I wrote this column about weird stuff happening in my house, and I completely forgot to mention the last “incident” that prompted me to write it.
I’m bright that way.
So in addition to lights and televisions turning on and off without human aid in my house (as far as I know – if there’s someone out there screwing with me, congratulations), I woke up around 2 a.m. Monday to hear talking coming from my 2-year-old’s room.
I got up and peeked in. She was standing there; she’d pulled all the books off her shelf (no need for alarm – it’s her new trick) and she’s talking a mile a minute. To who, I have no idea. She sort of speaks this English-Russian hybrid language I usually don’t understand anyway. Thinking this was strange but nothing about which to be alarmed - and being extremely tired – i just went back to bed. I figured she’d finish destroying her bookcase and either go back to sleep, or come get in bed with us, which she did a few minutes later. All that re-decorating gets tiresome.
I don’t think she was actually talking to the Blair Witch or anything. I think she was talking to herself, just like grandpa used to do. But, still, I’d like one of the Ghostbuster ray-gun thingies for Christmas, just in case.