The Watcher

I like scary movies. I like scary books. I've liked them for a long, long time. I'm always on the look out for the next scary book/movie to come out. Consequently, I'm a jumpy person. Sneak up on me, and I might kill you. Every time J travels for work (which thankfully hasn't been for a long time) we practice loading the shotgun before he leaves. So, don't plan on trying to scare me when I'm home alone.

I don't like going downstairs by myself and if I find myself down there, alone, in the dark - I will finish whatever I'm doing in a calm manner but as soon as I hit those stairs to come back up, I'm full on sprinting to get away from whatever creepy thing is chasing me.

One time when I was 16 I was driving home late from being with friends. By the time I pulled up in front of my house I had totally convinced myself that IT (the clown) was in my backseat. I stopped the car at the curb, basically fell out of it, left the keys in the ignition and the door open, ran inside screaming and made my Step-Dad go outside and get my keys and shut the door.

Child-sized wheelchairs have a special place in my heart after watching Changeling. The OLD movie, not the Angelina Jolie one. I decided the only way to keep the imminent wheelchair attack at bay while going up the stairs in my house, was to chant this mantra before reaching the 3rd step: "wheelchair boy, wheelchair boy, wheelchair boy." I did this every single time I used the stairs at my house growing up. Special memory: again, it was late at night. I was home waaaaay later than I should have been. I was sneaking upstairs, trying to get past my parents' door without them hearing. I was tired and not giving wheelchair boy the respect that he demands and I did not repeat my mantra. As I reached the top step, I put my hand out to feel the wall so I didn't crash into it. I did not touch the wall. I touched the handle to the wheelchair. It was there, ready to take me back into the hell it came from. I screamed and fell backwards down the stairs with the wheelchair tumbling on top of me.

My parents rushed out of their room, flipped on the light, and found me - on the landing at the bottom of the stairs with the freaking vacuum on top of me. That little episode shortened my life by at least 10 years.

When baby M wakes up in the night, I scare myself almost every single time walking into his room. I saw my reflection out of the corner of my eye in a picture hanging up on his wall, and I almost had a heart attack. That's my main reason for wanting him to sleep through the night. I can deal with sleep deprivation, just not poltergeist.

Bottom line - I'm totally neurotic, but I can't stop.

Anyway, a few days ago I was driving with the kids at night, alone. It was about 10:00pm, so it was nice and dark. The kids were tired so they weren't saying much. I was thinking about whatever moms think about at 10:00pm after a long day of doing mom-stuff. F broke the silence by asking me if I ever saw that man that watches him at night in his room.

WTH????????????????????????

I asked him to repeat himself. Here's the gist of our conversation:

F: Sometimes at night, I see that man that watches me.
Me: Um, what?????
F: That guy that stays on the wall up high. He watches me. Sometimes he moves.
Me: This happens in your room?
F: Yeah. Sometimes when I'm asleep I open my eyes and I see him.
Me: This happens in your room, at our house, right now?
F: Yeah. He changes places. Sometimes he's in my room, sometimes he's not.
Me: *in almost a whisper: Can you see him now?
F: No, he stays at our house. He doesn't want to leave. Ever.
Me: *i have goosebumps at this point and i'm considering whether it would be acceptable to lose all composure and start hyperventilating with my children present since i am positive that my 3 year old is seeing some type of ghost/spirit/creepy thing that is taking up residence in my basement: Does this man ever talk to you?
F: No. But I talk to him sometimes. He just watches me. And follows me.
Me: *starting to wonder if this house was built on some type of ancient native-american burial ground. Does C ever see him?
F: Yeah. She's seen him. A lot.
Me: C???? What is your brother talking about?
C: Oh, he's just talking about Christopher Pop-n-Kins.
Me: BIG LONG EXHALE WHILE I TRY TO REMEMBER IF I HAVE A CHANGE OF SHORTS IN THE CAR.

Damn you Christopher Pop-n-Kins! When I see you this November, I'm gonna give you a piece of my mind.