Skeleton Rant

Times have changed, haven’t they? I remember there was a time where the very thought of my presence would send grown men screaming. But now? I’d be lucky if I could frighten a defenseless, jittery stray cat. Monsters now have to be fleshed out more and more as if they have something to prove. Did I need any of that? Of course not. But then again, I wouldn’t be much of a skeleton if I constantly fleshed out.

Millennia ago, I was the figure that spawned hundreds of horror stories. My figure alone guided the dead and wandering souls into the underworld. My face was the face of death. I didn’t need any gimmicks or masks or modern technology to strike terror into the hearts of people. All I needed was a black robe and my scythe. There was no need to walk through walls or howl at the moon. I didn’t even need the cloak of darkness to set the mood.

I suppose it’s just age catching up with me. Words! Writers would simply write about my yellowed, cracking bones and the words alone would be the cause of thousands’ loss of sleep. But now, the only people I could hope to scare are a few nervous students in a human anatomy class. It’s insulting.

For generations, I didn’t need a large frame for I was the frame. I didn’t need the organs, or the muscles, or many times even a voice to summon the most guttural of screams. I was quite literally the bare boned, bare essential, quintessential symbol of fear. Here I am, in the twenty first century simmered down to a commercial symbol for Halloween. I have been the face of death and somehow found myself scaring up laughs for Abbott and Costello.

But I’m not worried. Because deep down, the legends and lore of eons ago, passed from generation to generation to generation have burrowed deep into your subconscious. So consider this a warning. I may be an educational tool for medical students… for now. I may be hung on a window sill to welcome the ghouls of a commercialized holiday for now… for now. I may be the butt of everyone’s jokes… for now.

But that may very well soon change for if you were to run into the sun bleached, petrified bones of a skeleton I guarantee that frigid pinpricks will slide up your spine. For you know that no matter how amicable you dress up these bones, deep down I am still the indisputable face of death. And I still don’t need any scary music to set the mood; night is an ally but no more necessary than the rattling of my ribs.

If you were to feel my bony, pardon the pun, hands grab your shoulder… I know you will jump out of your seat. Because I am inside of you no matter how much you would like to deny it. I am under your skin and your sinewy muscles, grabbing hold of your feeble vital organs grinning deviously under your quivering lips. You don’t have to see me to fear me, for it is only when death’s icy voice calls your name that I come out to play.