What Was That?

When I was in elementary school, I think it was fifth grade, but it could have been sixth, I attended a sleep-over birthday party.  I don't remember a lot about the party except we ate a lot of pizza, my friend had orange shag carpet in her dark basement and we watched a rated R Stephen King horror movie, Silver Bullet.

Now, if this gives you justification in not allowing sleep-overs for your kids, so be it, but that is not the point of this post.  What I learned that night and what I have adhered to since that day is that scary things and I should not mix.

Oh, Nelly, did I have nightmares!  A few nights after the party, I remember being so frightened on my top bunk that I was sure the moment I got out of bed to seek refuge in my parent's room upstairs, some murderer would appear and that would be that.  I did work up the nerve to get out of bed, and with my heart racing and feet touching the carpet like it was a bed of hot coals, I raced up the stairs and confessed all to my parents.

I have never, in the twenty plus years that have followed, watched a scary movie.  Spy thrillers, yes, but not the random violent/someone is hiding in your car wearing a mask kind.  I don't do haunted houses.  Ever.  I don't even read scary books.  Again...mysteries, yes, but not this-serial-killer-is-going-to-get-me plots.  Even the rides at theme parks where you ride in the dark and things jump out at you take quite a lot of convincing for me to ride (what's the point????)

I guess some people like being scared but I am not one of them.  It goes against all logic to spend so much time, money and energy to ensure our safety (alarms, locking doors, seatbelts, etc.) and to then go pay good money for someone to scare you on purpose.  No, Stephen King and his werewolf movie took all the fun out of being afraid for me and the result of watching his movie at an impressionable age is my ardent avoidance of all things scary.  Perhaps it was a good lesson for me to learn at ten or eleven years of age.  If that gives you justification in allowing sleep-overs, so be it.  But that is still not the point of this post.

Which leads me to my point: contrary to how I have painted myself, I am actually very rarely scared.   It happens occasionally.  Jay has snuck up on me a few times, made me scream, been hit from my rush of adrenaline, watched me cry when all those hormones need to get out and then sincerely apologized because he realized that scaring his wife on purpose is mean.  But, mostly, I am a confident, not afraid of the dark, not afraid to be alone kind of girl.

Something jangled my nerves this morning, however.  I was in Jay's office on the computer and I heard a door close followed by a few footsteps.  The sound lasted for only a second and then it stopped.  I called out, "Hello? Is someone there?" because...well...I suppose I thought someone was inside.  A delivery man (I do have a few things being shipped), a friend, a family member.  It has happened before where I have come home to discover that someone has been inside and dropped something off so that was my first train of thought.

When no one answered, my heart started uncomfortably racing.  I know I heard something so from the doorway of Jay's office, I cautiously stepped out into the hallway, fully expecting the possibility that someone could jump from behind a wall and "get me."

Still...nothing.  So, I tip toed into the kitchen.  By this time, I reasoned that whatever I heard was not an intruder but I was still scared.  It really had sounded like footsteps so I went to the kitchen drawer and pulled out a big chef's knife.  Seeing as I have no ninja skills, I'm not sure what good it would have done, but it felt better having some sort of defense in my hands.

Nothing happened.  Obviously.  Maybe a bird flew into my window (although I am pretty sure I have that sound down) or maybe the wind blew some debris so that it sounded like footsteps.

Whatever it was, it has reminded me that I hate being scared.  So I sit here, ears on high alert, with a knife on top of the desk.   I suppose, just in case.