I was first introduced to The Princess Bride by my older cousin Roger. I’ve lost touch with Rog now in my adult life, but back when I was seven, he was like the coolest 16-year-old on the planet. I idolized my cousin. He was a weird dude who used to refer to my brother and me as ‘septic doggies’ while strumming away on his guitar to an audience of adults sitting around a coffee table and sipping hot toddies. Maybe there weren’t any hot toddies. That might just be my mind’s eye making things classier than they actually were.
I remember one night when we were staying at my Aunt and Uncle’s house, and Roger told me he was going to show me the greatest movie ever made. He then said, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Being a small child and not understanding this seemingly ominous death threat, I was confused by what Roger, the coolest guy I knew, was saying to me. But then he slid the VHS tape (how old am I?) into its slot, and we began watching.
The movie floored me. It had everything! A woebegone princess, the Dread Pirate Roberts, a fire swamp complete with rodents of unusual size and a torture-loving albino who worked studiously in the Pit of Despair.
It was the Pit of Despair that haunted my dreams for weeks to come and why my mom wouldn’t let Roger pick out the movies we watched for a long time after that when we went to visit. When the Albino first heals Westley’s wounds only to torture him later, that stuck with me hard.
Now, I am the adult and forcing these strange 80s movies upon my children. As I was rewatching this classic a few weeks ago, it occurred to me that I may have a Pit of Despair in my very own basement. Yes, right here, in Central Alberta, my tween son has transformed his once adorably clad Thomas the Tank Engine bedroom into a space of pure agony and suffering — for me at least.
Here are some warning signs that you, too, may have a Pit of Despair in your home.
- As you approach the door of your child’s bedroom, you suddenly begin to feel a deep and foreboding feeling of dread.
- Strange sounds are coming from the other side of the door. You’re not sure if it’s the latest video game your child has bought with his loads of birthday money or the pained and tortured sounds of The Machine, which is taking years off of any recipient’s life who enters the room.
- Once you’ve braved the entrance, the realization that you may never leave this place (because you won’t be able to find your way out due to the heaps of debris that form the makeshift brick-a-brack cliffs throughout the room) sends an ominous chill down your back.
- There is a hostile sentient being sitting in the corner of the room. He may be mixing some sort of elixir in which to drug you, or he is hiding the many pop cans he’s been hoarding for weeks on end.
- The human is pale with dark circles under his eyes and beginning to resemble the Albino of your childhood night-terrors. You wonder, is this a living nightmare? Or has lockdown and too many videogames really done a number on my twelve-year-old?
- Was that a rat that just scurried by?!
- You try to engage in conversation, saying things like, “So maybe you should go get some fresh air today, sweetie? But your effort is for naught as all you receive in response is a grunt of derision.
- When you persist by gently suggesting that he cleans this awful pigsty of a room, he slowly looks over to you and says in a raspy voice, “Would you like to play a game, Mother?” You pause, and he holds out a battered Wii controller, “Don’t even try to escape. No one escapes The Machine!”
- Luckily, you do escape. A gentle giant and a spunky Spanish fencer (or your husband and daughter) find the secret entrance, which has been hidden under hundreds of wayward socks, any dirty underwear piled high to the ceiling and save you from your torture.
- By this time, you are weary and “mostly dead,” but with a magical pill (or glass of wine), you are saved!
- You have never been more grateful. You silently shut the door to your home’s very own Pit of Despair. The sounds of The Machine rumbles in your ear as you quickly scurry away and vow to keep this dastardly place as far away from your thoughts as possible until the next time you’re forced to venture near.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Zachary Kadolph on Unsplash