What Is It?

I’m awakened from a dreamless sleep to the sound of breathing outside my door. I look over at the clock. The big, red, LCD numbers glare at me through the darkness, but there’s no time. ’12:00’ is flashing, flashing, taunting me like it knows I’ll be wary.

I look up at my window for any sign of sun, but I see only darkness. Suddenly, my room is illuminated for a few seconds, and then a thunderclap follows. I curl up farther under the covers and will myself not to be afraid. I don’t really mind thunderstorms. I’d just prefer them to come when it’s daylight.

The breathing is back. What do I do? I’m torn between hiding under the covers and getting out of bed to investigate. I’m brought back to the time of fearing that there were monsters under my bed and in my closet. I never told my parents. I knew they’d just tell me it all a part of my imagination.

Another thunderclap brings me back to the present. I guess you never really get over childhood fears, I think as I squeeze my eyes shut.

I lie in bed and try to figure out what time it is. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was watching “Friends”. It was the episode with the blackout. How appropriate, I thought.

I cower as a new noise invites its way into my room. Scraping on the window in a rhythmic pattern. The noise almost feels planned and practiced to perfection as it happens during the intervals of the breathing outside my door. Maybe if I lay still long enough, whatever “it” is will go away. Through the slit in the mini blinds, I see a branch tapping my window. A sigh of relief. One fear down – how many more will come before the night is over?

I decide to turn the TV on to try and get some semblance of the time. I’ve been up in the middle of the night enough to know pretty much what comes on when. “700 Club”, that doesn’t help, it’s on pretty much all the time. “How the ‘Titanic’ Sank”, why do the good documentaries come on in the middle of the night?

I push the “mute” button and look toward the door where a new sound comes from. Now, mixed with the breathing is scratching, but different from the tree branch outside.

Another flash of lightning illuminates my room, and is followed by a seemingly deafening clap of thunder. I pull the covers tighter around me. I chuckle softly as I remember what Granny used to say about thunder and lightning: “The thunder is God using his bulldozer to rearrange the furniture in heaven. He picks things up, and then drops them in place. Some of the thunder is the angels bowling. The lightning is God taking pictures of them bowling.” It’s amazing what can comfort you as a child, and seem so unbelievable as an adult.

The breathing and scratching is getting more frantic. Whatever it is, it wants to get in. Once again, I fight the urge to go inspect outside my door. It can’t be anything too big because mama would have heard it. She hears everything. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to find her looking at me. When asked what was wrong, she’d say, “You sneezed,” or “You coughed.” In the midst of the booming thunder, I could hear her and daddy snoring down the hall. Good, I thought. The creature didn’t get them. It must be starting with me. But why? What’s the purpose?

After several more thunderclaps outside my window and the mysterious scratching and breathing coming from the other side of my door, I finally decide I can’t take it anymore. I have to know what’s there.

I take the TV off of “mute”. Maybe if the creature can’t hear me, I’ll have the advantage. I pull the covers back and sit on the edge of the bed, sliding my feet in my slippers. I shiver at the chill in the air, wondering when the heater will cycle on again.

The breathing and scratching is intensifying. I slowly and quietly make my way to the door. Standing at my door, I pray silently that this has all been a dream, and the hall will be empty. I take a deep breath and put my hand on the doorknob. As I turn the knob and open the door, I look down to see what was causing so much distress: my 9½-year-old poodle had gotten spooked in the thunder. Apparently, she had jumped from my parents’ bed for some reason, and then couldn’t get back up. I knelt down, picked her up, and held her tight. We climbed in bed and curled up under the covers.