...

Dude, you've gotta lay off the drugs man.

-Ro

Patrick Jinks said...

Very funny! it reminds me of a time I stood atop a chair in my room long ago with part of the piping from an old vacuum cleaner, waiting to beat the crap out of a mouse I had seen. In fact, THAT experience prompted a short story that I turned in for my college English class. I'll post it on my blog. Ryan, you may be able to relate to it (forgive the foul language in it though. I had to write it from "Stephen's" point of view). You'll see when you read it.

That Girl said...

uncle pat thinks we don't have dirty mouths LOL

oh yeah, yuuuur weeeeiird! LMAO that's awesome!

Oops, I said ass in an acronym, please forgive me ;)