Nightmare of Ghastly, Macabre, Heart-Stopping Horror! And it's all true!
This Monday I lived through a true-life horror film. Something I'll never forget in my life as much as I'd like to.
So. Monday afternoon, 3:00 p.m., the dog and I are napping upstairs. Lame, I know, but I suffer from insomnia so I have to steal sleep when it calls. But I digress.
Half-asleep, I hear the front door open. Gotta' be my daughter who just got off work. Soon, footfalls thunder upstairs. I wonder why she's intruding upon my inner sanctum. The bedroom door opens. My dog's collar jangles as he runs to meet my daughter.
Although...it wasn't my daughter.
A man's voice, mumbling to himself. Or talking to my dog. Popeye-esque. "Hello, boy, be damned if I know where they are."
Okay. What does one do in this circumstance? Oddly enough, I kept my eyes closed the entire time, still groggy and in a pseudo sleep coma. If I'm gonna' die, I may as well go out in a state of half-realized Nirvana. Or something. I couldn't think. The surrealism nearly swept me away. That and my heart jack-hammering against my chest.
"Hello?" I said, master of witty dialogue. I don't know about you guys, but apparently since I was about to meet a serial killer who broke into my house, I guess I wanted to be polite to the man who was about to take me out.
"Hi," my would-be murderer replied, "I'm supposed to meet some people here to look at the house." Pause. Still had my eyes closed. Couldn't be buggered to open them. Dreaming? No. The strange long silence continued. I don't know who was more horrified. Me? Probably not. The mystery man walked into a scenario with an overweight, middle-aged man lying on top of a bed in his underwear with a half pit-bull dog on the floor.
"Um, no, the house next door is for sale," I said. Had to be dreaming. Right? RIGHT?
"Jesus Christ, tell me I didn't come into the wrong house! I'm sorry, buddy!"
I said it was okay (it wasn't), no problems done (tell that to my soiled underwear), come back again soon, next time I'll be clothed (No way. The door gets locked even while I'm home from now on). But you know what? In my state of sleepiness, I handled it all in stride, too dazed to realize the horror of it all. Wasn't 'till I woke up, I realized how damn creepy it was. But I handled it in an amazingly half-lucid Zen state of mind. Even though I still don't know what my visitor looked like. I don't think I ever want to, either. He's probably heavily drinking in a bar right now after what he saw. Or gouging his eyes out.
Now, about my dog. Sure, he wants to tear the mailman's head off, but he met a house-breaking serial killer with a lick and a wag of the tail.
So. Monday afternoon, 3:00 p.m., the dog and I are napping upstairs. Lame, I know, but I suffer from insomnia so I have to steal sleep when it calls. But I digress.
Half-asleep, I hear the front door open. Gotta' be my daughter who just got off work. Soon, footfalls thunder upstairs. I wonder why she's intruding upon my inner sanctum. The bedroom door opens. My dog's collar jangles as he runs to meet my daughter.
Although...it wasn't my daughter.
A man's voice, mumbling to himself. Or talking to my dog. Popeye-esque. "Hello, boy, be damned if I know where they are."
Okay. What does one do in this circumstance? Oddly enough, I kept my eyes closed the entire time, still groggy and in a pseudo sleep coma. If I'm gonna' die, I may as well go out in a state of half-realized Nirvana. Or something. I couldn't think. The surrealism nearly swept me away. That and my heart jack-hammering against my chest.
"Hello?" I said, master of witty dialogue. I don't know about you guys, but apparently since I was about to meet a serial killer who broke into my house, I guess I wanted to be polite to the man who was about to take me out.
"Hi," my would-be murderer replied, "I'm supposed to meet some people here to look at the house." Pause. Still had my eyes closed. Couldn't be buggered to open them. Dreaming? No. The strange long silence continued. I don't know who was more horrified. Me? Probably not. The mystery man walked into a scenario with an overweight, middle-aged man lying on top of a bed in his underwear with a half pit-bull dog on the floor.
"Um, no, the house next door is for sale," I said. Had to be dreaming. Right? RIGHT?
"Jesus Christ, tell me I didn't come into the wrong house! I'm sorry, buddy!"
I said it was okay (it wasn't), no problems done (tell that to my soiled underwear), come back again soon, next time I'll be clothed (No way. The door gets locked even while I'm home from now on). But you know what? In my state of sleepiness, I handled it all in stride, too dazed to realize the horror of it all. Wasn't 'till I woke up, I realized how damn creepy it was. But I handled it in an amazingly half-lucid Zen state of mind. Even though I still don't know what my visitor looked like. I don't think I ever want to, either. He's probably heavily drinking in a bar right now after what he saw. Or gouging his eyes out.
Now, about my dog. Sure, he wants to tear the mailman's head off, but he met a house-breaking serial killer with a lick and a wag of the tail.
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