Skinamarink
I was a fretful child who was scared of her own shadow. A victim of an overactive imagination fed by parents who didn’t monitor what I read or watched, there wasn’t one thing I was particularly afraid of, it was all things. Vampires, werewolves, serial killers, alligators in the sewer, Michael Myers, they all lurked in the recesses of my mind, waiting to jump out at me when I wasn’t paying attention. Luckily I was always on high alert: I never slept in complete darkness or silence, and, much to my mother’s chagrin, I kept both my closet and the space under my bed stuffed full of clutter so there’d be no place for the monsters to hide. Even then, I always jumped in and out of bed far enough away that nothing could drag me underneath. The way I saw it, you just couldn’t be too sure. Continue Reading →