.The Scared Shitless Meme. Before starting into my mad tale of the noise in the attic, let me preface this by stating I've been involved in some pretty scary shit. Car accidents, bad falls, occurrences with knives, enormous MMA clashes with Randy Couture. Okay, perhaps that last one was an exaggeration, but you get my point. Though all of those can be likened to an episode of Barney & Friends one chance night home alone about a decade ago.
I must confess; I'm a bit of a pussy. Acting like I'm all hard, I can watch nearly any damn thing, never even getting the slightest hint of a hurl. Pasta with meat sauce during Flowers of Flesh and Blood? Laughing joyfully during Olaf Ittenbach's Black Past? Knitting in the middle of Slaughtered Vomit Dolls? No fucking problem. In fact, call up your friends and we'll party sometime. But, and I hate to admit this, I still get the willies like a little prissy girl whenever I suddenly realize I'm "in the dark" or hear the slightest unidentified "shift" in the night. Listening to Coast to Coast AM in the wee hours of the morning can prove a jarring experience as I always seem to envision something lurking from behind. Fuck you, shadow person. So yes, I'm a giant wuss when it comes to freaking myself out over crap that's simply not there.
So imagine my abject fear late one weekend night years ago. My parents were out and I was left to my own devices. I can't remember what I was doing, probably neglecting school work for Argento, but my thrilling night was winding down. As I was shutting down the ol' PC, what sounded like distinct footsteps tapped above my head across the ceiling. Okay, nothing to be frightened by, right? A few minutes later there's a rustling coming from the corner of the house in the attic. Now the house wasn't built a hundred ago or anything that would indicate a place prone to paranormal activity. That didn't stop the thoughts that began swirling in my head. The Ju-on remake wasn't out yet, but I had seen the original and the images of howling cat children and dead, contorting Japanese women cackling couldn't be shaken as I looked toward the ceiling. After I hear a box of junk slam the boards above, I become resolute and grab an aluminum little league bat I've had since forever. I cautiously make my way up the pull-down ladder with one tiny bulb illuminating the entire space. Ambling along a narrow strip of loose 2x4s down the center the attic, I freeze cold upon hearing...
Before I could shit myself, tense up, or even blink; a furry blur comes running toward my bare feet. Somehow I manage to awkwardly swing the bat and hit...something, but in the process stumble back and fall backward hard onto the ceiling beams and insulation. Hours later in the morning, I open my eyes to the sound of my mother screaming bloody murder as if someone died. No, she just found me, knocked out from the fall with a mild concussion and small stain of blood evident through ceiling below. By some still unexplained method, a terrified possum had ended up in the attic, mulling around and apparently munching on cardboard boxes. I'm not one for violence against animals, but it was me or him that night. The unforgivable sheer terror I experienced for that millisecond was the poor creature's best revenge.