But by the time I arrived home, all the things I had heard were lurking in the back of my mind. I wasn't thinking about them directly. The thoughts would slip past my consciousness and then back into the shadows. Tom was not yet home and the apartment was quiet. Still. I tidied up the bedroom. I walked into the closet to hang up shirts. As I reached up my arms I began to feel creepy and exposed. I turned around and looked out at the empty room. Nothing there, nothing to worry about. I held my breath and steadied myself to walk back out to the room and keep my back to the closet. I bent down to throw out the water bottles by the bed and stared at the dark space known as 'under the bed.' I looked over my shoulder to see the closet. Nothing. I threw away the water bottles and then went into the bathroom to organize the clutter on the counter. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, transfixed. Didn't Bloody Mary come out of mirrors? I thought I heard the front door open and close and ran to the stairs. As I peeked over the railing, waiting to see Tom walking up, I peeked over my shoulder again -- just to make sure nothing was behind me. And no one came up the stairs.
Eventually I turned on the TV in order to drown out my own fears and scary thoughts. I'm an adult, am I not? Shouldn't I be brave and think nothing of trivial things like ghosts or zombies? I've always hated being home alone because I get freaked out by the teeniest thing. And the worst thing is that even now, as a full grown human, I feel like a child, afraid of my own thoughts and imagination.