Last night Ming and I watched one of those poltergeisty movies and we were so terrified throughout that it became funny and I couldn’t stop laughing! It reminded me of the ghost train incident of many years ago.
The memory still sits in my gut, raw, un-relinquished – a regret that I can’t rewind and delete. I comfort myself with the thought that all parents do heaps of things unthinkingly, unwisely – don’t they?
Tentatively, I reminded Ming about the ghost train the other day, and he giggled. Momentarily relieved, I assumed he was over it. But I couldn’t help noticing that his giggle was accompanied by a slight frown, a slight blanching of the complexion, even a slight stiffening of the limbs.
He was around three years old at the time. We were having a holiday in Adelaide, when we decided, on impulse, to go to the Adelaide Show.
Ming was terribly excited by the crowds, the fairy floss and the ghost train billboard advertisements. He kept pointing to these and saying, “Ming wanna go on that thing, Mummy – pweese!” He was fascinated by the pictures of ghosts, skeletons and monsters.
So I bought us tickets, told Anthony we’d meet him in the closest coffee shop and Ming and I waited in the queue. This is when I had my first tiny qualm. Children much older than Ming were coming out of the ghost train ride looking a little worse for wear and I got a bit nervous. Then, all of a sudden, it was our turn and we were strapped into the tiny cart and off we went.
Just before those horrible black doors opened and we were whooshed into the 2-minute nightmare, I whispered to Ming, “None of this is real, darling – it’s all pretend.” Why, oh why, didn’t I say this to him earlier?
At the halfway point, he was so terrified that, seeing a tiny crack in the wall to the outside – a sliver of light, a glimpse of another queue – he screamed, “Ming wanna go back!” But it was too late. Our cart was thrust, once again, through another set of black doors, and red eyes, ghostly hands and skeletal breath seemed to touch us as we progressed, surrounded by the bloodcurdling screams of those behind and in front of us.
I held Ming close as he began to cry. His fear was so potent that my own heart started to race with remembered childhood nightmares of spooks, of bogeymen – the dark fear of the unknown.
Then, whoosh, we were back in daylight. It was over. I picked Ming up and hoisted him into my arms. He was trembling. I hated myself.
In the car, on the way back to the motel, Ming remained silent while I told Anthony about the ride, how scary it was and how badly I felt. But Anthony just laughed and said, “I’m sure Ming’ll survive, Jules – you worry too much.”
Then, from the back of the car, came a querulous voice. “Andony? Mummy and me neeely got gobbled up by the monsters, but we surbived.”
I made my decision then and there: no more ghost trains. Ever!
jmgoyder 