And so down I'd go, certain I was about to become the leading character in a story that would be told around campfires for generations to come.
My task nearly completed, I would begin my quick ascent back to the world of the living. And then, as I had countless times before, it would happen. With an audible click, followed by sinister laughter, the lights would go off.
Engulfed in blackness, I would scramble my way to the top of the stairs only to find the door held firmly shut. From the other side, where the light switch was controlled, I would hear my brother's voice began to chant: "It's coming for you, Gary! It's coming! Do you hear it? Do you hear it breathing, Gary?"
Unbeknownst to my parents the deep grooves in that side of the door were not caused by the dog.
Now, many years later, here I am a cartoonist. And if the cartoons i draw seem a little-well-different, I hope this story has scratched the surface of understanding my childhood: a sort of "Theodore Cleaver Meets the Thing."
In this post, have a look upon some of Larsons works on insects.
|"You idiots!...We'll never get that thing down the hole!"|
|"Step on it, Arnold! Step on it! "|
|"God, I hate walking hrough this place at night."|
|"There I was! Asleep in this little cave here, when suddenly|
I was attacked by this hideous thing with five heads!"