Scaredy Cat
So, the last several times I've tried the door when I've gotten home late at night, it's been unlocked, and Trevor's door closed. Presumably, he's asleep within. Once there was a Rachael on the couch.
Whenever this situation arises, it matters not who is home, I see visions of "murdering madmen" lurking in corners and closets and behind that untouchable shut door.
My crazy man is always smiling maniacally, slightly balding with frizzy red hair, wide dark eyes, and yellowed teeth. His clothes are dirty and he wears a green shirt and a khaki trench coat with a thick brown lining. His weapon of choice is a kitchen knife, although he is strong enough to kill someone without a weapon. He relishes his work and licks his lips often.
Lord knows why it's that specific, or that consistent. In my dreams there's a much larger variation in insane killers, and usually they actually think they are doing good things.
Anyway, Trevor told me about a conversation with Rachael about scary stories that were, presumably, untrue. The one that bothered me was one in which two girls are rooming together. One stays home while the other goes out, but the one who left has to come back to get something, in this version lipstick. She doesn't turn on the light because her roommate is presumably asleep, but she knocks into something on the floor. She finds the lipstick, and leaves.
In Trevor's story, she returns later that evening to caution tape and a police line at her apartment. They tell her that her roommate's been killed and ask her what she knows. After hearing her story, they respond that it does explain "this" and point out writing on the mirror in blood, "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"
The internet's variations include one where the roommate returns again and goes to bed, waking up the grisly note and a dead roommate.
And, really, the problem is the extent to which my imagination will go to make things worse. Like, what if they posted a note on my LJ or wrote something in word? What if it took me days to realize that Trevor was dead, since we've been almost missing each other most days? What if I found him hanging upside down in the shower?
What should I do? Is there anyway to save the roommate or myself? Is there a right thing to do in this case?
Would they let me cancel my GRE with a refund?
A similar one involves a dog, but I'll let you look that up. Ew, ew, ew.
ANYWAY.
It's not that this horror story created any fears, so much as it embellished that old one.
SO, last night and this morning until Trevor got up I was, perhaps pathetically, on edge and kicking myself for my edgy state. Cause I "knew" that it was all ok, but I didn't KNOW.
Defensive spoon posture.
Wish me luck on GRE.
Whenever this situation arises, it matters not who is home, I see visions of "murdering madmen" lurking in corners and closets and behind that untouchable shut door.
My crazy man is always smiling maniacally, slightly balding with frizzy red hair, wide dark eyes, and yellowed teeth. His clothes are dirty and he wears a green shirt and a khaki trench coat with a thick brown lining. His weapon of choice is a kitchen knife, although he is strong enough to kill someone without a weapon. He relishes his work and licks his lips often.
Lord knows why it's that specific, or that consistent. In my dreams there's a much larger variation in insane killers, and usually they actually think they are doing good things.
Anyway, Trevor told me about a conversation with Rachael about scary stories that were, presumably, untrue. The one that bothered me was one in which two girls are rooming together. One stays home while the other goes out, but the one who left has to come back to get something, in this version lipstick. She doesn't turn on the light because her roommate is presumably asleep, but she knocks into something on the floor. She finds the lipstick, and leaves.
In Trevor's story, she returns later that evening to caution tape and a police line at her apartment. They tell her that her roommate's been killed and ask her what she knows. After hearing her story, they respond that it does explain "this" and point out writing on the mirror in blood, "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?"
The internet's variations include one where the roommate returns again and goes to bed, waking up the grisly note and a dead roommate.
And, really, the problem is the extent to which my imagination will go to make things worse. Like, what if they posted a note on my LJ or wrote something in word? What if it took me days to realize that Trevor was dead, since we've been almost missing each other most days? What if I found him hanging upside down in the shower?
What should I do? Is there anyway to save the roommate or myself? Is there a right thing to do in this case?
Would they let me cancel my GRE with a refund?
A similar one involves a dog, but I'll let you look that up. Ew, ew, ew.
ANYWAY.
It's not that this horror story created any fears, so much as it embellished that old one.
SO, last night and this morning until Trevor got up I was, perhaps pathetically, on edge and kicking myself for my edgy state. Cause I "knew" that it was all ok, but I didn't KNOW.
Defensive spoon posture.
Wish me luck on GRE.