The old house I lived in from age 2-11 was haunted. Once, when I was seven or eight, I had to go to the bathroom real bad at night, so I crept quietly downstairs and opened the bathroom door.
A shadowy thing that looked like a giant fist came around the door at my face.
I must not have screamed, because nobody woke up, but I was back in bed under the covers in about 3 seconds.
Funny thing was, my bladder was still full, and my pride in my potty-training eventually forced me to go back down and face the monster.
Good thing he was gone.
I hate to come back to earth here and spoil the mood, but there are several possible explanations:
I have a big brother (well, he was bigger than me back then).
A bat in the house.
A troll in the bathroom.
A malevolent spirit.
My experience of twilight walks in the Grand Canyon, combined with LB's explanation makes me realize that the truth is: all of the above.
A question to the cosmos: why am I not afraid of the dark?
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