I’m a wuss. How I’m going to quell the fear of monsters in closets and under beds is beyond me. Those things still scare the crap out of me in the right circumstances, after all.
OK, so maybe I’m not afraid of monsters anymore. I can’t even say I’ve ever been afraid of monsters. I have been and still am afraid of people creeping up in my house, on a mission to steal things and kill any people (me) who get in their way.
Issues. I haz dem.
You know how kids are afraid of monsters or alligators that live under beds, and they leap from doorway to bed to avoid the reach of such ankle-grabbing beings? Yeah, I lept from the door to avoid the person under there, wielding a knife and waiting to slash my ankles.
So why am I telling you about this nonsense? It all started in the shower last night.
I was showering, minding my own business and thinking about how I’d tweet to the world that I valiantly gave up 15 minutes of sleep in favor of getting rid of my Baby Jail stank. (You draft blog entries and tweets during your mindless tasks, too. Admit it. OK, maybe it’s just me because it’s often my only connection with anyone outside this house.)
I was washing my face, eyes closed and covered when I realized things seemed darker than they should. I peeped between fingers, hoping I was wrong, but yep – the light wasn’t on anymore. Our bathroom lights turn off for some reason, but I couldn’t remember if it was temperature or time. I hadn’t been in the shower long, and surely it hadn’t gotten that hot in there yet.
Holy crap.
There’s a killer waiting outside the shower door. Or in the tub. Or crouched just around the corner. The door into the bathroom was cracked, so they watched and waited for me to close my eyes and sneak in.
If I had been wearing pants, I would have peed them.
I froze and waited, wondering what Rob – who was in the garage – would do if I screamed, if I even had time to scream. Would he run to the babies first? Would he come save me, too?
(You should know I was born and raised in Ohio, so I think as quickly as I talk – these shenanigans lasted a whole 90 seconds, if that.)
A glimmer of reason flashed in my brain, and I took a huge risk, cracking open the shower door just enough for me to reach my arm around and turn on the light over the shower (the light that had been on before was over the tub).
Back in light, I froze again because, you know, the serial killer wouldn’t notice that someone turned on the light over the shower.
I’m rolling my eyes with you, I promise.
I rubbed a clear spot in the fogged-up door and desperately tried to see into the tub using the mirror on the opposite wall. I didn’t see anyone there, but they could be crouched down. My angle wasn’t any good, after all. Then another spark of sense flashed in my brain and I realized I should have just looked at the light switch. Switched on means it was just the light. Switched off means my paranoia is finally more than just that.
Switched on.
Huh.
Come to think of it, the light was on already when I came into the bathroom. Time or bulb temperature could have made it shut off.
Finally reconciled with the fact that no one was lurking in the shadows waiting to kill me, I finished showering in (jumpy) peace.
Normal adults probably wouldn’t share such wussy antics with anyone. Me? I toweled off and dressed and immediately went to tell Rob and his friend out in the garage and am now telling you.
Why? I think it’s hilarious. I think it’s ridiculously funny that, after all these years, the little girl who could so vividly picture thieves creeping through the flower beds under her window to come in, steal things (like Barbies?) and then kill her before running off – that little girl’s imagination is still active and paranoid of such atrocities. Any little bump in the night causes me to freeze and quiet my breathing (the logical defense, I know), convinced I’m about to meet my demise.
Was it fairy tales? SNICK? Scary Stories books? The local news? What inspired such wild fear in me, an only child in a town that honestly required no door locks because nothing bad ever happened there? Or is it just a wild and active imagination?
Whatever sparked the fear, it still burns on, waiting for a creak, a bump, a switched-off light, a stupid cat stuck in a stupid pantry.
As long as I can laugh about it later, I’m OK with the fear. It makes for good stories, at least!
Dude, I can’t sleep with my foot hanging off the bed… you’re not alone.
I blame all my scaredy-cat moments on that show Unsolved Mysteries. That show scared the crap out of me and sometimes I’m still convinced that the uncaptured killer is still out there just looking for me.
