My hubster is the king of all things horror. He prides himself of the amount of B-rate horror movies he can watch in his lifetime, I think. There was one on pay per view once that, I kid you not, was called Thankskilling. About a rogue animatronic turkey out to kill people. And the tagline in the trailer was “Gobble, Gobble, Mother******!”. Seriously, who watches that crap? But he wanted to rent it. And I had to whip out my trusty veto power and nix the request. And he wants me to watch the movies with him. And I am an absolute weinie when it comes to scary stuff. Case in point: when I was a kid, I would literally run and dive into my bed each and every night because I wa convinced Freddy was going to reach out from under my white canopy bed with the frilly pink bedding and grab my ankles with his knife/phalanges. We went to see The Village, and we embarrassed each other because I screamed out in the theater and he, in turn, to me to shut the eff up, pretty loudly at that. That was also the last time we saw a horror movie together in public.
This time last year, while I was on bedrest, we watched Paranormal Activity. And I did just fine during the movie. But after? My whole world was wrecked and I freaked at every squeak and creak in my house. And I made him escort me to and from the bathroom and everything. He had to go into a room before me and give me the all-clear. And he would always say, “Damnit, Andrea!”, and be pissed that I made him do it. Yet he continues to make me watch these movies.
So the other night, he makes me watch Paranormal Activity 2. It seemed pretty creepy to me that I saw the first one while pregnant and now, the second one has a fricken baby in it. But I watch.
And the crib is the faux-antique Jenny Lind one like Zach’s. Ugh. Creepy. And there is this scene where they are showing video footage of the baby’s room and the camera is trained on the crib when the mobile starts to spin on its own, without music or anything. Creepier. But something about the mobile looks familiar and I make John pause the movie and rewind so I can get a better look. Ohholyshit. It’s Zach’s exact moblie. That matches this bedding:
Gah! Of course now you are going to think I am insane when I tell you that I think I may believe in ghosts. When I was pregnant with Evan, I kept seeing this weird old man dressed all in white with a white fedora on. I could remember from my dreams that there was something odd about his face. They weren’t bad dreams, just eery. He even referenced my mom in a few of them. I really thought I was going crazy when I saw a picture of the man who had owned the house (and died in it) before we lived there. It was him. The man in the white fedora. He had a very prominent nose, which explains the nondescript weirdness about his face in my dreams. And while I was pregnant with Zach, I would see these dark shadows pass in my peripheral vision, about the height of an adult. Yet when I would look, nobody was there. John never saw them. And Zach. Zach will giggle and smile and stare at a point in space where there is nothing to stare at. That one time, I took the picture of him sitting up and he is bathed in light on that one side in the pic, even though the light in the room was out and the day was pretty overcast with very little natural light. I swore it was my mom. He looks like her, and was born the day after her birthday. I actually had my amnio to find out his lungs were mature and my misery would be ending on her birthday, which seemed odd since she died from lung disease and its associated complications. Of course I could be completely, certifiably insane, too. That’s always a possibility.
So I see this movie. And I think of Zach. And now I have to protect Zach from the demons that may be coming for him. Damnit, John.