Kids naturally develop a little fear. Well, most kids. Not my second born—that kid isn’t scared of a thing, to a fault. She’s an enigma wrapped in a fearless cape.
As adults, we can usually reason our way out of childish fears. I know there aren’t monsters under my bed. Monster dust bunnies maybe, but nothing deadly. And I know that if the phone rings when I’m home alone, and the caller whipers, “Have you checked the children??” it’s just my husband on his way home from work and his voice sounds creepy because he has a bubble in his throat. It’s all good. Not scary.
As an adult I’m more afraid of death and taxes. Shadowy monsters and the Boogeyman don’t warrant more than a raised eyebrow from me at this point. I have bigger fish to fry. Speaking of fish, we adults are way less afraid of sharks now than we were in our formative years. Thank you Mister Spielberg—you twisted creep. You wrecked the ocean for me for decades.
Some fears, no matter how juvenile or preposterous, follow us into adulthood. We can’t shake them no matter how hard we try to rationalize them away.
I’m not talking about sincerely scary things like cupping a dead mummified mouse up close to your face in the dark. Yes, that happened.
I’m talking silly fears we understand are unfounded, yet they seem to follow about *84% of us into adulthood and will likely plague us until our deaths.
*Not a proven statistical fact but I ball-parked it and I think it sounds about right.
Like when you head up the stairs to bed in the dark and break into a run so the hand under the stairs can’t grab you by the ankle. It’s ridiculous, but yet I still run.
And when I reach into the dark cold storage room in our basement to grab for the light, I understand logically that the room is empty, but yet I hesitate before stepping inside because the fear of being grabbed by “it” whatever “it” is, always gets the best of me. (The storage room, though it appears to be engulfed in an ominous green fog, it is not. The room isn’t as scary as my photography skills.)
The last time I ventured into the storage room to grab toilet paper rolls to restock the bathrooms, I wasn’t at all nervous. Having to fight my way through the artificial Christmas tree obstacle blocking the door (left there “temporarily” by my husband) enraged me just enough to distract me from the fear.
But the second I stepped into the dark, cold room, I got chills. I wasn’t alone….
I smelled a man’s cologne, and heard his breath. I felt his evil eyes boring into me. And then I turned slowly and saw him grinning at me from the corner of the room.
This would be the end for me.
Well, turns out the cologne was actually “Scentsicles Christmas tree scent” my husband left slightly ajar on a shelf.
And the breath was an eerily timed alarm from my “Just breathe” APP on my phone reminding me to do my relaxing breathing exercises. The app is has since been deleted. The breathy alarm sound intended to remind me to ‘breathe to relax’ is disturbing which is the exact opposite of relaxing.
And those eyes belonged to THIS face. Thank you to my husband for clearing out the garage. But no, this is not “the perfect place” to store Giggles the Halloween clown.
So I’m back to being afraid of our storage room. And for good reason. There’s a bloody clown in there!