[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — I just finished reading a Stephen King novel, and now I can’t take out my contacts. Let me explain: Whenever I read anything by SK, my imagination goes on overdrive. He’s so descriptive in his writing, I can see the characters in my head.
The other night I was getting ready to go out to a meeting, and my eyes were really dry from my contacts. I started to go down the hall to the bathroom to remove them. But I had to stop. The hallway was dark. I knew the woman who had been killed and thrown down a well was waiting for me. She could have been in the linen closet. More likely, she was behind the shower curtain. I saw her tattered clothing, her bloody mouth, her outstretched hands. There was no way I was going to let her grab me. I stayed in the living room until S.O. got home. He arrived just in time—he barely had time to greet me, when I cried, “Hi, come to the bathroom with me so I can take out my contacts and get to my meeting on time!” The poor guy had no idea what was going on. But he dutifully joined me and let me explain. He gave me a sympathetic look, then asked why I read that stuff if it scared me so bad. “’Cause it’s so good!” I replied. I think he shook his head.
Memories Roaring Back
My childhood fear of the dark comes racing back whenever I read SK. I’m smart enough by now to know I should only read his books in the daytime. That doesn’t always help, however. I can go anywhere I want when it’s light outside But the moment it gets dark, the creatures lie in wait. They’re under the bed, ready to grab my ankles as soon as my feet hit the floor.
Recently I woke up in the middle of the night, having to use the facilities. I waited for S.O. to wake up, as he sometimes does, so we could go together. No such luck; he was in a deep sleep. I finally decided to brave the bathroom alone. On my return trip, I thought it would be smart to jump up on the bed to avoid grasping claws. Poor S.O. woke up with a start—I had misjudged the location of his legs. He woke up, then went to use the bathroom, fearless.
My reading experience has also led to the pile up of dirty clothing in our house. See, there’s this small door under the stairs in the basement, where the washer and dryer are. There’s a hole in the door. Every time I pass it, I can see a gnarled pointed finger sticking out of the hole. It’s grayish-brown and has a few hairs on it, with a thick, yellowish fingernail/claw at the tip. I don’t know what the rest of the creature under the stairs looks like, but seeing the finger is enough for me, thank you very much. Guess there will be a few loads to do on Saturday morning.
S.O. is away on business tonight, and I just realized that I didn’t get my cell phone charger in the back of the apartment before it got dark. Well, if there’s going to be one dead thing around here, at least it’s only my cell phone battery. Thank goodness I remembered to take out my contacts this afternoon.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
