Spooky Halloween Story

In the spirit of the spookiness of Halloween, I thought I'd share a macabre tale with my faithful readers.  This horrific tale comes from my own chronicles of terror. 

The date: A gorgeous summer night in the year 2001. 

The place: My safe and cozy bedroom in my house. 

I was sitting on my bed in my childhood bedroom on the second floor of our house, studying, with the window wide open to let the perfect summer breeze wash over me.  The crickets were chirping, no one in the house was trying to kill someone else in the house, and a fantastic sense of calm pervaded the house on Fraser street.  All was right with the world.

It was a rustle coming from the tree outside my window that shattered that peace. 

My entire life, I have been terrified of that tree outside my window.  I have always been CERTAIN that one day I would look out the window to find a robber, monster, or general bad guy in that tree about to burst through the screen to get me.  It began when my dad was walking me through the half-finished upstairs to choose my bedroom.  He let me pick first (ah, the perks of being the eldest child!), and once I had picked my room-to-be, he casually mentioned "And if there's ever a fire, you can just grab onto that tree outside your window and get to safety."  Logical, right?  In my anxiety-ridden brain, all I heard was "Oh, look.  There's a tree that you can climb down.  That means people can climb UP and get INSIDE your room.  At NIGHT.  When you are SLEEPING and VULNERABLE." 

So, that night when I heard the rustling, I didn't REALLY think there would be a robber or monster, but ... you never know.  Never could I have imagined what I was about to witness.

A possum. 

Yes, a possum, in my tree, about two inches from my face, looking me in the eye.  This is really the type of moment that is best understood when illustrated.

Allow me:

I fell off the bed in a panic, screaming bloody murder (a scream that my family can verify is truly terrible and eardrum-bursting) and shouting for my daddy.

I am not entirely proud of what I did next, but let's just say I shouted orders at my father and he followed them.  And then there was no more possum in my tree.  I struggle with the shame and guilt of this from time to time, being an animal lover and all.  But as soon as I let myself re-live the horror of being inches from a possum face with only a screen (that had already been slightly shredded by multiple cats trying to catch bugs through it) between us ... I did what I had to do.

I'll just leave you with this thought ... is this an animal you want to hug? 

That's what I thought.


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