I once possessed a green corduroy coverall. It was a gift from an uncle. I liked wearing that thing a lot. I wanted the piece of fabric on my body immediately after my bath everyday, all week.
Thing was Luckey, the family dog didn’t give a fishbone what I wanted. The dog had a problem with the green coverall. I couldn’t quite decide what pissed it off-was it the green color or just cause it was a one-piece clothing? But I could figure it would often work itself into a frenzy whenever I wore the outfit.
I tried avoiding Luckey but get serious though, how do you avoid a bitch living in the same house with you? I recollect the day it actually bit me and left me with a scar. Right there on my left thigh. Through the years, I’ve gotten over the shock of that moment but the scar serves as a signature, a pointer to that once upon a time.
The dog bite was the final word on the issue of the green coverall. I turned it over to the care of the closet. Many waters passed under the bridge and my fascination with the green dress waned. One day, as I was rummaging through my stuff for no reason I can readily recall, I heard a soft, quiet voice.
“Hello, Staub.” The voice had a rusty edge. Not a resonance you would want to relate to friendly. I was surprised and puzzled and verging the lip of afraid. “Hello, Stauauauaubbb.”
“Who’s there?” Now I was beginning to get chicken scared.
“A friend,” It said.
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk. I want to be your friend,” The strange voice said. “Will you be my friend?”
I couldn’t block out the voice but I didn’t have to buy what it was selling, did I?
“I don’t know. What do you look like? Show me your face.” I must have felt a little like Moses talking to that bit of burning bush. “Come out and stop hiding.”
“I am not hiding,” It said. “I’m right here. Right in front of you.”
Somewhere in the darkness of that closet, I saw something giving off a green glow in short busts. It was the green coverall. But was that voice coming from beneath, behind or within it? That I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Now you see me,” It said. I sensed something like triumph in its voice.
“Clothes don’t talk,” I said, stupefied. Who wouldn’t have been? I was only eight.
“But they do, my boy. Sure, they do.” It moved more like wriggled on the closet floor towards me. “Come, let me take you beyond human misconceptions into something sweet and eternal.”
I was afraid. Scared shitless by all I’d seen thus far. The only thing I wanted to do was get out of that closet. Get away from it as far as possible. Get away and never go back in there. And that’s exactly what I did. I crawled out of that place with the middle fingers of both hands plugging my ears.
Outside the closet and outside my bedroom, I could still hear the voice of the green coverall. It was in my head and it wasn’t screaming or threatening me. It was coaxing me, calling me to come back and join its fellowship. There were others across the globe, waiting for my initiation. “You can’t run away forever!” That one was a few decibels into the realm of a scream. But I knew it to be true. Someday, I was going back into that closet, like the day after, and get a change of clothes. And then, the green dress would get me.
I thought about telling my parents about it but banished the thought as fast as it had occurred. Adults had their mental repertoire rearranged. It happens to the best of us. Once you hit puberty every shit beyond this realm is (roll of drums please) superstition.
Luckey, the family dog and I got along, just fine so long as I wasn’t donning that accursed green fabric. Then, one day, and this time everybody was home, I forgot about the beef between Luckey and the green thing. I went into the closet (Now that I think about it, I believe I was drawn to put on the cloth.) and fetched the dress then, wore it. I was so glad to have found it and it’s a wonder I couldn’t recall why I’d tuck it so deep into the closet.
The dog bit me without a moment’s hesitation. The coverall had not lost its devilish charms on Luckey. The pet I had just finished playing with bit me like I was a stranger infringing its territory. I didn’t cry because the dog bit me. No, it was the rage in its eyes. It was defined by cold hate, like it could have done away with me if given the chance. I cried because I knew then, what unruly strangers and visitors knew about our family dog. I bet it hurts to be hated even by a dog.
After I returned from the clinic, I got rid of the green thing, flung it deep into the farthest corners of the closet with all the strength I could muster. And I could hear it laughing. Cackling wildly in my head. It glowed briefly and then, it winked out like a candle in a windstorm. It was just like it never happened.
My next encounter with the coverall from hell happened when I was an eighth grader. I was playing a game of cops n’ gangsters with my brothers. Ask any kid and they’ll tell you the best games take place in the closet. I lost myself in all that excitement, I forgot about the colossal creeping cloak in the closet.
“Hello, Staub.” It was in my mind. Inside my mind and was I scared? Scared as a mouse caught in a trap. That’s how scared I was.
“Go away. You do not exist,” I said.
“I’m glad you finally saw reason and decided to join us.”
My mouth was dry. My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth.
“Come closer, Staub.”
“I found I couldn’t resist the pull of evil in the piece of clothing. I obeyed and went to it.
“Put me on.”
And that’s exactly what I did. And when I’d done that evil came and clouded my mind.
“It’s time to deal with Luckey.”
Tell/show the death of the dog and how the kid got rid of the green coverall.
Did he get any help from family?
Or did the green coverall hurt any member of his family?
All this should reflect in the second draft.