I Am Afraid of the Dark
When I was a kid, they had this TV show on Nickelodeon, called "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" where they'd basically show a film version of the book "Scary Stories." As a kid who could barely handle "Scary Stories," "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" was waaaay out of my league. I never once watched the show. In fact, even when I was old enough to stay home alone, I would not even like watching previews of the show. If I flipped through the channels, I would go really fast because I didn't even want to catch a scary image.
I'm a freak, I know. You know those ADT home security commercials? Scared the shit out of me. Even hearing the voice or theme song for "Unsolved Mysteries" gives me the chills. When I used to read those Scary Story books, a few always creeped me out: first, the one about the babysitter who was watching these kids when this psychopath was calling from the upstairs bedroom. The second was about this couple who went to this inn, then went back the next day and saw nothing, and some random farmer was like, "Oh, those people? They died in a fire years ago." That always got me.
I also had an insane fear of witches when I was younger. I basically thought they were real. The Wizard of Oz witch? Scared shitless. My parents would get pretty annoyed with my fear, because I believed the witches could only get me if I was the person on the lowest floor of the house. So, somebody had to be on a level lower than I was, otherwise, I wouldn't like to stay downstairs by myself. I think once or twice my parents punished me by making me stay downstairs, or they were trying to get me out of my insane fear. I don't remember whether it worked, but I can report that I can now stay on any level of my house without fear. (But still, the image of a witch - specifically the Wizard of Oz one, a pointy noise and big black pointy hat - isn't something I enjoy. I get a bit creeped.)
I watched "The Ring" from under my coat in the movie theater. It was the first movie I seriously considered leaving, and just waiting in the lobby for my friends. I didn't even watch enough of the movie to tell you what the whole tape was about in the first place. Just seeing that grainy image - the blueish lighting - was enough for me to throw the coat over my head. Even in the movie theaters later, when the trailer came out for the sequel, I covered my eyes and my ears. Just the sound of the scissors put me over.
I can't watch any scary movies between early May and late August, because there are times between then when I'm on my floor by myself and I get creeped out easily enough without adding any possible "remember that scene from..." ideas. Still, the scariest scenes are vivid sometimes when I really wish they weren't. Take "The Shining" for example. My dad once asked me if I ever thought of the ghost twin girls, while I was on my floor by myself. "The empty building must remind you of 'The Shining,' " he'd said.
Uhh, not till right then, thanks.
Now, if I get a little creeped out, what comes to mind first? A tricycle, speeding down the hallway into little girl ghosts. This is comforting.
Anyway, there's a point to all of this, besides me apparently being a total scaredy-cat freak. (And I've embraced that, by the way. I don't force myself to watch scary movies. I used to. One summer, I rented "Scream" and was terrified to babysit the next night at a house in the woods. Good god. The problem is, any slightly scary or creepy scene in a movie gets me, and so I don't like to watch any of that stuff, even to this day, if I'm home alone or going to be alone any time soon - thus my May-August rule.)
So the point. Last summer, my dad rented this house on the Cape in Truro. My dad knows that I get freaked out about scary stuff, so he told me about this book that the family who owned the cottage kept. Apparently, since the cottage was pretty old, there had been some strange things going on. Now, my father never has believed in ghosts, or anything like that, so he just makes fun of me being creeped out by these things. To him, it was all fun.
So I went to the house with a couple of friends, while my dad, brother, and Aunt Beverly were there. The first night, it was just me and my friend Amanda and Beverly on the second floor of the house. In the morning, very, very early, I wake up to hearing these bells, like very soft music playing. So later that morning, when everyone's up, I ask my aunt what music she was playing. See, the thing is, my aunt is kind of a weirdo who gets up wicked early to do yoga and she listens to that serenity music stuff, so I figured I'd just heard her.
Nope. She didn't play any music. Even more shocking, she hadn't even done any yoga that morning.
So I'm freaked out. I think I've basically been haunted and all, and I'm done. That day, two other friends showed up: my friends Dan and Stef. Because of the room situation, it looks like I'm going to be sleeping on the couch in the downstairs area, by myself, with everyone else in a room off the main room that I'll be sleeping in.
And you know what, this wasn't going to happen. Nope. Not after hearing that creepy music and reading that creepy ghost book and being in this older-than-God house. Do you think ANYBODY let me live this down? Of course not. My friend Stef agreed to sleep in the room withme, thus saving my sanity and life, but my dignity was lost in that weekend. My dad made fun of me. My brother made fun of me. My aunt even made fun of me (an all-time low).
But you know what? I felt better.
Fast forward to last Saturday night. My dad rented the same house this summer, only I can't go, and my brother and sister can't either. So my dad arranged to have some friends stay with him, but he's there a few times during the week alone. So I was talking to him about this at dinner on Saturday night, and he was acting like this was horrible that he was going to be there alone. I didn't really get why, because my dad usually likes to have his own peace and quiet every once in a while, and if you ask my dad, life doesn't get better than an empty beach and a good book. Then he comes out with it.
