My Creepiness Can't Even Be Contained By Waking Hours

I’m sure you all have encountered someone who, while sleeping, does something out of the ordinary. There are sleep-talkers and sleep-walkers. There are blanket hogs. There are moaners and groaners and cuddlers and boxers and snorers and people who are a mix of all these things. People are messed up sleepers. And then there’s me.

Let’s be real here—I don’t think that there’s a single word that can properly describe the creature that is moi in a deep slumber.

I can only say this: I will scare the absolute shit out of you, all while completely and utterly asleep, without any recollection whatsoever on my end the following morning. My victim told this tale to me the next day; I have zero memory of this incident ever occurring.

Let this be a warning to you. NEVER sleep in a bed with me.

The week of my twenty-first birthday, my best friend and I decided that it would be a good idea for her to stay at my place for the week. So for a few days, Bestie had been sleeping in my queen-sized bed with me. We had never imagined that it would be a cause for concern. …We were gravely wrong.

After a summer night of celebrating my new age, we got our pajamas on, brushed our teeth, and crawled into bed. I had to wake up early for work the following morning, so I passed the hell out instantly. Bestie didn’t have to wake up quite so early, so she stayed up reading The Hunger Games by the light of the bedside lamp.

Into the wee small hours of the morning she read, getting completely engrossed in the story, unwilling to put it down.

She be readin’ like this:

After a while, Bestie really needed to switch to her other side. She had been propped up on her left side, facing away from me, for almost four hours, and her body was itchin’ to change positions.

Ever concerned with the levels of creepiness she exudes, Bestie pondered whether it would be socially acceptable in the bestie code for her to turn, put the book between us, and face me as she finished her reading. After all, I was slumbering peacefully with my face towards her. If I were to wake up, she would have been all up in my business. And that’s just straight up rude.

It was a legitimate concern.

She’s been asleep for hours, Bestie reasoned to herself. It’s totally fine.

So she adjusted like this:

For a few sweet minutes, she was able to read in peace. The book was reaching its climax—the action was at its peak, characters were DYING, and Bestie was on edge. It was completely silent, tension filled the air, and darkness burrowed into every corner of the room.

The only sound she could hear was my soft, even breathing.

And then—BAM. With the lightning quick reflexes of a cheetah chasing down a fresh, baby gazelle, I inhaled, propped myself up on my elbow, and stared. Her. Down.

But even that obviously wasn’t enough for me. My creepiness cannot even be contained in a dead sleep; and once it was out, it was going to go full force.

Seconds passed.

“You… you scared the shit out of me!” Bestie managed to spit out. She thought I was wide awake. My eyes were fully open, and I was staring right at her, so, yes, you’d think that I was awake. And you’d be wrong. Dead wrong.

My response to her?

You can’t say I never warned you.