I definitely left a sleepover in the middle of the night because we had watched the Bigfoot episode before going to bed, and we were sleeping on the floor of their living room, looking out a sliding glass door into their big, wooded backyard.
o_0
Exactly! For me it was watching too many episodes of Unsolved Mysteries when I was a kid. I am normally alright, but if my husband has to work a night shift I am super paranoid. I think that show messed me up for life!
Oh…and America’s Most Wanted too! My parents have a lot to answer for regarding the shows that I watched.
I won’t make fun of you because I’m the same way. I breathed a huge sigh of relief the day my husband relented and let me call Brinks and have our pre-wired security system turned on. I still check the monitor at every house creek and snap swearing that someone or some THING (like aliens) are going to steal my babies and murder me. We can share a room in the psych ward, ok? haha
See, when you got to the part about wondering if Rob would hear you scream, or run to the babies first, or save you at all I’m thinking “Pssh. Girl, Rob’s already dead! Those robbers came in through the garage and used the drill on him FIRST.” Which I swear does not make me scary it makes me just as big a scaredy cat as you are.
See, this? I see this as a logical response to my assumption. But I was sure they had come in some *other* way, leaving me with someone to hear me scream.
Oof.
I was always terrified of dropping my stuffed animals on the floor, because the floor monsters would get them. Monsters are for real! Gotta take monsters seriously!
Also, my mom (age 58) still jumps into bed a little to get over the alligator.
this is why we are friends.
I am also convinced there are people out there ready to slice my ankles…especially in parking lots. I always check under my car before I get in it. I bet a few years ago I got one of those stupid email forwards about it and now I’m just paranoid.
I still do the same things. Completely irrational? yes. It’s even worse now that I have a child. I take warp speed showers if i’m home alone with her…just in case.
I’m totally the same. Here I sit with my 25 years of life and I’m scared like HELL when I have to go pee during the night because there will surely be a killer in my hallway just waiting for me…
I just have to say that I LOVE that you gave SNICK a shout out!
I blame my brother for making me watch ‘Tales from the crypt’ growing up. Yes, I still jump from the door to the bed, I have to sleep as close to middle as possible, and ask my husband “what was that?!?!” at least twice a week!!! Pathetic, I agree!
I hate the nights D closes because it means I have to shower with alone in the house – I’m so paranoid someone is going to sneak in and get me. And I’m on guard if I have to take the dog out after dark when there’s no one else here. All the Fear Street books I read and my marathon horror movie watching while growing up messed with me.
jenny.
you are not alone; i scare myself silly all the time with those serial killer moments, haha!
Shew glad to hear I’m not the only one. I still can’t watch america’s most wanted.
I’d have thought the same things. Oh & I definitely draft tweets & posts in my head throughout the day.
I have totally have those moments. Usually they come when I’m walking outside, especially at night. My keys are always in between my fingers like some kind of suburban brass knuckles.
My mom grew up kind of rough and definitely conditioned me to be really aware of my surroundings. Plus, I LOVE horror movies but I’m pretty sure they’ve made me kind of paranoid.
Dude, I totally do this. I blame my parents for making me watch Rescue 911 and Unsolved Mysteries before bed. I had nightmares for a week the first time I watched I Know What You Did Last Summer when I was 20. I freak out All. The. Time. But sometimes my paranoia is helpful, I did avoid getting kidnapped in France once and have seen several pickpocketers in action.
we are so the same person.
I’m the same way. I blame having a police detective for a father. Who wouldn’t be paranoid listening to his stories!?!
I’m right there with you on this one, as a fellow only child midwesterner, hailing from a similar safe zone. I’m certain, that in my case, anyway, it’s the overactive imagination . . . it has to be, right? Or, well . . . maybe the rest of you all are right too . . . Unsolved Mysteries – that narrator guy kept me up at night for sure! Now that I think about it, maybe there really is a serial killer hiding in the shower – it happens, eh?