When I was younger, I guess around the age of seven, up until I was about eleven years old, there was this common household threat of being left alone in the house in the broad daylight. I shared this rare phobia with my younger brother, or maybe he just inherited it from me. Hell, he probably just watched me do it and it scared him too.
Most of the time it got worse at MaMa's house (prounounced Mah-Mah). After lunch, as I mentioned in earlier blogs, everyone retreated to the backyard tree to sit around and gab for a while. The younger more lively generation could either be found driving the golf cart madly in the pine trees or playing house in the woods. Eventually it would be time to break for the bathroom, and since we were no further than a skip and jump from the house we'd run back to finish the chore. That's when it started...everything was fine when you ran in the door and straight to the bathroom...after you finished your business and the toilet was mid-flush, that's when it would happen. The panic would hit your stomach so fast, it was hard to stay in there long enough to wash your hands...well, this wasn't something that we were good at keeping up as kids anyway. I reach for the door-handle and bolt with lightning speed down the hall...imagining corpses in the linen closet or some ghastly figure with rotting flesh straight from the depths of Hell itself lingering right behind me, one footstep behind me...ready to grab. I'm still running until I see the light from the kitchen, I bust out the screen door and onto the back stoop. Its over, I catch my breath...gasping, heaving...the nightmare's gone.
Now as I remember this, I would imagine this sort of thing until I was almost a teenager...maybe I did it for the adrenaline rush (subconciously) or maybe it was just from watching too many Stephen King's...I don't know. Fascination with the macabre. Very abnormal for a seven year old--well, maybe not, thoughts of horror are often normal for children reared in the close proximity of Woodblackholeruff.
Snoop Doggy Dog visited the Mini-Mart #3404 in Union just the other day. He was in town to see his grandmother at the local nursing home. He sent his entourage in to order a chicken sandwich, lettuce, tomato and no mayo. Snoop isn't the mayo type of guy--who knew?
That is so funny! I have almost the same phobia. When I was little and the WDF house was empty (and even sometimes now) I would get spooked, thinking surely something was behind me, and usually high-tailed it to the door...back into the warm afternoon...or at least the escape of the outdoors. I wonder why? We definitly have active imaginations!
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