Last night (or early in the morning I should say), right around 3am, I got up to use the bathroom. Getting in is easy. Getting out, however, has always been a trial.
My routine is same anytime I need to get up in the middle of the night. I finish using the bathroom, flush, wash, wait. I wait until it is quiet again. Then, with the light still on, I poke my head out of the doorway. I look left down the abyss that is our hallway. I look right, out into the vast void of the living room. Once I have made sure that there are no extra shadows lurking around, I start to creep out of the bathroom with my finger still attached to the light switch. I will get as far from the bathroom as possible, stretching my arm out until there’s no stretch left. Then, I flick the light off. Now, you know how dark it becomes all of the sudden once you’ve quickly switched off the lights. Plunged into darkness, I blindly feel my way to the bedroom as fast as possible. I usually step on a rogue matchbox car in the process, trying my damnedest to not make a sound. Once I have reached the bed mostly safely, I jump in and pull the covers up and snuggle up to my protective husband, who ever so kindly snuggles me back.
This is my nightly routine should I have to get up. I am 31 years old as I write this. And I have my parents to thank for this little odd behavior of mine.
Thanks for screwing me up mom and dad.
I can feel you rolling your eyes now. But before you get up on your high parenting horse, hear me out first. Getting creeped out by the darkness does not bother me. As a matter of fact, it’s exhilarating. I truly enjoy being creeped out which is, again, thanks to Mom and Dad.
You see, my parent began warping my little mind at a young age. Mom would tell us stories of the various monsters that lived throughout the household. The toilet monster would wait for you to flush before chasing you to your room. The bed monster hid under your bed waiting for a foot or hand to hang out so it could tickle you. Also, the bed monster was the reason for bed head. The closet monster hid in the darkest corners of your closet and would steal toys at night. And finally, there was the tree monster that would rustle the leaves at night while watching you from high on its perch.
One night, around a campfire, my mom was telling us a story about the tree monster. We then noticed my dad was missing. So we go to look for him and hear him yelling from a tree in the front yard. Only his legs were dangling down from the tree as he yelled about the monster having him. He had pulled himself into the tree to scare us kids. We all had a good laugh at that one.
Every friday night, we would hang out as a family (there were 5 of us) and watch The X Files. I can remember watching Tales From the Crypt at an age that was probably still a little too tender. My parents bought us Goosebumps, and when that wasn’t enough, we got Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (if you’ve ever seen those books you know how creepy those illustrations are). Then I moved on to books like The Doom Stone, and The Bad Girl. Eventually Mom let me borrow her Stephen King books and I couldn’t get enough.
I have some great memories of lazy mornings watching The Twilight Zone and Tales From the Darkside. While other kids were watching Dawson’s Creek, I was watching Freddy Krueger movies. Other girls were reading The Babysitters Club while I read about terrible monsters.
My parents warped me from an early age and nurtured the weirdness in me. Nowadays, people would probably question their parenting style. And sometimes, I Wonder how I managed to become a functional adult (although that can be argued some days).
The thing is, however, that strange way my parents raised me has made me who I am. I may be a little afraid of the dark still (I watch a lot of horror movies to this day), but my imagination is going strong! Yeah, I picture a crazy ass monster chasing me every time I go to the bathroom at night! I’m unique. The twisted stuff doesn’t bother me. I love everything horror so much that I even started this blog, which I also love. I am also thankful for my husband who loves me and embraces the weirdness.
People like me keep the horror writers writing.
We have all created a huge following for the horror genre. The fans are loyal and the authors and stars are good to their fans! Horror fans are interesting people, to say the least, but they are awesome. I truly enjoy being a part of it all.
My parents warped me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love watching good or dumb horror movies with my mom. It’s our thing. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you Mom and Dad for giving me one hell of a childhood, which has blossomed into one hell of an adulthood. And you best believe my awesome husband and I are raising our kids the same way.
Sorry kids; you will understand one day…