When childhood memories turn creepy.

In all fairness, it started innocently enough.

As we all know, February isn’t my best month ever. Especially this February, and especially this past few days. Even without pandemics and world war, I completely forget how to paint in February, and just do things like inventory, and get caught up with bookkeeping. Oddly enough, I have actually painted a little this month–though to be honest, three of the four attempts weren’t good enough to share. To rebel against the howling wind outside (I have lost count of how many blizzards we have had this month) many of us have been posting flower images to social media (Flower You, February!). In looking through many of my images, I decided to try a few things, and this is the only one that has survived my February painting attempts:

It may not be great art, but it is paint on canvas in February. I give myself four shiny silver stars, only slightly tarnished.

Point being that last month when a friend of mine posted an image of crocheted yip yips saying how she would love to have them, but didn’t crochet, I thought it would be the perfect February project. Handwork, repetitive motions, no hard thinking, bright colored yarn, and a happy friend. What could possibly go wrong?

Do you remember yip yips? They are from Sesame Street:

And following Carissa Browning’s Ravelry pattern, super easy to make.

Here is the first one:

I told her firmly I wasn’t going to draw on the eyeballs, because one slip of the pen can make them seem sad, or angry, or deranged, and I would leave those artistic decisions/slips of the pen to her. I am now deeply regretting that decision. The first one by itself was fine. As she said, looks a bit like an angler fish and like it should have teeth. But fine. The lack of pupils is a bit odd, but not overly noteworthy.

Then there were two:

Suddenly you begin to see why in all those horror movies when someone is possessed or something, they make their eyes go all white.

Then there were three:

Now they are starting to look more than a little freaky. Like the more of them there are, the creepier they get.

Then there were four:

Things are not improving.

They are sitting in a row on top of my husband’s dresser, so that they can stare at me every morning and every night with their creepy little pupil-less eyes and freaky mouths. If you accidentally bump the dresser, their pipe-cleaner antennae wave a bit, which makes the eyes look like they are moving. I am sure they aren’t. They can’t be. Probably. Logic says.

Logic is not overly noticeable when glimpsing creepy white eyeballs in the shadows of the bedroom.

So now I am on a mission to finish all six as soon as possible so that I can get them OUT OF MY HOUSE. I am already the inadvertent guardian of a zombie scorpion with the potential to take out the city. I can’t also be responsible for six demonic angler fish which, frankly, will probably be able to fly once animated, because of course they would.

By all that is holy and good, my friend will add pupils immediately, rendering them back into perfectly innocent, if odd, craft projects. However, if she decides to add teeth and send them out into the world, I probably can’t completely absolve myself of responsibility. I did actually make them, and proceeded to make more even when it became apparent that they may not be as innocuous as they first appeared. So I can’t exactly claim I had nothing to do with it when neighborhood pets start disappearing and mysterious attacks are reported in they alleys of downtown Fargo.

The most disturbing part of this whole thing? She intends to use them as Easter baskets.

I can’t even.