Waking the Dead

Everyone in my house is still laughing about this…


So, for whatever reason—meds, stress, pain—last night was not an entirely good night in the sleep realm. I slept some, but not that pure, recuperative kind. I got up this morning to try and start the day, and just couldn’t. Back to bed I went.

I slept for a few more hours, before I awoke to bickering. Doesn’t matter who or why, just that it wasn’t over anyone’s life or limb, and it was at a volume that I couldn’t sleep through.

Then, almost as suddenly as I’d been roused, there were a few brief moments of celebration as I realized that I had somehow become the only human in the house. I contemplated running a bath, reading a book, but ultimately, too weary for much else, went back to bed.

Just about the time I had drifted off, DamnDogs started barking and yapping, which sent BigDyingDog into mournful howls. I went and got the dogs all quieted down and crawled back into bed.

I slept for about half an hour before the doorbell rang. I tried to just ignore it. Anyone who’s anyone around here just walks in or uses the garage door. Because of their persistence, I finally got up and answered the beckoning.

Upon opening the door, I was face-to-face with what appeared to be mother and son proselytizers. Before I could even say hello, the young boy, probably about six or so, began backing away from the door, bug-eyed and screaming, “Mama you just told me there was no such thing as zombies!!!!!”

Still a bit bleary-eyed, I just watched as the confused woman attempted to stay engaged with me, and chase after her son, who was already scampering back down the driveway. Finally, after issuing a hasty good-bye, she ran after the terrified young boy. Shrugging, I closed the door and headed for the bathroom.

As I looked in the mirror, I began to laugh as I realized the source of the young boy’s terror. I had no scarf on, and my head was sporting a strange array of small patches of hair. There was a bruise near my eye that I acquired some time in the night. My eyes were so bloodshot, there was barely any white visible. Small dried streams of blood framed my face from where my ears had apparently bled while I was asleep.

At that moment, my brother stuck his head in the door and said, “Who was that running down the street?”

As I explained the situation to him, he put his arm around me and spoke to me through our reflections in the mirror, “I’m not gonna lie, if I didn’t know you, looking like this, you’d scare the Jesus out of me, too!”