A Child's Worst Nightmare

You’d think that a seven-year-old child would be absolutely enchanted by the bright, twinkling golden lights, Disneyland-esque music and the smiling animals with sparkling eyes that just beckoned you to hop onto their backs and ride to God-knows-where with them. You’re completely wrong. When I was seven, a carousel definitely didn’t fill me with any sense of wonder or amazement which, I suppose, is what young children usually experience when they are anywhere near the hideous thing. No, it filled me with fear. Complete, utter, heart-gripping fear. It all started when my way-too-enthusiastic mother thought it would be a great idea to take her young child whom she knew was practically afraid of everything to the carnival. The carnival, where the deranged human-beings with the paper-white faces and giant red noses known as clowns ran amok. The carnival, where greasy balding men smiled at you at every turn of the corner, asking you if you would like to have a try at their game and win some sort of cheap stuffed animal. The carnival, where everyone and everything was a threat to a paranoid seven-year-old girl. “Come on, Bri, don’t look so sour. It’s your first time at a carnival! You’re supposed to be having fun. Smile a little, will you?” My mother, squatting so she could look me in the eye, tried to infect me with the carnival-induced excitement. I attempted to look even angrier than I already did by scrunching my face into what I thought would be a menacing frown (it wasn’t). My mother laughed it off and said, “Oh! I know just the thing to cheer you up. Come along now, you’re going to love this.” And with that, she took my hand and dragged me along to what I now believe is the source of all evil. “Isn’t it just lovely, Bri? Look at the pretty lights and dancing animals!” Mum said, with way too much excitement, I suspect, for a woman in her mid-thirties. She, for some inexplicable reason, found the monstrosity looming in front of us to be the most amazing thing to ever grace the earth. I, on the other hand, wasn’t filled with nearly as much excitement as she was. I didn’t like what was in front of me at all. In fact, I hated it. Especially the lights that were way too bright that blinded my eyes. The music sounded like a spooky track from Scooby-Doo and the sounds of other little children screaming and laughing their heads off with apparent glee gave me a throbbing headache. The animals were the worst – they were large, large enough to eat me, I remember thinking, with huge crazy eyes and faces contorted into expressions that made me squirm. I hated everything about the carousel. It definitely didn’t help when Mum said, “Let’s get on it!” It was a definitive death sentence. Fear spread from the pit of my stomach to every part of my body as quickly as wildfire. “No! I don’t want to!” I objected. “Bri, trust me, you’ll love it!” With that, Mum whisked my pathetic little body away onto the decks of hell. A few moments later I was strapped onto the oily surface of a purple octopus. I remember thinking, URSULA IS KIDNAPPING ME, as I sat there cowering in fear. My tiny hands were trembling even as I clutched the faded golden rod in front of me, waiting for the ride to begin. I turned around to look at the giant polar bear atop which sat my Mum, who smiled excitedly at me as she gave me an enthusiastic ‘thumbs-up'. The carousel started. My heart stopped. The hum of the engine and the ridiculous music drowned out the sound of my raspy breaths. Round and round, slowly at first, then faster and faster. And then the worst part came. My octopus started moving. I lost all sense of security as the octopus rose and fell. My heart seemed to drop further and further down an endless pit, and I remember hot tears streaming down my face as I silently cursed Mum for dragging me onto this ride to hell. My body tensed and I clung onto the golden pole for dear life. ​ The ride had finally ended. It was the longest and most terrifying three minutes of my life.