Face, Here

Be Unkind, Rewind

As the hot chocolate cooled down in our mugs, and the buttery popcorn was ready after the tape was rewound, he popped onto the TV screen. His animated purple skin, bright uncanny eyes, and devious smile materialized.

His dangerous, yet, spirited voice spoke the words, “Hi, there. Face, here!”  I began to scream, thinking of many scenarios where he could attack me. Tears began to flood down my face, like rain on a car window. Not again. Not again.

I just wanted to watch Little Bear! Why was Face here? 

His Role in My Life

Face haunted me on the daily; he haunted me whenever I watched a “Nick Jr.” VHS.

However, the most frightening thing was when I thought about Face before bed. I tossed and turned, while he took the form of objects in my dreams. One second, he was an airplane. The next, a flashlight, shining in the dark. 

I never knew what he would shapeshift into.  I was three — I didn’t understand that images cannot pop out of a TV screen and hurt you. I imagined him emerging from his pixelated prison, harming me with his non-existent body. 

It would have been easy for Face. 

A Continuation 

Once VHS tapes fell out of fashion, I was relieved to know that Face would remain a relic of the past, a horrifying memory trapped in childhood. 

By the time he was revived in 2022, I was 20 years old. Too old to watch “Nick Jr.,” too distracted with college to know about Face’s Music Party on Paramount+. 

As I am writing this, I don’t know why his animated voice still makes my hands shake with fear. 

My body attempts to regulate itself. He isn’t real, it’s just animation. I know he can’t cause me injury, but my inner child relives the emotions I experienced back then. 

His prison holds him, and has done so since 2004. He was let out three years ago, and his release was short-lived. Face’s freedom was tainted by his selfishness — his destiny carried out, much like that of a parasite to a host. 

Resurrecting Face

I stumbled across a Blue’s Clues VHS last month while searching for home videos. He was in a small shoebox that was labeled, “Kristen’s Things: Blue.” I didn’t see it at first, since the shoebox was trapped under a larger one that featured the motif of a VCR. 

Curiosity struck me, and a false sense of security covered my body like a heated blanket. His orange plastic casing kept me safe. 

I believed he had forgotten about my existence. Your mind tricks you, tells you that there is no harm. Occasionally, the fight-or-flight response fails to deploy. 

You are stuck in midair. There is no safety net. This might be your new home. 

Somehow, I found my way back down. I decided to open the Blue’s Clues tape. My laptop began to glitch, and the screen became a bilious shade of green. 

There was no possibility of this occurring, yet, it happened right in front of me. 

Ctrl C, Ctrl V, Ctrl X

He spread his code and reproduced until his genealogy had been extended. He forced the commands: Ctrl C, Ctrl V to copy and paste his DNA.

Face spent his time doomscrolling through my files, and eventually, commanded my laptop to press Ctrl X. He lived on while my fragments of me were obliterated. 

The trumpet sound he produces plays on repeat. His eyes are enlarged, and his smile wide and wolfish. He redirects his gaze, focuses on me. 

He is worse than the ILOVEYOU virus. He is more than a bug — he is a trojan. Face seems innocent and cheerful, but he is insidious, a maddening malady. 

I don’t believe that I am his only victim; he will attack whoever seeks him out.

He is your worst enemy; one’s least favorite nightmare. His presence haunts you until you want to beg him for mercy. But, you do not want to let him win.

The Winner?

You destroy the tape when you return home, and practice deep breathing to cope. The terror is over. You were the last person in your family to experience his wrath. 

However, you forget to warn your neighbors who have children. The next day, you hear screaming from across the street, and that laughter that sounds like sick.

From a distance, the words: “Hi, there. Face, here,” are spoken. You know that odious sound too well. If you intervene, he will target you again.

It’s too risky. All you can do is hope your neighbor knows how to destroy him. 

Two days later, you find her TV, remote, and Amazon Fire TV Stick on the sidewalk. There are two large buckets of concrete in the grass. While she is at work, you drown Face in the cement mixture, vindicating your neighbor and her children, now tethered to you in trauma. 

He has finally been defeated. He cannot be resurrected again. His reign has ceased, and you do not ask to take credit for the end.