Nighttime Figments

By Randy Haglund

Were you ever afraid of the dark?

I was. At five or six-years old I slept on the bottom bunk while my brother, Rick, slept above. His mere presence brought me comfort. Six years older than me, he feared nothing.

But even with him there, I tried to stave off the fear by staring at the only source of light. A sliver of incandescent illumination peeked under the door from the hall. One night, as I stared at the glow, I noticed something. What is it? It looked like… some kind of creature.

Right beside the door I could make out a grotesque head and bony neck. A ghastly shapeless globule formed the torso while truncated limbs protruded from odd angles. Hollow eye sockets bore into me, mocking. I swallowed hard. Like no animal I had ever seen, it could only be… an alien!

 I shuddered at the thought.

Sometimes movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Thing and The Blob made their way into our living room via our RCA black-and-white console screen. My older brothers feasted on these campy B-flicks. Despite my mother’s efforts, I occasionally tasted portions of their forbidden fruit.

It took me a long time to get over Alfred Hitchock’s The Birds, and certain episodes of The Twilight Zone made my blood run cold. My brothers assured me it was all made up, and I believed them, too.

Sometimes.

Come to think of it, the people in those movies didn’t believe in those supernatural savages until they saw them with their own two eyes.

I gazed at the invading monster with my own wide eyes. Until I realized I had tossed my clothing in that very spot. My mother used to get after me for leaving my clothes on the floor, but I didn’t pay attention. I had more important things to do like… play. Who has time to fuss with their ensembles?

 That’s all it is. Yeah. Just my corduroy pants, t-shirt and socks all wadded up there. I had been letting my imagination get the best of me. Why hadn’t I listened to my mother? If I had picked up my clothes and put them in my closet like she said, I wouldn’t have this dilemma now.

I could’ve gotten up right then and took care of them, but that would require me to flip the light switch, situated directly above my clothes—or the invasive creature—whichever it was. My respirations increased noticeably. Maybe, I thought, if I turned over and faced the wall, I’d forget about the whole thing and fall asleep.

So I did. Turn over that is. But I didn’t fall asleep. My mind raced. If it really was an alien invader, he would take this opportunity, while I wasn’t looking his way, to creep toward me and start sucking my brains out through my ear canal, or some such thing.

In a panic, I snuck a peek over my shoulder to see if it had moved.

 And it had!

The head had turned a bit to the right. I thought. And it had moved ever-so-slightly closer to me. This beast was clever. And patient. Waiting until I completely fell asleep before performing his demonic deed.

I knew my parents would miss me. They’d cry and say things like “He was such a good boy. Except he wouldn’t pick up his clothes.” And they’d be sorry they hadn’t done more to keep aliens out of the house.

By this time, I had worked myself into a frenzy, hyperventilating.

“Rick!”

My brother groaned, sounding groggy and irritated. “What?”  

 I couldn’t tell him about the invading force in our bedroom, I would never hear the end of it.

So I said, “Nothing. I must have had a bad dream. Sorry.”

I knew the savage wouldn’t attack while my guardian was awake. So I used this opportunity to run over to the switch and turn on the lights.

Yup. My clothes. I knew it all along.

Rick groaned again. “What are you doing?”

“I just remembered. I never put my clothes away.”

He stuffed a pillow in his face.

I flung the offending attire into the closet, and shut the door. Tight. Just in case my wardrobe decided to come to life again.

Once the light went off I flew back to bed, my sheets damp with sweat. But at least no monster could get me tonight. At last, I fell asleep.

***

I still had a nighttime fright years later. A freshman at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, my dorm mate, Leon, wasn’t in an upper bunk, but on the other side of the room. I had gotten over my fears of the dark, but living in the big city brought its own frightful challenges. In the mid 1970’s, crime was rampant in the metropolis. I kept a close eye on my wallet at all times. And the big city was infested with vermin I hadn’t seen before. Cockroaches, for example. In Chicago, they outnumber human beings 100,000 to one.¹

One night, I woke from my sleep on my back. An odd position for me—I never sleep that way. Which is probably why I woke.

Then I became aware of something laying on my chest. What could that be? I used my left hand to warily explore the object.

It was large. And hairy. A rat!

“AAAHH!” I leapt from my bed in a panic.

Leon woke and jumped to his feet immediately. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

I flicked on the room light. Glancing around, no rat could be seen. As I stood there, it finally came to me why I had flipped to my back.

My right forearm had gone to sleep.

***

¹Completely made-up statistic. But probably an underestimate.

***

How ’bout you? Were you ever afraid of the dark? What was your worst fear?