Dear Ninja Assassin

Dear Ninja Assassin,

Like any normal human being, I have a few pre lights out habits that make my final hour or so per day pretty predictable.  If I’m not hogging the couch catching up on the contents of the DVR, you will find me in the dark, snuggled in with a good book.  More often than not lately I find myself being entertained by the likes of Stephen King or other writers contributing to the horror genre, so it is necessary to prime myself to the possibility of being attacked by the monster that is so well studied in my nightly habits that it is undoubtedly hiding in my closet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

With that said, as I curled around my kindle trudging deep through Westeros with book four in the A Song of Ice and Fire series, I had no reason to be afraid of my surroundings.  Sure, George R. R. Martin is a great writer, but he’s never given me reason to suddenly feel a poltergeist over my shoulder.  I had no reason to fear.

That is, until a beast of the night attacked the light of my ereader.

Now I know what you’re thinking: I can understand the brief moment of fright as something unexpected fluttered against your hands out of nowhere, but it’s just a moth, Lauren.  Relax.  No, you relax!  I will cut you!

I guess this is time when I should probably admit to something: I have an irrational fear of butterflies.  Moths too.

When I was younger I heard a story about how moths gave up all of their color to make the rainbow because butterflies were too vain to contribute their half, so I like to think that I am capable of forgetting my prejudices because of the moth’s generous saintliness.  But when it comes down to it and a winged creature comes at my face screaming “Banzai!!!!’ they’re all just Lepidoptera to me. They’re all the same.

I don’t know how or when this fear started exactly; there was no incident where I woke up completely covered in these monsters as they used their weird curly trunk things to suck nectar from my skin.  All I know is I don’t trust them.  And you shouldn’t either, with their drunkenly erratic flight patterns.  You want to really scare me for Halloween? Don’t take me to a haunted house, take me to a butterfly house.  I will leave there with my pants so full that I will gladly give you all the chocolate candy I accumulated throughout the night.

Which brings me back to the haunting of my parents’ upstairs living room.  Upon reflex to the initial pass of the wings that tried to slice my thumb from my left hand, my kindle somehow found its way across the room.  At least the one light source still on was by the furthest wall from me, but now I could see absolutely nothing.  And that includes the ninja assassin still out there, lurking in the darkness with drool dripping from its jowls at the thought of feeding on my soul.  Crashing over the obstacle course of shoes and backpacks and extended recliners, I made it to the light switch just in time to confirm what I already knew; I had no idea where the moth went.

It wasn’t hiding in the blinds, I didn’t trap it under my blanket in the mad dash away from ground zero, it wasn’t smashed under my Kindle; it was just gone.

But it wasn’t gone.  Not really.

With the lights back off and my heart still searching for the emergency exit in my chest, I tried returning to what was supposed to be the relaxing hour before bed, but there was no way I was going to be able to go back to reading after the attempt on my life. Laying the Kindle on my chest, I closed my eyes and stretched the tension out of my back and arms, doing my best to move past this.  Minutes passed, and I suddenly felt the need for a bigger boat.  But I didn’t have a boat.  What I did have, was my phone’s camera.

Flash.  Nothing on that wall.  Flash.  Nothing on that wall.  Flash.

Moth attackAnd there it was.

Bracing myself, I pressed the camera button once more. Flash.  And it was gone.

But it wasn’t gone.  Not really.

Until next time,
Lauren H.
Follow @BewareOfTrees

 

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    • Brandon
    • April 29th, 2014

    Best one so far. Well done!

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