(The final installment of Halloween Horrors, an examination of the five monsters who truly give me nightmares)

#5) Goldfish

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I’m not a big animal fan. It doesn’t mean I hate them but I firmly believe that they should go their way and I should go mine and we should just have nothing to do with each other. I don’t want dogs or cats coming around me and sniffing me because when the revolution comes I want them to remember that I was always scared of them and gave them a wide berth and that the people who dressed them in sweaters and reindeer antlers were definitely, positively, not me.

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This fear of animals can be traced all the way back to the primal trauma in my life: The Goldfish Attack. I was young, maybe nine years old, and I went to the kitchen to get something (probably food). We had a fish tank in our kitchen back then, because we were naive and didn’t understand the dangers. I’m in the kitchen and I hear a noise: “Flap.”

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My blood runs cold. There it is again.

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“Flap.”

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I look down, and on the ground is a goldfish that has leapt out of its tank.

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“Flap?”

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And as I watch in horror, it sees me…and it comes at me.

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“Flap. Flap. Flap. Flap.”

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I back away, but it starts coming faster.

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“Flapflapflapflapflapflapflapflap.”

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I run in terror, screaming from the room, the goldfish flapping along the floor right at my heels. I finally lock myself in the bathroom until someone can capture this homicidal goldfish that was going for my throat and put it back in the tank. But after that, I don’t go in the kitchen for a long, long time. And to this day, on quiet, dark nights, I can still hear it flapping…flapping…flapping…

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(Of course, goldfish aren’t all bad. For instance, these Japanese goldfish live in a deep fat fryer and keep it clean!)

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