HONEY, HONEY, WHAT WAS THAT? Becky A

Warning! Only for those with intestinal fortitude who don’t mind getting seriously creeped out!

Have you ever noticed when friends and family do you a favor, or hook you up with a great deal, that it often turns out not? Why is that? Why is it that the people who are supposed to love you the best, often get you in the worst messes? Mine was a house way back in the day when we were still renting. Not the same one that Fang appeared in though. His was better.

This was the house from hell. They could make a movie about it. It didn’t look like the house from hell. There were no signs or omens. We simply had no clue. I guess that’s what we get for trusting family.

We only had one child back then, our daughter who was around two at the time. She had her own twin bed in her own little room. The first indication that we picked a loser was when we turned the furnace on. I went to check on her that night to find the room filled with noxious fumes. I pulled her out of bed and began opening windows. We got that fixed but it was only a warm up. Let me rephrase that, the house had no insulation. We froze our you know what's off all winter, but I digress.

At night, we would often hear noises; strange, skittering sounds. Not much at first so we thought it was just from being in a new place. You know, that old line about the house “settling”. Some nights I suspect we slept through it but eventually it was bad enough that we knew something majorly weird was going on. An intermittent rustling soon joined the skittering, and paper sacks began moving during the night. If we got up to check, there was nothing obvious to the naked eye.

One night I finally reached the very brave, very disgusted, or totally stupid mark. I’ve never been sure which. I went to bed prepared with a flashlight. When the noises got going full swing, I leapt out of bed, flipped on my light and ran full tilt into the living room/kitchen area. To my horror I realized that something was crunching under my feet and that the floor was moving under my wavering beam. I turned the kitchen light on just in time to see hundreds of cockroaches running for cover. These weren’t your normal wimpy German variety. These were the King Kong of Cockroaches. They averaged two to three inches in length and were armor plated. Thus the crunching as I ran across a living carpet of moving targets. I kid you not.

I didn’t know whether to scream, puke, or pass out. Passing out would have landed me on said floor so that was definitely out. I opted for the scream. At least I think I did. I don’t actually remember the rest of that night. My mind refuses to let those memories resurface.

I do remember the next day when we confronted the landlords, our so-called friends. They denied ever having roaches in their rental. Since they lived next door to us, I found that hard to swallow. They also inferred we must have brought them with us (NOT) and refused to do anything about it. Our beloved family members just steered clear of us for awhile.

Interestingly enough, after discussing our unwanted guests several times, they decided to sell the house. Since we had killed off a dozen cans of roach killer by then, I suppose they figured the new owners wouldn’t notice until it was all over but the screaming.

If you want another moral for this disgustingly icky story, try this:
Don’t listen to your friends and family. Or, always wear shoes when you get up at night. (: O

ps: I'll be out of town Fri.-Sun. so will get back with you all later. I'm expecting to read some of your truly creepy stories when I return. Happy hunting!