Welcome to my blog, and thank you for coming.
If you're reading this, that means you must be somewhat interested in what I have to say. Or, maybe you've read my novel, Dead Summit, or perhaps even a short story of mine, and you're looking for some new horror fiction. I hate to disappoint, but that's not the purpose of this blog. At least, not right away. I may post a short story from time to time, but for now, I've decided to share some personal details.
People who know me well likely don't know what really goes on in my head. A lot of what you'll read here happens on a daily basis. I'm not sure why my mind works the way it does, it just does. Of course, I don't consider myself unique in any way, and I assume there are others who share similar feelings.
Why do I choose to share this kind of information? I guess it's because I don't feel I'm a very effective verbal communicator. I'm more comfortable when I'm writing. And by the way, I do take questions; I just thought I'd get the most obvious one out of the way.
So, if you're intrigued by my vague and slightly mysterious setup, feel free to continue reading. If not, well, you made it this far and I suppose I should be happy enough with that. Cheers.
***
Last night, after watching a DVR'd episode of one of our favorite shows, my wife and I, tired from a normal day's routine, couldn't hold our eyelids open any longer and decided it was time to go to bed. We live in a small condo, so it doesn't take that long to move around the place. It might be all of five steps from the couch to the front hall. Then ten steps from the front hall to the back door. Another eight steps to the bedroom, etc.
As she always does, my wife heads straight for the bedroom, leaving me to make sure the place is locked up. I get up from the couch and head toward the front hallway to make sure the main door is locked. When the deadbolt is flat (horizontal), it's locked. Vertical, and it's unlocked. This time, it's flat; I must have already locked it. I then turn, walk back down the front hall, through the living room, to the sliding glass door in the back of the condo. The slider is locked as well. The lever on the door handle is aimed downward so there's no question we are locked up. I then continue my nightly ritual (brush teeth, wash face) and go to bed.
As soon as I close my eyes, I start thinking about my son in his room and about whether or not his windows are locked. Maybe I should go check. I'm sure I did this already, and I try to put it out of my mind and go to sleep. Problem is, whenever this sort of thing enters my head, I can't get it out. I start thinking of crazy things like, "What if I didn't lock his windows? What if some crazed lunatic crawls into his room in the middle of the night and takes him? What if I wake up in the morning and my son is gone? Would I hear anything? Would I ever get him back?" Ideas like these crash into my head like the unrelenting waves of a hurricane-battered sea, one after another after another, tormenting my psyche as I try to think get to sleep when I'm only becoming more and more awake.
I try to erase the evil thoughts from my head. I think about the day ahead, about work in the morning, about what I'm going to have for lunch the next day, but it's no use. I have horrible visions of missing children, of strangers entering my home at night. And now, I've had enough. I pull the sheets aside and I anxiously get out of bed.
We live in an older complex. The walls and joints have warped with age. The doors tend to stick, so any time a door is opened, it's as loud as a baseball falling from shoulder-height onto a hardwood floor. Sometimes it's loud enough to wake up my son. So I have this trick where, using my right hand, I push against the edge of his door, the edge opposite the handle. This relieves some of the pressure from the jam. Then I turn the handle and I push the door open. The "shunk" isn't as loud when I do this, and Bailey merely shifts in his sleep as I enter his room. I walk over to his windows, pull back the curtains, separate the blinds a little and I check the locks.
All set. They're both locked. I give Bailey a kiss on his head before I walk out of his room and close the door. I head back toward our room.
But wait.
Maybe I should check the front door one last time? I know the dead bolt appeared horizontal, but there's a little give to it. For instance, sometimes when it's unlocked, it doesn't stand completely vertical; it tends to lean one way or the other. So maybe it wasn't really locked and I only thought it was locked. It's probably locked though. Screw it, I'm checking it again.
I walk out into the living room, into the front hallway, and I turn on the light. I'm pretty sure it's locked because it looks just about flat. But, I don't like to assume anything so this time I walk right up to the door. I jiggle the dead bolt. It's locked. At least I know for sure this time. But now, what about the sliding door? I remember the lock was in place, but what if the door was never closed tight? That would mean the lock is engaged but it's not caught on anything; the door is just, there. All someone would have to do is just slide it open. I have to check it again.
I walk across the living room, in the dark now, because I turned off the light in the hallway. That was stupid. Now I can't see shit. I go back and turn the light on again. I look back at the dead bolt. Still flat. I turn and walk across the living room again. When I reach the sliding door, I pull on the handle. I pull hard, but it isn't going anywhere. It's locked. So we're locked up, front and back. Time to go to bed.
I walk across the living room, into the front hall and turn out the light. Then I retrace my steps toward our bedroom.
Hold on.
Were the plastic security tabs in Bailey's windows sticking out? I mean, just in case some psycho figures out a way to pick the window locks, I'd feel better knowing that those tabs were pulled out. That way, the window won't open more than a couple inches. Pretty impossible for a grown man to squeeze through that small an opening.
I think they're out. Yeah, they're out. His windows are fine. Are they? Shit, I don't know. I should make sure.
I walk toward Bailey's room again, placing my right hand against the side of the door and opening with my left. He doesn't shift this time as I walk in. That's strange. Not "world-ending" strange, but just strange enough for me to place my hand on his stomach to make sure he's breathing. Yep, stomach out, stomach in. Out... in. He's good. Now, those windows. I walk toward the curtains, brush them aside, slip my fingers through the blinds again and check both windows. The little tabs are pulled out, so the windows definitely won't open very wide, if they somehow manage to open at all. Which they won't. The locks are good too, I double-checked them.
No need for another kiss on the head as I walk by his crib; I've already disturbed his sleep enough tonight. It's time to close the door and for me to go to bed.
And then, as I'm walking toward my bedroom, an image flashes in my mind. It's the image of the dead bolt.
It was flat, right? Of course it was flat, I just checked it a second time. However, it does tend to jiggle. What if, when I was checking it the second time, my hand slipped as I turned to walk away, causing the dead bolt to come unlocked. Is that possible? I guess anything is possible. I doubt that happened though, come on Dan, don't be foolish.
Shit. Now I can't get the image of an unlocked dead bolt out of my head. Sigh... I'll have to go check it one last time.
I walk back across the darkened living room once again, and into the front hall. I turn on the light. My eyes go to the dead bolt.
It's flat...ish. I can go to bed now. I should just go to bed. But, I have come this far. Again.
I walk all the way to the door and reach for the dead bolt. Yeah, it's definitely flat. I even turn the handle to try and open it. It doesn't budge. What the hell am I doing? I turn out the light and walk backward out of the hallway. And since I'm crossing the living room again, I triple-check the sliding glass door, just for the hell of it.
It's locked. But, just for safe measure, I'm going to place that wooden dowel between the sliding door and the frame. That ought to do it.
I breathe a sigh of relief and decide it's time to go to bed. But now it's too late. I'm all worked up. My heart rate has picked up a bit and I'm more alert now than when I first went into the bedroom. I should probably just sit down and watch a little TV for a bit, let my mind settle down. The Lord of the Rings is playing on STARZ. Nothing like a great, fantasy epic at eleven o'clock at night. Not a chance in hell I'm going to be able to stay awake for all of it. I'll just watch for about 15-20 minutes. Then I'll go to bed.
Well, I'll check the locks one last time.
Then I'll go to bed.
