Bumps in the Night

As you may have noticed, I have a hard time updating this blog on a regular basis. The problem is that I have a hard time following through on anything that I don’t have a sense of obligation to complete. It’s a definite limitation. One that I’m challenging myself to overcome. Part of my strategy for this blog is to pick important dates to write posts about. By associating the act of posting with important dates like birthdays and anniversaries I make it about others and the sense of obligation kicks in. This trick has worked so far, as you may have noticed, but it’s not perfect. I have developed a pattern of writing the posts at the last possible moment. I often complete them in the very early morning hours.

The most recent example of this was Thomas’ birthday. On that day I didn’t finish the post until almost five in the morning. Which is why I was up when I heard a familiar sound: the creaking of a hinge on Thomas’ bedroom door as it opened. Assuming Thomas was coming out of his room for some real or imagined need, I got up from the desk in our open third floor loft and headed downstairs. I stopped on the landing between the two floors, caught slightly off guard by an odd sight.

Thomas was standing in the barely open doorway of his room. He had one leg up in the air as if he was frozen in the middle of a giant step. He appeared to be in the act of stepping over one of his rainboots which had been placed in his doorway to keep it slightly ajar. I was confused by this move. Why not just open the door all the way? Why not move the boot? And why the heck was he stopped in that odd pose? So, rather than making my way down the rest of the stairs I instead took a step back out of his eye sight and waited.

After a moment he finished his slow step over the boot. He then stopped, turned around and stepped back over the boot into his room. Then he came back out. Then back in again. Then out and then in. Finally he stepped out one last time and slowly walked down the hallway towards our bedroom. The entry way to our room was out of my sightline so I was going to follow him. I didn’t get a chance, because as soon as he was gone he was back, walking towards his room. He made it to his room and carefully stepped over the boot. I expected him to repeat his odd behavior, but instead he disappeared into his room. After a moment when it was clear he wasn’t coming back out, I quickly made my way down the rest of the stairs and followed him.

I found him in his bed, under his blankets. He was breathing heavily in his near snore, lips parted slightly, and completely asleep. It had been less than twenty seconds since he had walked through the doorway.

I placed my hand on his shoulder, and said “Thomas?” He just rolled over onto his belly and squirmed a bit before going still again.

That’s when I knew. My five year old who can open the front door, the door to the garage, the refrigerator, turn on our gas fireplace, and operate every faucet in the house had been sleepwalking.

A couple days later Thomas had his five year checkup and we mentioned the incident to his doctor. She told us that it wasn’t uncommon and that “they’ll do that” and then told us all the things you’ve heard before. “Secure the doors, don’t wake him up, lead him back to bed.”

But there was no need because it remained an isolated incident. (Uh, as far as I know. Ugh. Do you see how nerve wracking this is? It’s like having a five year old ghost creeping around your house when you’re asleep.) Until yesterday at about four in the morning. This time I was awake because I had just moved from the couch where I had fallen asleep infront of an episode of Mythbusters. I made my way up to bed. Not long after getting into bed I heard the noise of the creaking door. I got up and headed out into the hallway and found Thomas standing there in the dark. He reminded me of the two girls standing in the hallway in the film version of the The Shining.

He saw me and said, “daddy.” Then he turned around and walked back into his room. His movements and voice were odd. It was not at all how he behaves normally. It was as though he was very tired. Which, I suppose he was. This time I quickly followed and watched him get back in bed. As he got under the covers he said “Jesus is ….” and then put his head on his pillow and was out, just like before.

I wanted to shout “JESUS IS WHAT?!” Instead, I walked out of the room and started working out reasonable explanations as to why this is not what I thought it was. I thought “this is only happening when I’m awake and moving around. He hears me, and gets up to investigate. He behaves oddly because he’s tired.”

“No,” another voice in my head countered, “it’s more likely that this happens more often than you think and you only see it when you’re awake because, well, you’re awake to see it. The little bugger is probably standing over you while you sleep every night.”

“He’s not standing there thinking about eating my brains, is he?”

“Not unless he’s dreaming he’s a dinosaur.”

“Oh, God.”

It just so happens that as I was writing this very post, I once again heard the sound of the creaking hinge. I’m not going to lie, I had a surge of adrenaline and the hair on my neck stood up. There’s something about this that just creeps me out. I made it into the hallway and he was standing in the doorway. Again he said, “daddy” and went back into his room. And then he woke up. He said, “um, uh … daddy,” now speaking in his normal light voice with his rambling words, “I love you.”

So, for now, my brains are safe. I just hope he stays safe.