Chuck-a-Bucka

Let us have a journey back to the age of 5, when an afternoon nap was a part of my duty.

The time when a self-proclaimed nightmare had left a rather deep impression, which kept on stalking me in my childish dreams with a fair regularity. In its own perception, it was a realistic vision in black and white.

It normally started with opening my eyes. While getting out of the cradle I always looked at my own hands, whatching how the first-person view seamlessly changes to the third in a smooth zoomout.

Rattles and indistinguishable whispers lead towards my granny's bedroom. Another step over the parlour, smelling of bee venom, to the porcelain sink in the middle of the room with a water tap warbling indistinctly. The light is being dimly reflected in dull tiles as if hundreds of eyes are staring.

The door behind slams shut with a resonating bang and clumps of darkness like swarming worms, pulsating and multiplying,immediately lurk out of corners  crawling into the center of the room, forming the mouth of a whirling black funnel.

I turn around with an intention to run, run as fast as I can, away from here, but I can't! Every move takes a great effort, the body refuses to obey, while the old green rug which I’m standing on, is slowly and inexorably pulling me into the abyss of the resulted emptiness, imbibing all what’s left of my screams and cries.

The silhouette of a bipedal upright creature fluidly materializes itself in front of me, straight out of the black orb in the middle of the room. Intertwined with edgy twists it slowly approaches itself in my direction, hissing: Tshackha-Bakhah!

Chuck-a-Bucka! I can feel its razor-sharp blunt stare behind my back.

Abruptly, the expanding volumes of void inflate until the inversion. I fall on the ground and crawl away, like in slow motion, feeling as if someone, or something which feels like stabbing blows, first grabs me by the legs, the body, shoulders and arms. Each such thrusting "touch" throws a fever leaving notch …

It always woke me up in cold sweat in the dead of the night.

What happened next? Nothing special, every month the dream repeated itself exactly to the last breath. Parents were not particularly intrigued by my stories. You know, children say a lot of stuff for the most part no one listens to. Usually, my moans were followed by compassionate replies, as such: “Yeah, sweety, okay, everything will be fine, honey, it's just a dream, it's not real.”

Well, guess what? It didn't seem so unreal to me then...

Being all alone in the apartment, somewhere from the depths of beyond I kept on hearing a rattling mumbling whisper and the fear of being paralyzed, just like in that ill-fated dream kept me bound to this reality.

So, I sang, or talked to myself as to avoid the repetition of those sensations in every possible way. After six, or eight such cycles, I spilled everything to my grandmother.

Baba Mania is gracious and godlike. I remember her in a gaudy calico dress with chaotic drop-shaped patterns, resembling Paramecium caudatum. Her silver-gray hair is stuffed with hairpins, forming curls on her head covered with a blue synthetic babushka with red ornaments. On her pale face rest brown horn-rimmed glasses. A large mole on her left cheek resembles a blueberry. She holds to a carved polished cane. Her legs hurt a lot and sometimes her memory leaves her. Her shuffling pace can be heard either in the kitchen, on the balcony, or in the corridor. She speaks Ukrainian vernacular, helps around the house and looks after me. One day, waking up late at night, when my parents and sister were asleep, for some reason I went to Grandma's bedroom.

It was a bright, moonlit, calm night. Outside the window the trees rustle their foliage, disturbed by a slight breeze. The light of the yellow, full moon in the sky falls on the sofa where my grandmother was sitting. To my surprise, she wasn't sleeping either.

- You no sleep… why? - she asked.
- I can't. – I replied and sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall.
- Me too. - she sighed and smiled at me.
 
We sat in the night and I told her about my fears. I told her everything as convincing as the speech of a 5-year-old kid could allow me to. The wise old woman listened carefully, looking straight in my eyes and said without a shade of irony: "You need to look your fear in the eye, do not run away from the inevitable forever...»
 
I spent the whole next day thinking about that. Deep in my heart I was very frightened, but I trusted grandma more than my own fears.
 
After returning back home from kindergarten, I even counted the distance from my cradle to the entrance of the room – these were eleven steps.

On the same night, as expected, it all happened by itself. Once again, I open my eyes and get out of the cradle. I look at my hands. Like in a damned black and white movie! Again I walk out of the living room into the narrow hallway, past the linen closet. The floorboard creaked -5 steps left. Past an old closet with a mirror -7. Same as many times before, a slightly bitter smell of propolis is felt in the air, to the bedroom where distant whispers and squawking can be heard behind the closed door. All what’s left is to turn left and cross the threshold of the point of no return.

Wait!!! Quckly to the kitchen!!! There is a huge knife in the table, the white plastic rectangular handle fits right in the palm of my hand. The narrow long blade glitters coldly in the light. I hide Caliburn behind my back, heading towards grandmother's room to open the door, where I can already see the sink with the dancing shades gathering around it. Ten steps. The walls of the room dimly shine through dirty tiles. Whispers of water are barely audible. Eleven. I Sound of the door slam behind me. The atmosphere heats up while the room vibrations increase. The picture is shaking and blinking, and the rug is creeping treacherously into the gaping black hole.

Strong gusts of hot wind blow in my face. Before my eyes, the room expands to an incredibly sized desert covered in glowing red cracks and I feel a tear running down my cheek.

Behold the inevitable! The orb in the middle of the endless desert in black and red undertones, materializes a hybrid of a hound and a lizard. Tufts of red rolled hair sticking out from under the dilapidated scraps of an old suede jumpsuit, very similar to the ones Tim and Pifka were once dressed in. The big toys, I could not fall asleep without.

Above its shoulders -elongated, snapping jaws of a toy crocodile, dotted with sharp fangs. The doll's pale eyes are are staring at me through the sockets. One of them has rolled up and tremble. In the flickering light, I see the creature circles the space around itself with a meaningless gaze and turns in my direction. It opens its arms wide and makes a beckoning gesture.

Chuck-a-Bucka!!!

Do you know what it takes to be in the crosshair of fate? The time loop tightens the knot. I accelerate with all my strength and stab it in a jump. The blade dives into the chest of the monster, ripping and tearing out pieces of sintepon. The creature wheezes and falls backwards. With sharp moves I grab it first by the legs, its body, shoulders and arms and stab again and again. With each attack, I give my fears no slack…



When I came to my senses, the first thing I realized that was that I was still lying in the middle of the room with its usual entourage in black and white. The door is wide open and there is either no sink, nor tiles.

Is that really all? Did I win? I was leaving the room admiring the simple pattern of the carpet. Passing by the mirror I occasionally glanced at my own reflection in it. A hybrid of a huge canine-reptile was staring at me intently. Tufts of ginger, rolled-up hair peeked out from under patches of an old, suede jumpsuit. Elongated, clacking jaws wheezing and squawking. Faded doll eyeballs in the sockets, one of them has rolled-in and tremble.

Chuck-a-Bucka... I am the Chuck-a-Bucka!!!

It was the last time we met each other in person, yet I know and feel that you are still here, my old gloomy friend. We have matured and became more cunning, and perhaps, we have fully paid our own tribute to each other. By dedicating my song and a story to you, I introduce you to the new audience in whose minds and hearts you will grow and spread your roots.

Rule and divide, Chuck-a-Bucka!!!