Growing up America’s Most Wanted and Home Alone had perpetuated my fear of intruders breaking into the house. When I was younger, I would build a barricade of pillows and blankets between my bed and the door, I’d clear hiding places to sneak off to, and, some nights, I’d hang a slinky across the hallway to trip up clumsy bad guys including my older brother. Upon retuning home from family vacations, I’d ask my Dad to check every room before I was cleared to roam around safely.
I’ve since traded in haphazard booby traps with proper security systems. The upgrades have helped put me at ease into adulthood but I’d be lying if I said a bump in the night didn’t rattle me. My longtime fear occasionally bubbles up to the surface when I’m home alone at night or when watching a scary movie before bed.
Around this time of year six or seven years ago, we were in our North Carolina apartment. At the time we were a one dog household. Much like our sleeping arrangements now, Forest snuggled her way between us which always made me feel so loved and safe. It was an ordinary night, just like any other.
At around two in the morning a loud crashing sound vibrated from the living room. It’s universally known that nothing good comes from an ungodly early wake up call.
The three of us simultaneously sprung out of bed. Forest’s body must have jolted up inches in the air from our mattress. My fearless protector was scared too. I was just as startled by her reaction as my own. The abrupt disturbance left my brain unable to function properly. My heart was pumping fast but my body wasn’t having the normal fight or flight response. Instead was the worst physiological survival instinct possible – I froze.
In my mind I immediately pictured our sliding glass window shattered into a hundred pieces. More disturbing than the initial noise was the eerie melody that followed from the other side of the wall. I could only describe the chimes and bells as the kind of music associated with a children’s birthday party or a carnival. We weren’t dealing with a run of the mill burglar. We had one twisted enough to play a soundtrack to accompany their crimes.
Jordan slinked off cautiously to the closet and emerged with a wooden hanger – apparently the best self defense he could find on short notice.
With Jordan leading the way, my legs finally sprung into action. Together we walked slowly over to the bedroom door with dread. From the foyer we could get a clear view of the living room to the source of the noise. As I write this, I’m curious as to why we hadn’t booked it out of the front door and called 911 instead.
In hindsight, I’m glad we didn’t. The hallway light illuminated the two fallen bookshelves that hit the t.v before crashing onto the wood floor. Our shelves were no match for the IKEA screws and weak drywall of an old apartment. I followed the unsettling tune back to a thrifted decorative owl figurine. It doubled as a bookend that I hadn’t realized was also a music box. The drop must have set off the metal wind-up screw at it’s base.
To our relief, there was no clown intruder in sight. Our doors and windows were intact and locked. Somehow the TV we’d had since college still functioned perfectly without a scratch.
What started out as a traumatizing night ended up being nothing more than an explainable series of misunderstandings. Turns out many of my fears are a lot less scary than I anticipated, I just need to turn the light on them more. And while I’m at it, I could work really on my “freeze” response too.
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