Don and I have diverse views on many things. Take, for example, bunny rabbits. I once explored bunnies as pets for our son. Don suggested I get several to breed for meat.
I did not get any bunnies.
But probably the hardest thing to navigate with Don is his refusal to believe in monsters, ghosts, and other beings whose sole purpose in life is to get you.
Once, as we prepared for bed, I closed our bedroom closet door as I did every night. Don never closes it. Ever. “One day,” I scolded him, “you will be here alone and you will leave this door open, and The Closet Monster will get you.”
Satisfied that he was chagrined enough to better consider his own safety in the future, I settled into bed. “What,” he demanded, his voice staccato, “are you talking about?”
“The Closet Monster. The monster that lives in the closet and waits until you’re asleep so he can get you. You have to close the door to be safe. You and the children NEVER close closets. I am the only thing that has kept you all alive. Someday I may not be here, and that’s when he’ll strike.”
“How does The Closet Monster ‘get’ you?” Don asked. “Are there male and female Closet Monsters? To perpetuate the species? How do they live in there? Do they eat?” He’s infuriatingly practical.
I, of course, don’t have these answers. Nobody does. “Just because I don’t know the answers doesn’t mean The Closet Monster doesn’t exist,” I pointed out. “You just take precautions. I’ve never seen sperm, but I know they’re there. Same deal.”
Don furrowed his brow as he looked at me. “There’s a lot going on inside your head, isn’t there?”
“You don’t watch horror movies. Or read Stephen King,” I pointed out, sort of pouty and petulant. If he did, he’d know all about The Closet Monster. And the Things that live in attics, basements, crawl spaces, and the dark.
“And I’m not going to,” he said. “You have another monster to worry about.” He seemed pretty intent on showing me, well, the one thing I’ve listed here that he could actually show me.
Afterward, he turned off every single light in our bedroom, including the one in the hallway outside of our room. This was a first. I usually leave the hall light on. I tell the kids it’s so they can see if they need to get me at night.
There’s no need to alarm them.
I keep that light on because of The Thing In The Dark.
“Uhh…Why is that light off?” I asked, a bit nervous. I couldn’t see a thing.
Turns out, Don doesn’t sleep well at night with that light on. That’s a hard battle to fight. He’s the breadwinner. He has a demanding job. He needs his rest.
“Wh..What about The Thing In The Dark?” I asked.
“I’ll protect you,” he offered. Sweet, but hardly the point.
“What if you become The Thing In The Dark?” I demanded. That kind of thing happens in Stephen King all the time.
“You’re safe,” he replied dryly. “The monster won’t come out. I already got lucky.”
If only I could deter The Thing In The Dark so easily.