The other day when I was cruising around a mall in my hometown on a stomach full of Chianti, I stumbled upon a children’s clothing store that took my breathe away. It didn’t take my breath away because I was into their clothing or because it made me hope to someday have children. It took my breath away because the mannequins outside advertising the store were the scariest fucking things I have ever seen.
First of all, these mannequins didn’t have arms. They had odd, horrific smiles plastered on their faces, which were scarred by keys and natural wear and tear. They stared into the sky like they were frozen in awe of a mushroom cloud.
Really? This store had clearly gone with the time-proven strategy that the best way to advertise a children’s tank top is by putting it on an armless child mannequin smiling at the thought of death’s sweet embrace. I mean, makes sense, right?
Just across the way was a Halloween store and what was amazing was that their lawn mannequins of goblins and zombies were nowhere near as terrifying as they poor dismembered children mannequins wishing they could be put in a dumpster so as not to have their deformities on display at a mall. I have never felt so bad for something that was not alive. It reminded me of the final slow motion shot of the video for Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy”. Good video though, right?!
These mannequins completely shed light on one phenomenon though. Now I totally understand why mannequins typically do not have faces or have bodies that are slightly skewed from the human form. Why? Because it is really creepy when a human child mannequin loses it’s arm and smiles through what looked like eight years in a terrorist detention camp. My God, these mannequins haunted my dreams.
I won’t say the name of the store because my goal is not to hurt a local business. My goal is to get this off my chest and fill your dreams with the kind of horrors mine now contain. If you close your eyes after seeing these things, all you hear is a child whispering cryptic shit like “help me” and “please kill me” and “mommy?” Sweet Almighty! These things are terrible!
Know what totally brings it up a level? Listening to Santo and Johnny’s “Sleepwalk” while staring at them. Picture like a creepy janitor watching over them and referring to them as his “children”.
Deal with that, Lost Angeles.