Creepy faces stare out at me from the quiet, dark room. I resist the urge to tiptoe by.
It’s odd enough in the basement in the late hours, though it is well-lit. I’m on my way to the trash room with bags of recyclables. But first I have to pass the … monsters! I feel compelled to sidle past the doorway with my back against the wall. But I don’t. I peek in. The imaginative me sees blank faces with glowing eyes. Gaping maws. Guardians. Soldiers. Watchmen. Or monsters. The red eye glares and the blue eye freezes you in place if it catches you in its beam. The mouth gapes widely, blackly toothless, waiting to devour the unwary. The murky gloom beckons you inside in a soft, insistent voice even though you mean to walk past that opening. Fast.
I could be terrified… until I take one step into the laundry room….
The second I cross the threshold, the lights blink on, and the monsters become tame washing machines. No noise, no suds, and most definitely, no monsters.
Yeah, I knew it all along, but there’s a part of me that is still six years old, creeping up the stairs a bit afraid of the dark because I’m afraid of a shadowy lamp in the corner… the silhouette of which just happens to look like the man-eating plant I saw in a cartoon! There’s a part of me that stays awake long into the night, assessing the sounds, measuring the frequency of the sirens, hearing the tock tick tock tick of the clock as it counts the hours. I’m a creature of the night but it doesn’t mean that I can’t see things in its veils of gloom. I’ll exercise that part of my imagination happily because it makes me feel alive and safe—here in my happy home.
Now next time I go down there, who knows what I’ll see?