Midnight in the Camper of Good and Evil

I should have been asleep.
I blame this on my father.
Of course, as he handed me the book, he reminded me.
"Don't start it unless you have time to finish it!"

To which I have to say, really? Does he think I live at Hogwarts, where I can turn back the clock? Where does this imaginary time come from? Between feeding, riding, sleeping, and the occasional drift into civilization, my time is booked. (<-- word plays like this amuse me now. I think that's a side effect of overexposure to horse manure.) I knew he was right though. I should have saved the book for a Saturday or Sunday, when I spend most of my time curled in bed. But because I am teenaged and willful, I started it anyway. What book, you ask? Relentless by the king of thrillers and my personal favorite Dean Koontz. (Sorry, Stephen King, but Dean makes me cry and laugh. You only make me confused and weirded out.) I read it in one go, delving into the layers of humor and fear like it was my last literary conquest. Now, I knew it was going to be creepy, but I wasn't too concerned.

I'd already hacked through Silence of the Lambs a couple nights earlier. Alone in my camper, I made it through without a single freakout, scream, or night of insomnia. I didn't even worry about my unlocked door. There was no way Koontz's book was going to be worse.

If you haven't figured it out by now:
I was wrong.

Koontz's supernaturals, demons, and ghosts terrify me. I've always read him late at night in my second story bedroom - scared, but content knowing that any evil thing would probably get my parents first. And hearing their screams, I would be able to use our "fire safety" plan. Yeah, Mom and Dad... When you taught me about getting on the roof, I didn't get the fire rescue thing.
I did, however, decide it would be a great way to escape from evil spirits.
You must be proud.

It was about eleven at night. Every creak, crack, and groan from Clark the camper seemed amplified. I had already turned so that I could have my back to a wall. Just in case, you know, some evil happened upon my kitchen. Between sentences, I'd glance up to check that nothing from the book had spilled over into reality. Every once in a while, I'd say something, anything, to break the silence.

(Usually hello, because Koontz instills this horrible fear that something will say hello back.. And I had crossed the horrible fear line chapters ago.)

As I finished a chapter, I realized I really needed to pee. But there was no way on God's green earth that I was going to leaving my camper safe-haven and venture out into the dark, soundless night.
Absolutely. Not. No-go.

A chapter later, I decided I was wrong, and I better find some way fast to venture out into the aforementioned night of doom. I called my dad, who answered in a groggy-dad voice. "What?"

"I need you to stay on the phone with me while I go to the bathroom." Okay, this sounds like a very strange request, but my bathroom is maybe a 3 or 4 minute walk (about a 1-2 minute dash) from my door. A lot can happen in 3 minutes. Just ask a Dean Koontz character.

"Huh?" He has received enough strange calls from his kids that he no longer chooses to form full words until he knows what the hell you're talking about. (Unless it sounds like you're about to do something reckless. Which in my mind, the bathroom run very well might have been. He did not have the same sentiments.)

The phrase "needed to pee like a racehorse" never made any sense to me until that night. I wanted nothing more than to dash for it and crawl back into my safe, warm home. With my dad on the line, I made my run. I'm not sure why talking to him was that comforting. It's not like his voice was going to stop evil in its track. However, the shadows looked quieter, and the silence felt smaller.

I made it!
Once I was tucked into bed again, he advised me to put the book down.

Let's take a poll.. What do you think I did? Did I put the book down like a sensible adult, remind myself that I had work in the morning and the words would still be there tomorrow?
Of course not. Teenager.. Hello.

A hundred pages later and into the last chapter, I was really glad I had taken that break.

I was vaguely aware of our barn cat meowing at my door. He does this almost EVERY night and will occasionally run his claws down the camper (no consequence is fast enough to convince him that this is NOT okay.). He hadn't visited me the last few nights, but apparently my noble dash to the outhouse reminded him of the finer living he was missing out on.

I was wrapped into the words. Hundreds of pages built to this moment. I clutched the book, hung on to the letters. A billion predictions bounced around in my head. I was almost th-

Something launched into my bedside window, propped open as an emergency "fire safety" plan. The screen clattered to the floor. I screamed, jumped, jerked. Oh dear God, I was going to die in this camper in the middle of nowhere! I dropped the book, twisted my sheets, cursed my dad for giving me the dastardly novel.

And then.
A pause.

I stopped and stared at the cat, who was hanging half-way in and half-way out of my window. He clung for a moment, a look of disappointment on his face. It was the same look Wylie Coyote had every time he ran off a cliff.

After a second, the cat slid back out the window with a pathetic meow.

When my heart started beating again, I laughed. When I could finally stop laughing, I breathed. When I finally caught my breath, I finished the book.

The cat ignored me for the next couple of days because, as you all know, if you witness a cat in a questionable position you should not exist. (And if he ignores you, then you don't. Wish cat logic worked on some people..)

He has not bothered the camper since.

-- Girl