I thank God for digital clocks. Not because they save me the hassle of dealing with the tricky hands and feet involved in analog clocks but because they save me from having to admit I need a nightlight (Wait, did I just…? Dammit).
Fear of the dark is not uncommon. Sure, it’s probably more prevalent among those who still wet the bed… but we’re not discussing demographics here. The dark freaks me out, and while my rational side laughs at me for being such a widdle cwy baby, I can’t help making sure not a single toe is sticking out from beneath the covers – you know, in case any creatures lurking in the shadows have a hankering for a midnight snack.
Partial blame for this belongs without a doubt to my parents. How can you let your 8-year-old daughter watch Child’s Play when she has to fall asleep with this nightmare sitting next to her bed?
For those of you unfamiliar, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Corky. He was a talking doll just like good ol’ Chucky, and until the day I was allowed to kick his ass to the curb, I spent every night in tense silence waiting for him to ask in that childlike voice of his if I want to play, waiting to feel that shift in the sheets, letting me know he was climbing into bed with me, butcher knife in hand. Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Grandma, for putting this redheaded demon from hell under the Christmas tree.
Nowadays, fortunately, I don’t worry too much about dolls killing me in my sleep. No, when I’m lying awake in the dark, it’s zombies that pose a threat (moan, gurgle, tear out my throat). And aliens (invasion of the body snatchers). And that smoke monster from Lost … okay, not the smoke monster.
I feel like maybe I’m making myself sound a little unstable, but I swear I’m cool as a cucumber (kind of). Philosophically speaking, nothing is impossible. So while it’s unlikely that a scary clown voice will ask from the depths of my closet if I want a balloon, there’s a still a gazillionth of a chance* that it could happen. Right? Right?!
Anyway, perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit. It’s not like I’m going to run screaming into the night at the slightest creak… because like I said, I have the digital clock, and that keeps everything sinister at bay.
*Statistics not based on actual data. “Gazillion” not even a real number.