I thought about titling this: Confessions from an Overactive Author's Mind, but I was a bit long, don'tcha think?
My story, and this is a true story, happened way back in the stone age, when I was either a Senior in high school or a Freshman in College.
At that time, I was working as an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician, aka, the ambulance people). I was on call the night of this story. Because of where I worked, I stayed at my parents house whenever I had the radio (we live less than one minute from the ambulance bay). I've always had really vivid dreams--including nightmares. This was a nightmare night. I woke up in the dead of night and turned on my bedroom light. That wasn't enough. So I searched the house to make sure all was quiet on that front and returned to my room.
I tried distracting myself by reading, but as soon as I put the book down, my mind started making my ears hear things again. There was no way I was going back to bed--in the dark! If they light was on, I felt much better. So I grabbed a cordless phone and my EMT radio (hey, what if I needed the cops or something because someone really WAS in the house?), locked my bedroom door, left the light on, and went back to bed, secure in the knowledge that nothing could get me if the light was on.
I was just drifting to sleep when it happened. My eyes flew open, heart pounding. The doorknob jiggled again. My overactive imagination was right! Someone WAS in the house!
Nervously, and because I've heard somewhere that if you confront the intruder they're more likely to leave rather than get caught, I called out, "Hello?"
I was not expecting an answer. The other person in the house? It was my dad. He was trying to get in my room to turn off my light. I know I giggled a little when that happened. And, strangely enough, it also made me feel better knowing my dad was roaming the house. Daddy's still make everything better, don't they?