Oct. 18th, 2011

elionwyr: (mental)
So I have what I lovingly describe as a suburban woman's phobia.

I am afraid of The Axe Murderer (TM).

I know why, of course. At some point in the early 80's, my father and stepmother watched "When a Stranger Calls" outside my bedroom. I have NEVER seen this film, myself. But just hearing it was scar-making.

A later viewing of "The Shining" didn't help matters. You'll never be able to convince me it's a funny movie. I realize this makes me a lesser person in many people's eyes. I've tried to watch this as an adult, and..nnnnnope, it stil freaks me right the hell out. This movie inspired *MANY* nights of lying in bed, watching my bedroom door, pretty darn sure that tonight was the night my father was gonna come in with an axe.

Not enough therapy in the world, man.

(When a friend bought me "Scream" I pretty much literally hid behind my husband for the first hour, utterly failing to not lose my cool. Stalker guy outside making scary phone calls and killing someone while you watch? NOT my idea of happy viewing. Yes, by the end I was enjoying the story, and yes I've seen the sequels and liked them ok, but..I've never been able to watch the first "Scream" film again. And I think I "forgot" to pack that one when I moved out. Oops.)

So what this means to me as a quasi-adult is that I'm generally fine being alone during the day. As soon as the sun goes down, though, that random knock against the roof that, by day, is just an apple falling from a tree? Oh no no no..at night, that's the friggin' AXE MURDERER (TM) and I'm hiding under a pile of laundry with the phone in my hand and I've dialed 9 -1 - waitforit...

(Ok, so I've never actually hidden under the laundry. But that's my plan. I may or may not have gotten the phone ready for my frantic cry for help. I'll leave that to your imagination.)

When I was still living in Philly, I confess to more than a few nights of lying in bed, listening to the house creak and being pretty damn sure The Axe Murderer (TM) was frolicking around the house. Most memorably, I was living in a haunted house (no, really - we had a ghost maid who didn't actually clean anything but did walk around, open doors, and whistle) and one night I heard her walking around..and stop on the staircase. Halfway up. Which of course meant that The Axe Murderer (TM) had killed the dog, my father in law, and my husband, and was now just standing on the stairs MESSING WITH MY HEAD before he made his move to try to kill me too.

'So, ok..when he comes in..I will SCREAM, I will RUN PAST HIM to my study, fling OPEN the window, JUMP to the porch roof, and scream some more. Yeah yeah, that'll work. The cats..well, I sure hope they have the sense to follow my example..'

45 MINUTES LATER, I convinced myself to get out of bed and go look down the stairs..which were, of course, empty.

When I tried to explain this to my husband in the morning, he looked at me, exasperated - as he was wont to do - and asked, "Why didn't you just come downstairs and wake me up?"

"DUDE. You were DEAD."

Ok, so. I've worked pretty dang hard on getting over this completely irrational fear - and I swear to all that's holy, if ANY of you share with me an example of a real life Axe Murderer (TM) I will HURT you - and I thought I was doing pretty well, actually.

Until last night.

Last night, there was a slight disturbance in the household that woke me up, a bit startled. My housemate had made a noise in her sleep and it was *just* loud enough to wake me.

But..wait. Was that her?
Is she awake?
*listen* Is that a footstep? Yes. But it's just a bathroom run.
*listen* I think it's ok.
Maybe it's not.

Which means I spent the next HOUR twitching-in-a-bad-way over every small creak in the house.
'What was that? In the crawl space? I've never actually looked in there. Maybe this is like The Grudge and there's an angry murderous ghost in there. Ok, that's crazy talk. Lurk is perfectly relaxed and purring. He wouldn't do that if there was a ghost in the crawl space or an Axe Murderer (TM) in the hallway. Wait. He just stopped purring and now he's staring at the crawl space. Shit. I should move the bed and go look in there. NO FRIGGIN' WAY am I looking in there! The ones that look are the ones that die! I should go hide in a pile of laundry. I hope my housemate's not dead.'


I am very pleased to report that [livejournal.com profile] elfowls_nest is, in fact, not dead. Nor was there any murderous anything in the house last night. And maybe gauging my safety by whether or not my cat is purring is not the best idea I've ever had.

But I'm putting my hurleybat by my bed tonight.

Just in case.
elionwyr: (write hard)
What was love in his gaze is now madness.

He would make me my mother. And no one dares raise their voice in protest.

In the silence of my rooms, I pray to silent gods. Rescue me.

The only answer is the growing pile of royal gifts.

When there are no more tears to cry, when my voice is hoarse from pleading, when I realize no one is listening, I place my hand upon the door.

Passive asking causes no action.

I will answer my own prayer by the moving of my feet.

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