Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Well I am. Apparently I’m terrified.

Two nights ago, with the mercury hitting a not so cool 25 degrees, I made my annual migration down to the basement to sleep. Every year when the temperature gets warmer and me and my mother have our annual “Why can’t we put the AC on?” argument discussion, the result of which is usually an explanation that is a hybrid of environmental, economic and body temperature issues, I gather up my duvet and my pillow (in a huff no less) and head downstairs to sleep on our fold up couch in the basement.

This usually works out well for me. It’s cold enough in my basement for me to bury myself under the covers and still feel comfortable. But two nights ago everything changed (dramatic enough?). I had just dozed off when I started hearing loud beeping noises. I woke up with a start, my heart racing wandering what it could be. And then I felt it. I was actually afraid of what I might find…a carbon monoxide leak? A fire? A stow-away living in my basement while he’s running away from the law?! So I sat still…paralyzed, absolutely sure that the axe murderer living in my basement would jump out of a closet and attack. When I finally did get up to investigate, I couldn’t track down where the noise was coming from. Eventually, the beeping stopped and I calmed down and told myself that I’m an idiot. But just as I began rearranging myself it started again, this time louder, with each beep getting longer. So I did it. I yelled for my mom.

Half asleep she came down the stairs telling me how horrible it is to be awoken by beeps (she was preaching to the already jittery choir). She walked around the basement and calmly pulled the couch back from the wall.

“It’s the carbon monoxide detector…the couch was pressing the test button.”

“Oh.”

I would try to justify my fear of loud noises when it’s dark…but there isn’t enough relativism in the world to make this sound normal. Have I ever felt more like a six year old in my life?