Reign of Terror: The Beginning

As I mentioned in my Mother’s Day post (and then again in my post the very next day), the “squirrel on the toilet” incident is not the first occurrence of my husband scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.

It actually began before we were even dating.

When I was 19, I broke up with my boyfriend and found myself without a place to live. Josh and I were best friends, and he arranged for me to stay with his brother Tim until I secured an apartment. My now brother-in-law is master of all things scary. He co-directs & coordinates a big local haunted attraction here in town each year, and his house is decorated to match.  The first night I stayed at Tim’s, I headed into the guest room to get ready for bed. I noticed something peeking out from under the blanket so I pulled it back. There was a prop rubber skeleton laying on the bed, grinning blankly up at me. I threw open the door and declared, “You’re going to have to try harder than that to scare me!”

Little did I know that my defiant proclamation was actually me throwing down the proverbial gauntlet.

The first bad scare that I can remember came years later, when Josh and I were married and living in our first apartment. It was a small one bedroom with a screened-in sunroom. We had our computer out there and I wasn’t working at the time so I spent many late evenings on the computer after Josh had gone to bed. This particular night was no exception.

I was up late one evening playing The Sims 2 (BEST EVER. I think it was after midnight when I finally decided to turn off my riveting game and join my husband in sleep. It was dark in our little apartment except for the artificial glow of our computer monitor. I stepped out of the sunroom and crossed the living room, heading into the hallway. Before I knew what was happening, I heard the sound of feet swiftly making their way through the living room right toward me. There was no maniacal laughter, no declaration of “GOT YOU NOW!”. The only thing I heard was someone silently making their way over to me in a hurry. I spun around just in time for a pair of arms to wrap around me. I let out a choked squeaking noise, bravely raised my hands into a “poised clawing” pose and promptly froze in terror. I’d been had. I was now going to be methodically and slowly tortured and then killed. I contemplated screaming but I was too terrified to make a sound.

And that’s when the apartment was filled with sound, but it was not the sound of my terrified cries for help. It was the sound of my husband, laughing his ass off. That’s when I realized that my attacker wasn’t a random thug, or a paid hitman. My assailant wasn’t a serial killer.

It was my own, loving husband who I’d thought to be sleeping in our bed. It turns out that Mr. Loving Husband had sneaked through the living room while I was engrossed in my Sims and had hidden out in our entrance hall waiting for me to come to bed. He’d crouched back there in the dark and had waited on me for almost a half an hour. THAT, my friends, is dedication.

Once I’d been able to breathe again and Josh’s hysterical laughter had subsided, he actually apologized profusely because he had genuinely terrified me. I was convinced that I was a goner and had completely frozen up. Nice self-defense skills, Mommy Boots.

Unfortunately for me, this was only the beginning of Daddy Green and Uncle Tim’s Reign of Terror and I’ve pretty much been living in fear ever since. Stay tuned for Reign of Terror Part II: The Pig’s Head.