Relym's Thread

I just found this essay that I had to write for English class earlier this year. I had to choose one instance in which I was confused or frustrated by something, and then realized how simple it was.

Everyone has experienced irrational fear; every human knows the moment, while lying in the dark, and one could swear that something moved; every horror junkie has been hesitant to shower after witnessing the most recent slasher film. Of course, it is nearly impossible for a crazed maniac to be dwelling behind the curtain, and even less likely for there to be a savage beast lurking in any closet, but something inside the human mind prefers to think otherwise. Naturally, I am almost always on edge while alone. This often leads me to create elaborate and reoccurring fabrications, seemingly created just to scare myself. One of those creations haunted me for nearly a year.

Several people agree that my mother's former house was haunted. Even those who did not sleep in the house, or wander alone at night through the halls, could agree that there were strange vibrations in the air, and an uneasy feeling in the soul. This setting created the spark of irrational fear in me, which grew like a rolling snowball until I began to convince myself that every sound was a something sinister.

After my parents divorced, and my mother had to buy new furniture for her new home, I was gifted with a brand new bed. It was extremely comfortable, and I would have slept well in it, if not for my foolish cowardice. A few nights after moving into the new house, and our discovery of the eerie atmosphere, I began hearing a sound at night. When I was trying to fall asleep, I would lie on my back, so that I could survey my room. When I couldn't see my room, I couldn't help but believe that I was being watched myself. While I did so, I would hear a soft creaking noise from beneath my bed. It would repeat, slowly at first. As I became aware of it, it grew faster. As I began to fear it, it grew louder and faster still. When it was too much to bear, I fled the room, and the noise ceased immediately.

The noise was definitely real, and not a figment of my imagination. I am certain of that. However, there was no proof that it ever existed, because as soon as I left the room to bring someone to examine it, it stopped. I was perplexed, as well as terrified. I often slept on the couch, or the chair in the living room; I slept anywhere but my room, where the horrible, scraping, creaking noise resided.

When I did not sleep on the other furniture, and I dared to sleep in my own room, of course the noise accompanied me. Not only was I terrified, but I could not find the source, and I was angered and frustrated more than afraid. I gave up dealing with the noise entirely, and slept on the couch for a long time.

One holiday, however, my extended family was visiting us. All of the extra furniture was claimed for night-time use, and so I was forced to return to the clutches of my bed. After a few minutes, the sound from under the bed began again. This time, I was resolute. I would beat this thing with patience if I must. While I waited, I noticed something very peculiar about the noise: it matched my heartbeat precisely!

All this time, the noise had been caused by vibrations in the bed, originating from my heart. The vibrations hit a loose spring, which scraped and creaked. As I grew scared, and my pulse quickened, so did the noise. When I left the bed, my heartbeat would not affect the bed, and therefore the noise would stop. Relief, and something like pride, washed over me as I determined the source of the noise. I was not afraid of a monster, or a maniac, or a ghost; I had been forced out my room night after night by fear itself. Irrational fear may have still been present in me, but I knew that I could always conquer any fear if I just confronted it.

The next morning, I tore the loose spring out of the mattress.

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