Have you ever worked yourself up into hysterics? For no apparent reason? With fullblown dedication? I have. Just last night, actually. Reading scary stories before bed? Turns out you’re never old enough for that.
So I slept with all windows and doors closed (as usual). And the lights on. Like a baby.
I forced myself out of bed in a sprint to the lightbutton even, and turned around and literally dove back into bed. High paced breathing, heart racing. Ears perked for every scary sound that indicated someone being in the house (there were a lot of ’em on this windy night). Hands clutching blanky for dear life. Trying desperately to keep all hands and feet ungrabbeably hid under it while avoiding turning around and looking at the dark window that would definitely have the reflection of an axe murderer just waiting there. And again. For no apparent reason.
Fact is – I made it to 31 without being dragged under the bed or out of a window or into a closet by one of these nighttime killers. Which either makes them horrible at monstering and thus a lot less scary. Or insanely good planners with a solid kill-approach for the future – in which case I’m fucked anyway and needn’t worry myself.
But once adrenaline gets pumping and your body and survival instinct kick in – you lose control of your senses and ‘the fear‘ just washes over you – regardless of all the smart, sensible grownup things you tell yourself. Right? That’s how that works right? When imagination takes over….the monstery presence still becomes a realistic enough scenario if you practice hard enough. And practice I did.
I remember all the times when I’d be home alone in a too big house. When an open door to the dark area that was always under construction at the top of the second floor stairs would get me too scared to get to my room right across from it.
Convincing myself I’d be snatched by something terrible as soon as I reached the last step (only to end up sprinting upstairs, pulling that door (to an empty room) closed and bounding into my bedroom unharmed). It didn’t help that there were actual bats in the nook of that way too huge and dark attic room that never got finished.
Fear was such a big part of life then. And I always kinda wondered if I was just an anxious kid or whether that’s normal childish behavior.
I remember all the times babysitting my little sister, watching movies, where we’d end up in a blind panic when she’d suddenly be convinced she saw someone in the backyard in the dark. Yelling on how she saw his silhouette in one of the many many windows. On how the curtain definitely moved. And she’d get into my head too. Riling eachother up. Full-blown scared little kids. Purely out of insane imagination.
Can you imagine how that would immediately knot your stomach? Make your heart fly to your throat while it pounds and pounds the blood around at high speed? How the fact that three of the backdoors being wide open (we had a strange flooring plan) had to mean a breathless sprint there – with the certainty of possibly getting murdered by a backyard stranger – as the brave big sister. How you’d bang the door closed, lock it and then backed away from the glass as if a sweaty palm could be slammed into it, followed by a horrid face, at any second like in all those movies?
Because looking back…there were never any strangers in the backyard (that were out to murder us, at least) – and it always felt like we’d conquered something when we’d make it to morning.
This morning – however – I mostly woke to the realisation that I made it to sunrise as a grown-ass woman who can still lose it to her imagination.
Because after that initial hour of terror and self-inflicted scaredness… I somehow fell asleep and slept like a baby all through the night. Without any monsters. Except the ones in my head.
Ps. I mostly wrote this to see if it would induce that similar feeling of uneasiness and terror in you folk, just through the power of suggestion. Cause then I’d be less crazy for having that happen to me last night.