Last night my family made its annual pilgrimage to Clifton Mill. It's an old mill that's covered in Christmas lights and has a miniature village, antique toy collection, that kind of thing. It's tradition every year to pay $8 a head to stomp through cold mud, take the lights in at a glance, get shoved around by the crowd and remember why you said you'd never go back. Dear god, never get in the way of a parent trying to create an
experience for their child.
We entered this soggy realm only to find that everything was pitch-black...they were having an electrical problem. The turning-on of the lights, sloppily timed to a clip of the "Hallelujah Chorus", was slightly delayed, then came on with a loud and rather frightening pop.
So there we were, in the midst of a hundred-some parents and grandparents oohing and aahing loudly for the benefit of their kids, getting pushed around as they crowded the banks and railings for the best view:
Anyway, it's not
officially called the Museum of Creepy Santas. I call it that because it creeps the almighty fuck out of me. And I don't really get why they're displaying these things, because the place is cold and smells weird and is pretty much the exact opposite of warm and fuzzy. But the line for the creepy santa museum is crazy-long.
You stand in line and when you go in it's like one of those old insane asylum tours, only all of the inmates are dressed as Santa, with some decapitated heads scattered throughout.
Sometimes it's not entirely clear
why the object is considered a santa, except that it's wearing a coat of some sort and may or may not be surrounded by long white hair. This doesn't look like a Santa to me. This looks like a hairy demon-child.
Every time I see this one, it seems like it should have a butcher knife in one mittened hand. Just utter fucking
evil.
This one handily combines the horrors of Halloween
and Christmas:
I call this one Leatherface Santa...
This one's head and eyes move and he watches you...
Speaking of watching you, they move this creepy little fucker every year but I always know when he's behind me because the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
And the nun doll has a snapped neck...
coincidence?!?
Whose idea was it that Santa's tongue should be poking out, licking his lips?
"Ho ho ho, little boy. Santa's going to ram this teddy bear up your ass."
Anyway, that was the museum. If you're cold, you can get a packet of Swiss Miss and a cup of hot water for $3 and wander over toward the mechanized miniature village, which features a trailer park:
and the supposed aftermath of a tree fire, powered by a can of Sterno.
Until next year.
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