The old adage about things going bump in the night is so true. My imagination is full of things that go bump in the night. Especially in a dark house, along a lonely road, with a big backyard filled with trees, shrubs and other shadowy scary places bumpy things may be lurking.
There is the classic bumpy noise – the strange noise from the living room. It’s a creaking nondescript noise. It doesn’t belong with the normal creaks in the house, the groaning settling noises the house makes that you’re used to. No, this is abrupt, sudden, and all is quiet again. It’s loud enough to wake you from a sound sleep and a perfect lovely dream involving some hot as heck movie star and a deserted beach. But it’s too late – something bumped and now you’re up, laying in bed, wondering if it’s really worth the effort to crawl out from between the nice warm covers and check it out.
Another bumpy noise that I hate is what I like to call “the voice.” Again, you’re sleeping – because bumpys only happen when you’re asleep and they wake you – and you hear someone talking or someone, usually a male voice, says something in your ear, or whispers gently from across the room. It’s not loud enough to be discernable, but the volume is sufficient to rouse you from your slumber. For me, when I hear “the voice” my breathing stops, my heart beats erratically in my chest. I try to listen almost to the point I invent noises to hear, to listen, to see if I really heard someone whisper my name. I’m dying to turn on the light, but terrified to move in case someone is in the room. Maybe it was just a dream, I try to rationalize. Good luck going back to sleep.
The bumpy noise that bothers me a little more than most is the one where I’m in the realm of half-sleep, half wake, and my eyes are open, and I see . . . something. A shadow where none should exist, a movement where there is no light, a breeze of air when the heat is off and the windows shut. Something brushes against your skin – ever so light not unlike a feather tickling the skin. Or, the covers rumple slightly and you didn’t move under them. I try not to think too much about these.
And of course there is always the outside bumps. The one that’s been getting me lately is the scratching noise against the side of my house, right under my bedroom window. It’s not the sound of footsteps, but more that of an animal rooting for foot, snuffling around against the clapboards. Of course, then there are the human bumps outside in the dark. The footsteps too close to the windows, the loud drunken laughter in the blackened backyard, the sound of the outside closet door opening and shutting as someone walks around on your deck.
Yeah, I’m really tired of the bumps in the night. Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep anymore; I’ll do without if it keeps the bumps away. Or I lubricate my senses with healthy doses of alcohol to dissipate the ability to feel and hear and see the bumps. Also, lots of lights and loud music tend to chase away the strangeness in the night. If only it could be day all the time. I’m never gonna sleep tonight now. I would be better off not thinking of such things before I fall asleep.
There is the classic bumpy noise – the strange noise from the living room. It’s a creaking nondescript noise. It doesn’t belong with the normal creaks in the house, the groaning settling noises the house makes that you’re used to. No, this is abrupt, sudden, and all is quiet again. It’s loud enough to wake you from a sound sleep and a perfect lovely dream involving some hot as heck movie star and a deserted beach. But it’s too late – something bumped and now you’re up, laying in bed, wondering if it’s really worth the effort to crawl out from between the nice warm covers and check it out.
Another bumpy noise that I hate is what I like to call “the voice.” Again, you’re sleeping – because bumpys only happen when you’re asleep and they wake you – and you hear someone talking or someone, usually a male voice, says something in your ear, or whispers gently from across the room. It’s not loud enough to be discernable, but the volume is sufficient to rouse you from your slumber. For me, when I hear “the voice” my breathing stops, my heart beats erratically in my chest. I try to listen almost to the point I invent noises to hear, to listen, to see if I really heard someone whisper my name. I’m dying to turn on the light, but terrified to move in case someone is in the room. Maybe it was just a dream, I try to rationalize. Good luck going back to sleep.
The bumpy noise that bothers me a little more than most is the one where I’m in the realm of half-sleep, half wake, and my eyes are open, and I see . . . something. A shadow where none should exist, a movement where there is no light, a breeze of air when the heat is off and the windows shut. Something brushes against your skin – ever so light not unlike a feather tickling the skin. Or, the covers rumple slightly and you didn’t move under them. I try not to think too much about these.
And of course there is always the outside bumps. The one that’s been getting me lately is the scratching noise against the side of my house, right under my bedroom window. It’s not the sound of footsteps, but more that of an animal rooting for foot, snuffling around against the clapboards. Of course, then there are the human bumps outside in the dark. The footsteps too close to the windows, the loud drunken laughter in the blackened backyard, the sound of the outside closet door opening and shutting as someone walks around on your deck.
Yeah, I’m really tired of the bumps in the night. Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep anymore; I’ll do without if it keeps the bumps away. Or I lubricate my senses with healthy doses of alcohol to dissipate the ability to feel and hear and see the bumps. Also, lots of lights and loud music tend to chase away the strangeness in the night. If only it could be day all the time. I’m never gonna sleep tonight now. I would be better off not thinking of such things before I fall asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment