by Amanda Forester
I can be perfectly logical during the day when I'm at work or taking care of the kids. There is something about writing reports, doing dishes, or finding where the cat puked by stepping in it that keeps you grounded. But at night, when everyone else is fast asleep, the veneer of practicality slips and I can go from no nonsense mama to raving neurotic in 2.5 seconds.
Bumps in the night. It doesn't take much more than an unfamiliar sound to send my imagination into overdrive. A thump downstairs couldn't possibly be the cat jumping down from the counter, oh no, it is sure to be a homicidal fiend, who broke into my house and is even now creeping up the stairs. Closer, and closer he comes. I swear I can hear his footsteps on the stairs and the jangle of chains. My heart racing, I grab my pepper spray, burst open the door and find... the cat.
The soft scratch noise is not the occasional bird that lands on my roof, but the presence of mice... no rats... no rodents of unusual size who live by the hundreds in my attics and are only waiting for me to drift into sleep before crewing a hole through my ceiling and coming to feast on my brains. The only thing that can save me is to NEVER FALL ASLEEP.
Pepper spray in hand, lights blazing to prevent myself from sleeping, I feel a momentary cool breeze, which is certainly not coming from my window. It is of course the presence of a ghostly intruder, no doubt the victim of a ghastly murder. Yes, a murder committed in my house years ago (never mind the fact I know the original owner) but of course the truth was too grisly, too horrific to ever be told. So the story was buried, only to be remembered by the tortured ghost, intent on plaguing the living until the truth is revealed and the murderer (probably the mild mannered librarian next door-I watch CSI it's always the innocent-looking ones who are guilty) is caught and the ghost has her wicked vengeance.
Imagination. It's not for the faint of heart! Tell me a time when your imagination got the best of you!