THE MAN IN THE MOON

The Man in the Moon is a fucking jagoff. There, I said it. I can't stand him. Always staring down, judging, smirking, questioning.

He's unbearable. And I'll never get away from him.

That's the hardest part for me to reckon with.

When I was a little kid, he'd stare at me through my bedroom window. He'd cast terrifying shadows on the wall, making sleep almost impossible. I used to pray for cloudy nights. To me, there just wasn't enough air pollution to block his stares.

When I reached the age of bodily self-exploration, of course - there he was. Staring through my window at my every move. Watching. Judging. My parents kept making me take down the old newspapers and tin foil I taped to the window to block him out. They thought I was nuts. They took me to a doctor. At first the specialist diagnosed me with scopophobia, an irrational fear of being watched. Further visits narrowed it down to a diagnosis of selenophobia; an irrational fear of the moon.

In my mind, there was nothing irrational about it. The Man in the Moon, judgmental bastard he is, was watching me - night after night. Some nights, he'd use the wind to laugh at me. I'd hear the howls of laughter through the shaking of tree limbs - it was enough to mortify me. 

One night, a pretty girl from a different school took a shine to me. Groups of us kids all descended on the local burger joint after high school football games. That's where we met. Her attention made me tingle! She asked me to walk her home. When we stepped outside, I couldn't help but notice the oversized Harvest moon. 

She took me by the hand, exclaiming how romantic the night sky looked. I tried to smile and nodded in agreement. What she possibly mistook for shy, teenage nerves was actually something else.

I knew he was watching. 

That oversized yellow face, peering down on us, was judging - as usual.

She suggested a shortcut through the cemetery. There was a little path behind the shopping center. Once beneath the dark canopy of trees, making our way along the lanes in the graveyard, she put her arm around me and pulled me closer. She joked that I had to keep her safe. Even in the cool night air, I could smell her perfume. It was a sweet and powdery scent. Our conversation became about as amorous as two young, inexperienced teens could muster. We stopped at the little stone bridge and fell into a clawing embrace.

This led to the sort of kissing and fumbling young boys dream about. The whole time, I was keenly aware we were being watched from above. 

A small animal rustled in a bush, no doubt on a dare from the Man in the Moon. He would do anything to ruin my night. The young girl was startled and held me tighter, laughing at the situation. If only she knew. 

As we made our way past the tombstones and monuments, we walked with arms around each other. I couldn't help but think this could turn into something - if only HE would leave us alone.

He didn't.

She noted how romantic it was that the moon was lighting our path. Again, I managed the sort of smile meant to imply agreement, but against my better judgement. In all honesty, I would've followed her to hell and back. That's what parts of the walk felt like.

We eventually made it to her front porch. She gave me a goodnight kiss and thanked me for walking her home. She asked me to call her. Of course, I said I would.

Now it was time to face the walk back through the cemetery, under the accusatory gaze of the lunar bully. 

The Man in the Moon occasionally dipped behind a cloud, just long enough to make me question my footing. He was doing his best to make a fool of me. I finally stopped and screamed up at him.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?????"

The Man in the Moon kept his silence. He just continued to gaze down. I could hear the stream near the path exiting towards the shopping plaza. It sounded like sniggers of mockery. The moon controls the tide - everyone knows that. What most don't know is it can, at will, cause brooks to babble. The message that night was clear.

"You're a loser."

By the time I made it home, I was almost in tears. Angry tears. My hands were shaking. The Man in the Moon followed me every step of the way; accusing, berating, cajoling, glaring. 

I stepped into the house, and ran past my mother, up the stairs to my room. I closed the blinds and the curtains, but still faint moonbeams made their way into the gloom.

I flipped on my little radio and caught the last bit of an old Roy Lee Johnson tune. Would I ever be free of The Man in the Moon?

The weather report gave little relief. A clear forecast for the rest of the weekend. I wondered if Indian rain dances really worked. I'd happily flood the town if it meant I could get away from The Man in the Moon's stares.

At breakfast I thought I heard my mother say, "Don't you dare look him in the eye." For a moment, I thought she was imparting some rare wisdom about that dull-faced lunar loonie.

What she actually said was that she was planning to make a pie later. He was starting to invade my daytime thoughts. This couldn't be good.

Smoking weed didn't stop The Man in the Moon from staring at me, but I cared less about it...for a while. I even slept OK. The shadows dancing on my bedroom wall started to look like just that - shadows.

The weed turned into an expense I couldn't afford. I had to stop. But at what cost? 

One night I sat on the front stoop, looking at the horizon, over the hill. The sky was red from steel being poured at the mill across the river. It made the Man in the Moon look angry as hell. As usual, he stared at me. Blaming me for everything that had ever gone wrong under his watch. 

"Fuck him", I thought, like it would do any good. The colder weather was coming, and along with it, cloudier skies. At least I might finally get a respite from his gaze.

No one expected a dry snow drought. The local weather guy on TV said this was caused when a "persistent high-pressure system parks over a region and forces stable air that blocks incoming storms and eliminates cloud cover". He acted like this was some kind of good thing. I knew what it really meant.

The Man in the Moon wasn't done with me by a long shot.

It was a couple of days before Christmas. The house was decorated and the tree was up. Mom seemed out of sorts. Dad was home for some reason. I hadn't been sleeping well, so I really hadn't been very engaged in anything going on in the house. 

The doorbell rang. Dad answered it. It was my specialist. He had two guys with him, in white uniforms. They were pretty big too. I could hear my mother trying not to cry while the doctor explained that I needed to come with him. He and dad kept saying it was for my own good. 

My new room doesn't have windows. It doesn't really have much in it. I'm starting to like not having a window. No shadows coming in. The Man in the Moon can't see me in here. I have to take medicine right after dinner. I'm usually asleep before long. 

I woke up early...in the middle of the night. I could hear the radio from the nurse's station. Creedence. I recognized the song. "there's a bad moon on the rise"

Not in here it's not. 

copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger