I suppose I’ve always had an acute fear of that scary unknown, those “boogeymen” that are out there. I’ve never liked being alone in a dark house. I feel more secure when my husband is home at night. I can’t read books with grisly murder scenes. You’d never catch me reading Stephen King (except his delightful memoir/writer’s guide, On Writing). And I refuse to watch slasher films—I’m still scared from the movie Jagged Edge, and it’s been over 20 years since I saw it. I can’t look out a back door into the darkness at night without expecting the fist of a maniacal killer to crash through the glass, turn the doorknob, and go on a slaughtering rampage. Even the commercials for these films on late night TV bother me and cause me to slink further beneath the covers. I’m much more of a happy endings kinda girl. I can’t quite pinpoint why I am more fearful of these things than a lot of other people. Heck, even my kids adore movies that leave your peripheral vision in a state of high alert, being mindful of that masked man with an axe who might just be coming around the corner. My kids think I’m a complete weenie.
I attribute part of my neuroses to growing up in a household that didn’t feel particularly stable, with parents who weren’t remotely compatible and in which we all felt the regular fallout from it. That and the Red Scare. Such external-based insecurities provided fertile soil in which my vivid imagination could till and plant and water and feed these fears until they blossomed into something more concrete (albeit illogical!). And as a child of that era in which we were taught at an early age to worry about The Bomb, I thought it was my civic duty to be scared, and I took my fears seriously. A school assembly film about a famous movie theater fire in which people were trampled and burned en masse freaked me out, and from then on I made certain my parents’ ubiquitous cigarettes weren’t left smoldering in ash trays at bed time. A neighborhood girl’s nearby abduction and abuse led me to look over my shoulder any time I was alone on a street or in a parking lot.
But one of the more peculiar manifestations of my anxieties was found in my slight preoccupation with tsunamis. The fear that a tsunami might wreak havoc on my world and destroy all that I knew hung over my childish mind like the worries of a child awaiting punishment from a parent. Now, I grew up in Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania. A gateway city to the Mid-west. One that was and still is pretty landlocked (but for those famed three rivers that encompass it). The chances of a tsunami annihilating that city were as likely as the Pirates ever making it into the World Series again. Yet I held onto that irrational fear for much of my childhood.
Eventually I outgrew most of my anxieties. But ultimately found newer, bigger ones to supplant them.
My senior year in college, I rented a small room in the gabled attic of an historical home. By day the room seemed charming, quaint—a little retreat from the craziness of school and work. But once I moved in, I had the distinct sense that there was something else occupying that room with me. The house had lots of residents; the entire tennis team lived on the main floor (part of my incentive to live there in the first place!). Several other students lived in rooms on the second floor. But only my little aery was at the top. Often when I went to bed there was still plenty of activity in the house: parties going on downstairs, boyfriends and girlfriends coming and going. But one night I returned home quite late, fell asleep, but soon woke to what I can only describe as an enveloping sense of doom, a presence so overwhelming and so fearsome that I turned the light on and couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. From then on I dreaded nighttime. Something felt so wrong with the place.
After a few repeat performances from my unwanted bad spirit-roomie, I called my mom and told her I couldn’t stay there any longer. I found a room with some friends in which one of the renters had just graduated, my mother came and helped me move, and never was I more glad to get away from a place.
A few years later we stayed at an old inn in the Hamptons for our friends’ wedding. The house was populated with a collection of creepy antique dolls, which looked innocuous enough by day. But I was 8 months pregnant, and as I tiptoed to the bathroom repeatedly in the dark of night, I got so spooked by the wide-eyed, dirt-streaked, frazzle-haired, I-Know-What-You-Did-Last-Summer/Bride of Chuckie porcelain faces of those dolls, I avoided water after 7 p.m. on the following night in hopes of off-setting too many late-night encounters with possessed dolls on the second night of our stay.
I now live in an area rich in history from the founding days of our country. We have friends who live in old plantation farm homes who swear they’ve got ghosts sharing the house. My friend’s brand new house is located near a slave graveyard, and she and her husband (at first a reluctant believer) are convinced their house is haunted. People around town are said to have seen civil war soldiers on horseback leaving nearby barns at night.
I’m just glad my house is new. And I haven’t got any antique possessed psycho dolls displayed around to scare the wits out of us at night. After all while the Red Scare is gone and I know logically tsunami’s aren’t likely to do me in, there are enough big scary things out there that I know are real, plenty of grim things to keep me up late at night, without having unhappy spirits lurking about.
