When I was a small child, I got up out of bed on night to go to the bathroom to urinate. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet and began to urinate. Nothing could have been more vividly real than the trip down the hall to the bathroom, than clicking on the light, than the white tile, than... well, I was in the bathroom, urinating.
Except that suddenly I wasn't. I was sitting in the upholstered chair in the living room, in a warm puddle. I screamed, of course, and my parents came and found me there.
That wasn't the only time I walked in my sleep, and I often had very vivid, frightening dreams. Once the sheets talked to me, the rustling of them contained voices. It is my scariest memory.
I wonder if it isn't nice to say I don't believe in faeries. I certainly do believe our minds play tricks on us, though. |