Apparently, when he was there in October, his girlfriend heard the same chimes/music I heard. Only this time? He didn't make fun of her. I'm not going ot get into how unfair that is, but whatever. Suddenly, I realize: my father is a scaredy-cat.
You know, once, when I was on a plane with both of my parents, we were experiencing some pretty bad turbulence. My mother is a known and self-admitted horrible flyer, so I took one look at her panicked expression and realized I wasn't going to get any comfort there. I was in fifth grade or something, so I grabbed my dad's hand. My hand practically slipped right off, the thing was so sweaty. Forget this guy being the strong one. I ended up being the best flyer out of all of them.
So anyway, I'm thinking this is where my scaredy-cat streak comes from. My father will probably kill me for writing this. I'm half-considering going back, but you know what, no. Last summer, everyone in that room in that house made me feel like a complete moron for being the least bit scared. "You don't actually believe that stuff?" I believe was my father's exact quote. My friends? "Dude, get a grip." Stef just smiled, said I was a little on the out-there side, but ultimately said that she'd stay with me. And come to think of it, I didn't see Dan offering to switch locations, and I didn't see my aunt, who told me I was crazy (actually, that might have been the all-time low), saying she'd sleep downstairs. No. So forget being nice about any of this.
I think everyone's more scared than they'll let on. My father was hilarious on Saturday night. He wouldn't admit to being scared, he just admitted that he was slightly "creeped out" by a few things:
1. The chimes.
2. The fact that he'd talked to someone (I can't remember if it was a family member of the people who owned the house or what) who said, "I love the place, but I wouldn't sleep there alone."
3. The fact that the woman who owned the house with her husband, and who absolutely loved the place, died this past April. I think he's convinced that he's going to see her walking around the garden at midnight, her favorite place in the world or whatever. He's pretty much admitted that he's prepared to see this woman around next week (though, he says, she was real nice in real life, so he thinks if anything, she'd be of the Casper-ghost variety.)
In the end though, my dad wouldn't admit to anything. He was like, "I am not scared."
Riiiight. I told my dad that to make sure, I'd give him a call next week, while he's there alone, and ask him if he'd taken a walk around the garden, or whether he'd seen any freaky shadows or heard any wind chimes.
And then I realized: the same week my dad's going to be on the Cape is the week I'm going to be on a floor all by myself. So instead, I told my dad the following:
"You know, on second thought, that musicy chimey stuff? I think there actually were wind chimes in the sun room. So I think you're set."
I don't know how convincing I was, but my dad replied, "I'll take it."
As for me, do I believe this?
In one week, I'm going to be on a floor all by myself. So yes. Yes I do.
I'm a freak, I know. You know those ADT home security commercials? Scared the shit out of me. Even hearing the voice or theme song for "Unsolved Mysteries" gives me the chills. When I used to read those Scary Story books, a few always creeped me out: first, the one about the babysitter who was watching these kids when this psychopath was calling from the upstairs bedroom. The second was about this couple who went to this inn, then went back the next day and saw nothing, and some random farmer was like, "Oh, those people? They died in a fire years ago." That always got me.
I also had an insane fear of witches when I was younger. I basically thought they were real. The Wizard of Oz witch? Scared shitless. My parents would get pretty annoyed with my fear, because I believed the witches could only get me if I was the person on the lowest floor of the house. So, somebody had to be on a level lower than I was, otherwise, I wouldn't like to stay downstairs by myself. I think once or twice my parents punished me by making me stay downstairs, or they were trying to get me out of my insane fear. I don't remember whether it worked, but I can report that I can now stay on any level of my house without fear. (But still, the image of a witch - specifically the Wizard of Oz one, a pointy noise and big black pointy hat - isn't something I enjoy. I get a bit creeped.)
I watched "The Ring" from under my coat in the movie theater. It was the first movie I seriously considered leaving, and just waiting in the lobby for my friends. I didn't even watch enough of the movie to tell you what the whole tape was about in the first place. Just seeing that grainy image - the blueish lighting - was enough for me to throw the coat over my head. Even in the movie theaters later, when the trailer came out for the sequel, I covered my eyes and my ears. Just the sound of the scissors put me over.
I can't watch any scary movies between early May and late August, because there are times between then when I'm on my floor by myself and I get creeped out easily enough without adding any possible "remember that scene from..." ideas. Still, the scariest scenes are vivid sometimes when I really wish they weren't. Take "The Shining" for example. My dad once asked me if I ever thought of the ghost twin girls, while I was on my floor by myself. "The empty building must remind you of 'The Shining,' " he'd said.
Uhh, not till right then, thanks.
Now, if I get a little creeped out, what comes to mind first? A tricycle, speeding down the hallway into little girl ghosts. This is comforting.
