It was a typical weekday afternoon, around one-ish. I'd been having a tough time getting Joey settled for his nap with the multiple potty trips he'd been needing to take. Running up and down the stairs was wearing me out, and I couldn't wait to sit down. In the meantime I tried to clean up the kitchen a bit. When a few quiet minutes ticked by, I dared to think maybe he'd finally gone to sleep. I started to think about what I'd do next, and in what order.
Then the silence was shattered by sounds coming from upstairs -- incomprehensible, scary sounds. There was a smacking, an arrhythmic wap! wap! wap! and Joey was crying, "Nooo! Aghhhhhh!" I'd never heard him sound so terrified, and it cut right into my heart.
No logical reason for what I was hearing presented itself in my mind, and there was no time to think. My instinct told me that it was not human. Was Joey being attacked by a poltergeist up there? I yelled, "Joey, I'm coming!" Knowing that she would make a puddle on the kitchen floor as she watched me run yelling from the room, I scooped up Willow and ran for the stairs. All the way up I heard his cries rising in panic and desperation, as the smacking relentlessly continued. "I'm coming!" I called again. I couldn't bear to think what he must be facing, and facing alone at that moment.
I was filled with dread in the moment I turned the doorknob, armed with nothing but a startled puppy, but needing to get to my helpless son. When the door swung open, two sights greeted me:
Joey's face, a mask of terror, red and tear-streaked, sobbing.
A Mylar balloon with a frowny face that Annie had drawn on, being mercilessly pummeled by the ceiling fan.
A week later, and he still brings it up from time to time. He'll probably be talking about it in therapy one day. There's never a dull moment in this house. Happy Monday, everyone!
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