Saturday Soliloquy-- Reading Can Scare You Silly

When I started reading Stephen King's books, I was in college and living in a basement apartment in an eight-plex off campus. If you take a look at the vintage photo below, you'll see my apartment windows. The bottom one at the front was my living room window. The one around the corner past the pine trees to the right was my bedroom window.


While I lived there, I got used to looking out the window and seeing people's ankles. It gave me a slightly different perspective on the world, but I digress.

I'd read Stephen King's first book, Carrie, and although I didn't rave about it, I liked it. When 'Salem's Lot came out the following year, I bought a copy. I read the first few chapters during a lunch break and was hooked. I didn't want to put the thing down, but I had a heavy course load that semester and tons of work. I forced myself to leave the book alone until I'd finished studying for the evening. This usually meant I didn't get to read for pleasure until the wee hours of the morning, so it's a good thing that I've always been a night owl.

My twin bed was in the corner of my bedroom. The head of the bed was against one wall; the side of the bed was against the window wall, which meant that my head was practically underneath the window. I crawled into bed at midnight with 'Salem's Lot and began to read.

There's something about reading very late at night when everyone else is asleep and the world around you is hushed-- especially when it's a scary book. It wasn't long until I'd scooched up to a sitting position with my back against the wall. Actually I was wedged into the corner so nothing could sneak up behind me.

My eyes were flying across the pages, and all the hairs on my body had stiffened into tiny antennae that were a-quiver with the effort of sensing danger. I had just reached the part where a boy's best friend has shown up in the dead of night and is scratching on the screen of his window, wanting to be let in. The friend is a vampire and should definitely not be let inside. The student lamp's narrow cone of light was perfect for reading, but it certainly left the rest of the room dark. I shivered and tried to back further into the corner.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. "Please let me in."

I tried to wedge myself tighter into the corner. Before I could finish turning the page, something started scratching at the window screen above my head.

All I can say is:

1. It's a good thing I have excellent bladder control.
2. It's a miracle that my hair didn't turn snow white on the spot.

I immediately turned that lamp off. Sitting in the dark, I put my bookmark in place and carefully laid the book on the floor. Just as my heart had calmed down a bit, there was more scratching. It wasn't light scratching either. It was basso profundo scratching-- the kind that's serious about getting to where you are.

An eternity went by with me sitting there wedged in a corner with my heart in my mouth and something scratching at my window screen. Then I began to get angry. I did not appreciate having a top notch reading experience interrupted, and I certainly didn't like being scared and feeling helpless. It was time for me to Do Something!

Slowly...so slowly that a glacier could beat me...I reached out to the hem of the curtains and even more slowly pulled them back.

Staring down at me were the glowing eyes and gleaming fangs of the neighbors' Rottweiler.

Six years later, the latest Stephen King book was...you guessed it...Cujo. For some odd reason, it didn't frighten me.



What about you folks? Has anyone else read a book that scared them silly? I definitely want to hear about it!