Anyway, there's a point to all of this, besides me apparently being a total scaredy-cat freak. (And I've embraced that, by the way. I don't force myself to watch scary movies. I used to. One summer, I rented "Scream" and was terrified to babysit the next night at a house in the woods. Good god. The problem is, any slightly scary or creepy scene in a movie gets me, and so I don't like to watch any of that stuff, even to this day, if I'm home alone or going to be alone any time soon - thus my May-August rule.)
So the point. Last summer, my dad rented this house on the Cape in Truro. My dad knows that I get freaked out about scary stuff, so he told me about this book that the family who owned the cottage kept. Apparently, since the cottage was pretty old, there had been some strange things going on. Now, my father never has believed in ghosts, or anything like that, so he just makes fun of me being creeped out by these things. To him, it was all fun.
So I went to the house with a couple of friends, while my dad, brother, and Aunt Beverly were there. The first night, it was just me and my friend Amanda and Beverly on the second floor of the house. In the morning, very, very early, I wake up to hearing these bells, like very soft music playing. So later that morning, when everyone's up, I ask my aunt what music she was playing. See, the thing is, my aunt is kind of a weirdo who gets up wicked early to do yoga and she listens to that serenity music stuff, so I figured I'd just heard her.
Nope. She didn't play any music. Even more shocking, she hadn't even done any yoga that morning.
So I'm freaked out. I think I've basically been haunted and all, and I'm done. That day, two other friends showed up: my friends Dan and Stef. Because of the room situation, it looks like I'm going to be sleeping on the couch in the downstairs area, by myself, with everyone else in a room off the main room that I'll be sleeping in.
And you know what, this wasn't going to happen. Nope. Not after hearing that creepy music and reading that creepy ghost book and being in this older-than-God house. Do you think ANYBODY let me live this down? Of course not. My friend Stef agreed to sleep in the room withme, thus saving my sanity and life, but my dignity was lost in that weekend. My dad made fun of me. My brother made fun of me. My aunt even made fun of me (an all-time low).
But you know what? I felt better.
Fast forward to last Saturday night. My dad rented the same house this summer, only I can't go, and my brother and sister can't either. So my dad arranged to have some friends stay with him, but he's there a few times during the week alone. So I was talking to him about this at dinner on Saturday night, and he was acting like this was horrible that he was going to be there alone. I didn't really get why, because my dad usually likes to have his own peace and quiet every once in a while, and if you ask my dad, life doesn't get better than an empty beach and a good book. Then he comes out with it.
Apparently, when he was there in October, his girlfriend heard the same chimes/music I heard. Only this time? He didn't make fun of her. I'm not going ot get into how unfair that is, but whatever. Suddenly, I realize: my father is a scaredy-cat.
You know, once, when I was on a plane with both of my parents, we were experiencing some pretty bad turbulence. My mother is a known and self-admitted horrible flyer, so I took one look at her panicked expression and realized I wasn't going to get any comfort there. I was in fifth grade or something, so I grabbed my dad's hand. My hand practically slipped right off, the thing was so sweaty. Forget this guy being the strong one. I ended up being the best flyer out of all of them.
So anyway, I'm thinking this is where my scaredy-cat streak comes from. My father will probably kill me for writing this. I'm half-considering going back, but you know what, no. Last summer, everyone in that room in that house made me feel like a complete moron for being the least bit scared. "You don't actually believe that stuff?" I believe was my father's exact quote. My friends? "Dude, get a grip." Stef just smiled, said I was a little on the out-there side, but ultimately said that she'd stay with me. And come to think of it, I didn't see Dan offering to switch locations, and I didn't see my aunt, who told me I was crazy (actually, that might have been the all-time low), saying she'd sleep downstairs. No. So forget being nice about any of this.
I think everyone's more scared than they'll let on. My father was hilarious on Saturday night. He wouldn't admit to being scared, he just admitted that he was slightly "creeped out" by a few things:
1. The chimes.
2. The fact that he'd talked to someone (I can't remember if it was a family member of the people who owned the house or what) who said, "I love the place, but I wouldn't sleep there alone."
3. The fact that the woman who owned the house with her husband, and who absolutely loved the place, died this past April. I think he's convinced that he's going to see her walking around the garden at midnight, her favorite place in the world or whatever. He's pretty much admitted that he's prepared to see this woman around next week (though, he says, she was real nice in real life, so he thinks if anything, she'd be of the Casper-ghost variety.)
In the end though, my dad wouldn't admit to anything. He was like, "I am not scared."
Riiiight. I told my dad that to make sure, I'd give him a call next week, while he's there alone, and ask him if he'd taken a walk around the garden, or whether he'd seen any freaky shadows or heard any wind chimes.
And then I realized: the same week my dad's going to be on the Cape is the week I'm going to be on a floor all by myself. So instead, I told my dad the following:
"You know, on second thought, that musicy chimey stuff? I think there actually were wind chimes in the sun room. So I think you're set."
I don't know how convincing I was, but my dad replied, "I'll take it."
As for me, do I believe this?
In one week, I'm going to be on a floor all by myself. So yes. Yes I do.
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