I’m a fan of horror movies.
A big fan.
My quest, each year, is to find the scariest movie of the year.
I love to get goosebumps and be so scared I feel the need to hide my eyes or grab on to Real Man’s arm or let out a shriek.
I love being scared.
I always have loved being scared, and I’ve also always loved scaring others.
When I was a kid, my friends and I would sit in my closet with a Oujia board and try to scare the bejesus out of each other.
I watched Poltergeist again and again and again, despite the fact that every time I watched, it further solidified my eternal fear of clowns and dolls.
In college, one night, after watching “It,” my roommate, DeeDee, snuck into the bathroom, where I was showering (in the large communal shower…don’t ask…it was not the best way to make freshman feel comfortable), turned off the lights, and started throwing things at me in the dark, ala the “It” shower scene.
I was terrified, but still, had a good laugh, because I enjoy being terrified.
Cuz I’m weird like that.
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There have been other things that have happened that are more real, which makes them even stranger, in my life.
When I was 13, I was sound asleep in my bed, one night.
I wasn’t in the throes of a nightmare or anything like that, but I woke up, sat straight up in bed and began to sob like my heart was broken.
I honestly had never cried like that and couldn’t get control of myself.
About 30 seconds later, the phone rang.
It was my Grandfather calling from Ohio to tell us that my Grandmother, my best friend, my favorite person in the world, had passed away.
Every now and then, I’ll catch a whiff of my other Grandmother’s perfume in the air.
Except, I’m usually home when it happens and there’s no perfume in my house.
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So, I have a history with the strange and I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly.
Going back to movies, the things that have always scared me the most are the things that could really happen (dolls coming to life and scary clowns aside) and things that build up with a slow burn and leave you in suspense.
Gore isn’t scary to me.
It’s just gross.
But, build up that tension, or show me a scenario that could actually happen?
I’m in.
The original “Halloween?”
Suspenseful like crazy.
“The Strangers?”
There are crazy people out there, folks, and I believe that there are some who would absolutely do those things.
“The Ring?”
Would never happen, but the slow movements, the camera shots, the slow burn as you are figuring it all out, and that girl making her slow, jerky way out of that tv?
Probably the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.
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However, this post isn’t about scary movies.
It’s about scary life.
Or, at least, strange life.
Real Man and I moved into our current house in the summer of 2011.
The monkeys were 10, 7, 5, and brand spanking new, and we were thrilled with our new space.
I’ve written before about the phantom cat that would rub up against our legs while we would be standing at the sink or at the changing table, whose scent we could sniff out in the air, every now and then.
Creepy.
Over the years, on my blog’s Facebook page, I’ve written about how Tiny has mentioned seeing people in his room that weren’t there, but those incidents were few and far between, and although they gave us the heebie-jeebies, they were quickly forgotten.
Until recently.
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A few weeks ago, as we were getting ready for work and getting the kids ready for school, Real Man pulled me aside and said, “So, something really weird happened last night.”
“What? Did I not steal the covers and you didn’t know what to do with all that warmth?” I replied.
“Ha, ha…no,” he said. “I woke up in the middle of the night because I could hear water running. I went down the hall, and the faucet in the bathroom was on, full blast.”
“Maybe one of the kids got up?” I asked, hopefully, because a few nights before, Baby Monkey had gotten up to wash his hands in the night (who does that?) but, apparently, this night, it wasn’t him.
“No. I went into their rooms to check and they were all completely out.”
“Weird.”
A few nights later, I was in the kitchen with Tiny, making dinner.
We were doing our usual dinner-making dance party thing, and having a great time, when Tiny suddenly stopped.
“Mama, who is that man?”
I stopped dancing.
“What man?”
Tiny pointed to the laundry room, which was empty, and said “That man.”
I walked slowly to the laundry room and peered out the window, thinking maybe he saw a neighbor in their backyard, but there was no one outside.
Or inside.
“Baby, there is no one here.”
Tiny pointed again and said, “Yes he IS! He’s right there!”
I jumped out of the laundry room, back into the kitchen, and said “I’m sorry, sweetie, I have no idea who he is.”
Tiny kept looking, gave a sweet smile and then said, “Okay, he’s going now.”
I closed the laundry room door and finished preparing dinner faster than I have ever cooked in my life, and all through the meal, sat feeling the hairs on the back of my neck up, because my chair has it’s back to the laundry room door.
The faucet could have been explained by a child getting up.
The man in the laundry room could have been explained by the active imagination of a four year old.
I could have forgotten it all.
Except, a few mornings later, Real Man was getting ready for work, and I was still in bed, sleeping, as I wasn’t working that day.
The kids were all downstairs, eating breakfast, and we were the only people upstairs.
We have all hardwood floors and no carpets, and the floors on the second floor creak and groan mercilessly when anyone, even Tiny walks on them.
There is no sneaking up on anyone in our house.
Well, if you are a human, that is.
So, our bedroom door was closed, and Real Man was bending over, putting on his shoes, and suddenly, a lone, unpopped popcorn kernel rolled under the door and across the room.
He immediately flung open the door, but, surprise, there was no one there.
He went downstairs and they were all still eating their breakfast in the kitchen.
Nothing amiss in their little worlds.
——-
So, what does this mean?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that it’s freaky, but it’s okay.
My whole life has been full of these strange occurrences, and I’m fine with it.
None of it ever hurt me or anyone I loved, so I’m good with whatever is going on.
Maybe it’s all coincidence, and that’s fine, too.
But, I’m happy letting my imagination run wild and envisioning all the things that it could be.
Until it happens again.
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