The 3:00 a.m. Creepy Crawlies...

I told myself not to do it.  I happened to walk by my son who was watching a movie about a possessed, haunted doll.  I knew not to sit down.  I knew I’d remember that doll’s evil black eyes, the way she could make her rocking chair move at odd times or the sewing machine go off at 4:00 a.m.  But did I listen?  No.  And yes, I paid the price.

Did I mention I’m horrible at thrillers?  I watched “The Shining” and “The Sixth Sense” with a pillow over my face, peeking out when it felt safe, traumatized when it wasn’t, and screaming out loud at those "gotcha" moments.  I’ve never seen one of these movies in a theater but I'm sure they’d kick me out.  I’m too disruptive.

But that’s not the worse part.  The worst part is what happens later in the wee hours of the night.

I get that creepy feeling.  I wrote on this once before in a post about the show, “Long Island Medium.”  One viewing was enough.  I’ll never watch Theresa Caputo hobnob with the dead again. 

The night of the weird doll movie I fell asleep fine, but around 3:00 a.m. my eyes opened and the hamster wheel began turning (by the way, a spooky, creaky hamster wheel).  An array of disturbing images started competing like barkers at a scary carnival.  “Worry over loved ones here!”  “Horrible diseases at this booth!”  “Get your fire, plane crashes and earthquakes!”

Some people call 3:00 a.m. the Witching Hour, the time when supernatural forces are their strongest.  Human brains go from daytime rational to nighttime primal.  Fears magnify.  We become childlike, vulnerable and scared.  At least I do.  That night I could’ve sworn I heard the furious thrum of a sewing machine (even though we don’t own one).

I know people who watch crime shows every night and sleep like babies.  I envy them, but maybe there’s a biological basis for this.  Apparently introverts react stronger to stimuli -- physically and emotionally.  It doesn’t take much to tax our over-charged nervous systems.  Extroverts don’t sweat the small stuff, lucky them.

So what’s a faint-hearted girl to do?  Don’t look, as my father would say when I was little and freaking out over such classic horror movies as "Bambi" and "Dumbo."  Stay away from whatever fills your already-burgeoning imagination.  Avoid crime dramas, horror flicks, nightly news, and anything about talking to the Long Island dead.  Fine, I thought.  No problem.

Except once in a while I slip.  I peek into that other world, the eerie world, the world of icky stuff everyone seems to love.  The world where strange dolls manipulate inanimate objects like stereos that play slow, creepy tunes late at night… during a thunder storm...when the husband’s away… and the wife’s alone... and of course she has no car... and a door's starting to creak open...and that’s it.  Goose bumps are starting.  Must look away.        

Does anyone else go through late night trauma or is it just me?  I’d love to know.  Comments are always welcome and thank you for reading.