Signs that the book Helter Skelter is scaring the shit out of me:
1. I find myself constantly checking the back seat and the floor of the passenger seat of my car through the window to make sure there’s no one there before I get in.
2. I check for people lurking around my building and inside the garage before I pull in.
3. I was leaving work on Monday and shared the elevator with another woman. Sometime in the middle of the ride, she dropped a full plastic bottle of water and it hit the floor with a bang. I leap away from the sound in sheer panic, slamming into the side of the elevator. Unfortunately, this woman was one of the psychiatrists who shares an office on our floor. Fortunately, her attention had been focused on picking up the bottle and she hadn’t witnessed my extreme reaction nor my look of pure terror.
4. Later that night, I was in the garage of my building walking to my car on the way to the gym. My neighbor must have gotten home not too long ago because his engine, as it cooled down, suddenly made a loud pop. I dove out of the way ala duck and cover, then frantically inspected the area of his car to check for persons hiding inside or around the car. There was nobody.
5. After spending 4 hours at a bookstore reading the book, I went home to watch the pilot of Lost. I had the lights turned out and I was in bed, when Reggie walked in close to midnight. Even though he had called no more than half an hour before to say he was on the way, I was nonetheless so terrified to see a dark figure suddenly enter my room that I screamed and catapulted the remote control that had been loosely cradled in my hand into a wall across the room.
I plan to marathon the rest of the book right after work while there’s still light out, just to have it finished so I can rectify its damage to my psyche with children’s videos, images of petting zoos and happy, happy thoughts.