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It started off like a normal Tuesday night. The Husband arrived home from his studio time and we put the trash out in tandem. He headed up to bed and HGTV while I sat in the kitchen and made lunch, drank tea, and watched SVU. I walked into the bedroom at 11:23 after checking on the baby and climbed into bed. He hit the off button on the remote, we exchanged a little conversation and some love, and the lights were out by 11:30.
Normal.
Except that, just as I was drifting off to sleep to the sound of his even breath beside me, my eyes flew wide open. I lay there for a moment, trying to figure out why, when I realized I could see something floating in the air. Not something actually there--sort of like the idea of something, floating casually through the air above our bed. It continued to float over, hovering, and then descended toward the Husband.
I actually sat up and reached over, waving my hand through the empty space above him, making sure there was, in fact, nothing there. Of course, I just hit air. I snuggled back under the covers and stared into space. The not-really-there-thing shattered and rained down, all glittering light, toward the bed. I reached up again, certain I would come in contact with something tangible, some evidence that this wasn't my imagination. Again, I came up empty.
I lay back and contemplated this for a minute or so, wondering what had happened. The house was silent, save for the occasional old house creak. Suddenly, a low hum rose up in the room. I waited, thinking it must be something outside. It continued. I listened more closely. It sounded...electric. I looked in the direction of the TV, now in "off" position for over half an hour. Couldn't be, could it?
I climbed out of bed and crept in the dark to the Husband's chest of drawers, reaching up toward the TV on top. Fumbling, I found the power button and tapped it. The television roared to life, and the hum immediately stopped. I shut it off again. Silence. Satisfied, I crawled back under the covers and tried to reach back toward sleep.
Again, on the edge of sleep, my eyes flew open. This time, I knew why--the hum had begun again. Angry now, I walked back across the bedroom, reaching under the bureau to find the plug. I hit cobweb and jumped. As I pulled the cord, the hum stopped. "Could just be the extension cord," I thought and went back to bed.
By now, you know the drill. Almost asleep. Eyes open. Hum again. I got up, turned on the overhead light, crossed the room, unplugged the television, shut off the light, and went back to bed.
I looked at the TV. It was glowing.
I sat and watched it. Every horror movie I've ever seen ran through my head. I was convinced that any second, the screen would again roar to life, stage to some evil plot. I wondered what the voices would tell me. Next to me, the Husband slept on, blissfully oblivious. I waited and waited. Five minutes. Ten. Finally, the glow faded and the room returned to quiet. My brain--not so lucky.
By 1 a.m., I was just managing to convince myself that our house wasn't haunted and that I didn't need to gather up the baby and get out, when the crying started. I walked into his bedroom, half-expecting to find his head spinning 360 degrees, vomit spewing onto the floor. Thankfully, all I found was a crying Will standing in his crib and looking pathetic.
We nursed. He settled. I put him down and went back to bed.
Almost asleep. Finally. 1:30. And the crying starts again.
We went through the same process. I got him down again, quiet and settled. As soon as I was back under the covers and almost asleep...Yep. Crying. Inconsolable.
I lay there and let him cry for 15 minutes. I was just too tired to move.
The next hour and a half are a blur. We walked. We rocked. We sang. We changed his pants. We gave him children's Tylenol, in fear that his teeth were the culprit. The Husband at one point in desperation brought him into our bed. That didn't help. He just crawled around in the dark where we couldn't see him and cried some more.
Finally, I sent the boys back to Will's bedroom. They rocked. They sang. The Husband put him in his bed and rubbed his back and shushed him quietly until finally, whether out of Tylenol-induced coma or sheer exhaustion, he gave in and went to sleep.
3:30 this morning, folks. That's what time I finally fell asleep, after trading my imaginary hauntings for one far too real.
I want my pillow.
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