When I was five years old, two things happened that changed my life forever: my mom told me aliens suck people into space ships and “poke needles into them to see what they’re made out of,” and I watched the episode of “Scooby Doo” with the female vampire (not the episode where the vampire turns out to be the man also masquerading as a gypsy).
Between these two things, the dark became a very scary place for me.
Toss in the fact that without my contact lenses all I see are big, blurry shapes, and it’s not a surprise I slept with a nightlight.
Until four months ago, I also slept with my blankets pulled up to my chin, no matter how hot I was, because I felt like I needed to protect my jugular.
Because my pink pig blanket would totally ward off the undead.
The vampires of my imagination were more frightening than anything Hollywood could ever create.
They were always a hybrid of the sleek, romantic type that could lull you into a sense of safety and the Nosferatu-ish, sinister type.
One particularly vivid dream of mine supplied the creepiest thing about my vampires: They would always lurk about in an inhumanly low, smooth crouch.
In my mind, they were always waiting for me in a dark room that I hadn't turned the light on in yet. <br/>They were in my closet, under my desk or hovering at the foot of my bed. I was afraid to look out the window at night, just knowing that there would be a pale face with a maniacal grin behind the glass waiting for me. They were in my closet, under my desk or hovering at the foot of my bed. I was afraid to look out the window at night, just knowing that there would be a pale face with a maniacal grin behind the glass waiting for me.
They were in my closet, under my desk or hovering at the foot of my bed. I was afraid to look out the window at night, just knowing that there would be a pale face with a maniacal grin behind the glass waiting for me.
Last year, I woke up in the middle of the night, determined there was a vampire outside my window. <br/>I told myself it was stupid to even think that, and I rationalized it by remembering some legends hold that vampires have mind control talents.I told myself it was stupid to even think that, and I rationalized it by remembering some legends hold that vampires have mind control talents.
I told myself it was stupid to even think that, and I rationalized it by remembering some legends hold that vampires have mind control talents.
I studied my room for ways to defend myself.
I searched my room in Irwin Hall for something to make a stake with, but I doubted I would be able to break the furniture. I had no religious artifacts and no garlic.
I had to settle for my roommate’s reed diffuser, so I moved that by my bed. Daylight couldn’t come fast enough.
That has all changed, and it’s thanks to a series of books based off of another woman’s dreams: “Twilight.”
I read the first one because I was bored and I wanted to see what the hype was about. I wasn’t expecting to even finish it because I assumed it would be too scary.
By page 50, I was hooked.
In most ways, Stephenie Meyer’s vampires are much more nightmare-worthy than anything I imagined. There is no way a human could destroy them.
Holy water, garlic and stakes mean nothing, and humans aren’t strong enough to dismember them so they can be burned. They need no invitation to enter and are even immune to daylight. My roommate’s reed diffuser wouldn’t do much.
Meyer wrote new rules for vampires, making them so much more deadly for fragile, stupid humans.
Based on this, the “Twilight” books should have me sobbing under my blankets with a flame-thrower.
But in her new rules, some vampires aren’t bad. Sure, they’re in the minority, but they’re the world’s greatest predators, denying their instincts in order to do what is right.
By denying their thirst and accepting pain and discomfort for themselves, they’re helping others.
For me, it’s the self-sacrifice by Edward and all the other vampires that strikes a chord and keeps me running back for more. It’s also that hope of something overcoming the evilness within itself that lets me sleep with an exposed neck.
And if I should ever have a vampire lurk into my room, if he’s as dazzling as Edward, I won’t try to defend myself with the furniture I could break in my adrenaline rush.
I mean, seriously, Edward? That’s exactly how I want to go.