We have a bedtime ritual for our daughter: brush your teeth, get your jammies on, and say your prayers. After that, before the lights go out, we read a book to her. The books rise and fall in popularity, but she tends to focus on a few favorites. Madeleine was in play for at a few months, and Green Eggs and Ham and The Cat in the Hat longer than that. Even now, I think I could recite all six stories in her Curious George anthology by heart. Over and over, we return to Mother Goose rhymes, and one in particular, that horror story right out of a Stephen King collection: “Rock-a-bye Baby.”
A Terrifying Soundtrack
Even now, I can see the hairs on her neck rise when we play that diabolical ditty on her night-time sound machine. Okay, maybe that’s my neck, but someone’s getting nervous. Don’t think about the words I tell her, just look up at the ceiling where the fish chase the octopus in a never-ending circle that accompanies the music.
Meanwhile, I make sure I’ve closed and locked the windows, and there are no monsters under the bed or in the closets. “Rock-a-Bye Baby” does that to me. Edgar Allen Poe composed “The Raven” while “Rock-a-Bye Baby” played in the background. After listening to “Rock-a-bye Baby,” William Peter Blatty wrote “The Exorcist.” It’s pure evil.
Just listen to the words.
Rock-a-Bye Baby: Prepare to Be Frightened
I open the soft fabric pages, designed for children’s tiny fingers and begin:
“Rock-a-Bye Baby”
It starts in a simple fashion. Who hasn’t rocked a baby to sleep? The gentle beginning lulls you into a false sense of complacency.
“On the treetop”
Whoa, hold on a minute. What kind of madman puts a tiny, helpless infant in a treetop? The sharp edge of anxiety twists in my abdomen.
“When the wind blows”
And it’s the middle of a storm. So now you have a little baby in a treetop exposed to the elements? Is it a gentle breeze or a gale-force wind? Are there raptors in the treetop? Hawks circling? Vultures gathering? I’m on the edge of my seat.
“The cradle will rock”
Good heavens, the cradle is in motion! Anything can happen now. Where are his parents? I pick up my cell phone, prepared to dial 9-1-1. Someone rescue this child!
“When the bough breaks”
How did this happen? Why is the bough breaking? Was it unstable to begin with? Did the psychopath who abandoned this child place him on a precarious limb? Worse, is it from the weight of some predator creeping out to the cradle? A raccoon or a neighborhood tomcat? I’m not sure, but whatever it is it’s hungry, and it’s eyeing an innocent child in a cradle.
“The cradle will fall”
That’s it, I’m calling child services. A child in a treetop in the middle of a hurricane, birds of prey circling, raccoons prowling, a limb that’s about to crack free of the trunk? This is too much. I’ve chewed my nails to the nub.
“And down will come baby”
Dear Lord, will someone help this poor child! What kind of diabolical plot is this? I jump out of my seat.
“Cradle and all”
I collapse on the ground, broken like this poor innocent babe’s cradle. Don’t even ask what happened to the poor child. I know I don’t want to think about it. What could I have done? I let the little tyke down. If only I could get my hands on the madman who put the child in a treetop in the middle of a typhoon, I’d take my revenge.
Where Was Mother Goose?
Then it hits me. It’s Mother Goose’s fault. That’s right, the distinguished, old waterfowl with the bonnet and the spectacles is behind this plot. Where was the old bird while this catastrophe was happening? Wasn’t she supposed to watch the child? Or was she out migrating with the rest of her guilty skein?
What’s she after? What’s her endgame? Is she out to get humanity? I’ll never know.
My daughter shakes me. “Daddy, what’s the matter?”
Should I tell her about Mother Goose and her twisted plot to rid the world of children by leaving them in treetop cradles? Should I expose this avian fraud?
I fall silent. Maybe when she’s older I’ll break the news to her. For now, I’ll let her enjoy her childhood. As for me, if you find me with a broken crown and an empty pail of water at the bottom of a hill, or collapsed on a tuffet with a suspicious pile of curds and whey in my lap, suspect fowl play!
Does anyone else have their eye on Mother Goose?
eli
the bough broke because the wind is soo strong, which make the matter worse