17 Replies to “The Boogeyman and I (or is it Me?) by Deb Jenny”
Jeez, I sure hope your son isn’t a hockey GOALIE! His name isn’t Jason, is it????? And tell your husband he can forget that chain saw from Christmas. I’m still a little afraid of Mr. Barlow from Salem’s Lot, which I saw in 7th grade. Wearing my bicentennial Dr. Scholl’s to give you an idea of how long ago. Happy Hallowee, Deb Jenny!
Halloween, with an “n.” “Hallowee” is a much smaller holiday.
Jenny, we are kindred spirits in this! I hate scary movies, even the ones that are suppossed to be funny. I am still scarred from watching Sleepaway Camp when I was nine. The music gets me, the fear gets me and the images seem to stay with me forever. My husband loves these movies and I won’t let him watch them if I’m even in the house. I have my fair share of real life fears without giving my imagination extra fodder!
I’m with you and Danielle, can’t STAND scary things. I’m still haunted by The Exorcist.
I guess when we all get together we won’t stay up late telling ghost stories huh? : )
You’d probably hate my house–it’s over 100 years old. It makes all kinds of weird ‘settling’ noises.
I’m probably the only Deb who loves scary movies, even though I have to watch certain parts with my eyes covered! 🙂
(For anyone interested, the best scary movies I’ve seen lately include THE DESCENT and SEVERANCE–a British flick with a sense of humor to boot.)
Scary movies, haunted houses, even Halloween costumes freak me out and have always made me wonder what’s the entertainment/enjoyment value there?
Having had a full-out encounter with a ghost, I can tell you that I did not stand brave, but ran like a crazy lunatic to a supposed “safe” distance (with my friend) and then we did watch for a while—the smoky vapor formed into a person, turned to us, then vanished. Whoa..
From then on I give strict instructions to all my dead relatives. Just flicker the lights, no personal apperances please!!!
Wwooooo …Spooky stuff! Oh and PS Jenny, House built in 1977 lolol Suzanne
well I’m glad to know I’m not the only weenie out there! I guess we can’t stay at Jess’ house (well, not without our ghostbusters gear LOL)
I do love old houses, actually. And I can deal with ghost stories–just read a great ghost book by Jodi Picoult–it’s just the horror/thriller movies I can’t handle. Not that I wouldn’t run screaming from a ghost because I definately would!
Just to clarify, I also live in an old house (1926) and the woman who lived here before us died in the house in the bedroom. And for some odd reason that doesn’t scare me. It’s the horror/thriller/slasher/head-turning thing for me, too.
I actually love old houses. And friendly ghosts don’t bother me. It’s the evil ones that scare me! Oh, and slasher/horror-type things. I’m so much more into When Harry Met Sally 😉
I’m with you, Jenny – I’d rather watch a rom-com (even a bad one) than brave another scary movie. I still get shivers over The Shining. Ugh!
That’s it…where’s my blankie?
OH I forgot–During a recent bout of real estate madness I toured a historic house nearby but the woman who lived there originally was none too pleased to have people tramping up and down her stairs and in her kitchen. I got that “chilly thrill” when we went into the side room off the kitchen- most likely her bedroom till she died. As my husband and I walked up the stairs…..she followed! Now my husband is just not a guy who indulges in such ideas, but he turns to me and says, who is that? and we both know instantly that we are so not buying this house, and he does the bug-eyed shudder and we bolted down the stairs without further chit chat. In the car we were of complete accord- this place was haunted! Unfortunately after some basic girlfriend gossip the rumor got around and hmmm I think it’s still for sale!
And Danielle, Jody Picoult has a ghost story? I will have to hunt that up. I have to confess I may be the star of THe Ghost and Mrs. Chicken, but I have a large fascination and my last book The Forever Summer is a ghost story, a comedy, but very haunting LOL. It takes place in Port Gamble Washington, the most haunted town in Washington. They have a tour going on….right now!
LOL–suz, you do indeed have a good ghost in The Forever Summer. She sure hated that Cheez Whiz (or should I say it hated her!)
Sad you’ll probably be haunted one day by the ghost of the current owner of that house since she could never sell it after you told everyone it was haunted!
And Joanne–who needs a blankie when we have comfort food? LOL
Yeah, you don’t have to fear tsunamis, Jenny. But what about hurricanes? Two came through Charlottesville in the 10 years I lived there. And what about all those thunderstorms? And the serial rapist who was never caught?
LOL Hi Bella! Thanks for those calming words…
Hey–you really HAVE been gone! The serial rapist got CAUGHT! And you’re not going to believe it–he was a paper delivery guy for the DP and also a butcher at Harris Teeter!!! Also–the father of FOUR children and married. Can you believe it? And apparently they have LOADS of evidence against him (included DNA matches)
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