Wednesday, October 31, 2012

A Halloween post, excerpted from my dad blog


Someday I'm gonna write sff for a living. For now I'm mostly living it with my two-year-old. Here's a Halloween post to tide you over until I review Perdido Street Station tomorrow.

Light seeps in through the slivered gaps between the window shades, dripping little splashes of obnoxious sunshine right onto your eyelids. You strain to listen, but hear no sounds from the munchkin's room, so you stretch and turn over. Just for a few more minutes.


But despite the cheery transition from sleep to wakefulness, from shadowy night to revealing day, something unsettling tickles the edges of your awareness. You turn again. And then again. Is that a cry you hear? A faint, almost feline sound, too far away to be your daughter. Or is it? It sounds again, seeming to echo forlornly on another plane, a reality just barely touching your own.

Sighing, you haul yourself out of bed. Your wife slumbers still, turned away from you, a pillow shielding her face from the light. You rub your eyes, faint recollections from the night seeping slowly through your consciousness. Something about being chased, and running in slow motion, and then a creature with teeth and claws . . .

You stand outside of the munchkin's door for a minute, head resting on the door jamb. No sound. No faint cries. No whines. You crack the door, just a little bit. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, and it seems you can just barely make out something glowing, hovering just above her bed. You squint, and crack the door a little further. And then you realize that it is her eyes glinting in the darkness, reflecting back the light in the hallway. She stands in her crib, motionless. Just watching you. Her eyes never seem to blink.


If you'd like to read more, you can read the rest of it at my dad blog, Raised by my daughter. Have a happy Halloween!

6 comments:

  1. Holy crap that is so CREEPY! Kind of related: we recently got a cat for the first time with the girls, and sometimes I can't tell if it's Butterbean meowing or my 18-month-old crying. It's super weird.

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    1. nothing like cats, or 18 month-olds, for creepy.

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  2. Oops, this is Laura. From Insatiable Booksluts. Not a creepy "unknown" pretending like she knows you!

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    1. Good to see you, Laura! I just figured you were a mysterious wanderer haunting my blog.

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  3. I remember that stuff. It never gets better, just changes.

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    1. Some of it I could do without. Other stuff is great in its creepiness. If only you could have the good creepy without the bad creepy.

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