As if zombies needed to be any more repulsive, my mind would combine them with goblins while I dream. I was trying to communicate and make peace with these revolting fuckers, when one jumped me from behind, knocked me down, and with a two fisted punch to my lower back, my kidneys had been extracted. Never trust zomblins. Take my word for it.
I woke up in massive amounts of pain, and whoa, the dream made sense. I was having back spasms, and in dreamland that’s equivalent to having your kidneys ripped out. Awesome.
This evening, I was winding down in bed with a book and I kept glancing over at the closet door, which manchild had left opened. His mess was masked by darkness, but it continued to bug me.
Finally, when he came to bed, I got up, tripped over his laptop case that had lassoed me with its shoulder strap, and managed to break my fall with the closet door, thereby slamming the door shut.
He sat up and gave me the classic look that you might give someone who electrocuted their wanker by pissing on an electric fence. After 10 years with him, he doesn’t need to say a word. His face writes novels. Of course I had to respond to the message his face was sending me.
“I have this thing about sleeping with closet doors open. I can’t do it.”
His voice box replied, “Because you’re afraid of the Boogeyman.”
I’m a half grown woman, nearing mid-life, who knows there are no monsters under the bed or in the closet, yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t know for sure, so why take the chance? 👻