Although I wasn't going to enter The Litblog Co-Op's Demon Theory contest, I was hit by a moment of inspiration last night. Here's my entry for your psychoanalysis:

I'm no stranger to embarrassing moments, so it's not difficult admitting to a fear that continues to plague me. As a child, my parents would absentmindedly set me in front of the television. It was their way of keeping me entertained and out of their hair. When mom and dad turned the dial to PBS, they thought their daughter would be exposed to quality educational programming. How wrong they were. PBS carried a program so horrifying that more than 30 years later, I still cannot banish the images from my head. That show, friends, is Sesame Street.

You may scoff. You may ask, "What could be so frightening about the letter 'D,' happily singing Muppets, and one thing not being like the other?" You may wonder why I haven't yet worked this out in therapy. Friends, despite your quizzical looks, I assure you; my enduring horror is real.

The defining moment that forever ruined Sesame Street occurred upon first seeing a particular stop-action cartoon. It was a filler, meant to take up space between Muppet segments. The characters were styled like decoupage cutouts from a Victorian nightmare. The eerie music had lyrics narrating the action. Action which included Dandelions with lion faces and human feet. Feet in a clear glass vase. Toes dangling in water.

Before this moment, I had delighted in picking Dandelions. Their bright yellow flower heads seemed to shine and dance against fields of green. After the petals dropped and the Dandelions turned into snowballs, I never could resist plucking a stem from the ground. A hearty exhalation of air through pursed lips would send the seeds adrift on a breeze. In my own way, with the force from my little lungs, I contributed to perpetuating the life cycle.

But no longer. Friends, I do not have words to describe the sheer terror that filled my body upon seeing this cartoon. Dandelions, which were once so delightful, had faces. And teeth. Sharp fangs that might shred an innocent into hamburger. If the abomination weren't enough, these fierce blooms could walk. Nay, run. The idea that a flower might suddenly leap from a vase to chase me down and eat me was simply too much. I ran shrieking from the room.

To this day, I wage war on Dandelions. When a menace attempts to punch through the lush carpet of my lawn, I vehemently rip it out. I tear its bulbs and leaves to shreds. And I make sure I get its entire tap root. Although I haven't yet found one with feet, I check anyway. You never know when an aberrant flower might try to escape.

We'll see what happens. LBC's two contest categories close later tonight, so there's still time for you to submit your horror and metal hair band stories.

And don't forget to also enter Magnificent Octopus's Un-place contest, which will be open until tomorrow night.