Slumber Party Slaughter: Don’t Go Into the Shower

I was sick to my stomach and decided that zealously reading the every one of the Berenstain Bears books in the playroom was the only solution. A few girls followed me and we each took turns reading aloud. Soon after there were a few half-hearted games of “Truth or Dare” and then everyone started to snuggle into their sleeping bags. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I had to keep watch over the girls and think of an excellent plan to protect them! My mom picked me up the next morning and I promptly dozed off right after she backed out of the driveway.

The next few weeks were a nightmare for my parents because I used my Itty-Bitty Book Light to read until I passed out. Even then, I’d jerk awake and swear I had glimpsed the reflection of a hockey mask in the window. Teachers phoned home to say I was falling asleep in class and my grades had dropped compared to only a week or so prior.

There was also the problem with showers and baths—no chances taken since the two were so closely-related. I threw a fit when my parents insisted I partake. It all came to a head on a night spent with my grandparents.

“Has anyone seen my shampoo?”
Friday The 13th, 1980

Did I mention they lived in the country? Surrounded by pockets of forests, a creek bed, and fields of freshly planted corn. In other words, it was a world rife with plenty of camouflage for Jason to bide his time. My parents were at their bowling league until at least midnight. As soon as the nightly news came on, my brother and I headed upstairs for bed and I knew this was it. I couldn’t throw a tantrum at Helen and Junior’s. My parents had launched a passive aggressive and shrewdly pre-meditated attack by hiding my book light somewhere in their bedroom before we packed our overnight bags.

There was no escape. Every breeze whispered, “Kill Kill Kill Kill” and blew the branches against the guest bedroom window; every tap was the scrape of a machete sharpening its blade before it sliced into me and everyone else in the house. The guest bed was a bunk bed and made it feel like we were at camp. It was the perfect setting for the final breakdown. My brother was snoring slightly on the bottom bunk. After what felt like hours upon hours of gut-wrenching panic (probably only 15 minutes), I made my way downstairs. Through mortified sobs, I told my grandma about the maniac that was sitting in the tree. We needed an escape plan and fast! Didn’t she know the danger we were all in at that very moment? Patiently, she had me start at the beginning.

My parents were relieved to find a reason for this behavior and promptly phoned my cousin’s house to have a talk with my aunt. I had left out the porn movie for obvious reasons. Even a naïve little girl like me understood that was the death knell of various relationships within the family.

Mercifully, I had the whole summer to try and salvage my paranoid, wussypants reputation, and work on my hygiene habits. The latter worked itself out in no time. The former has developed into a full-time obsession. Trust me, I have a myriad of genius escape plans just in case anything terrifying should happen. Be sure to bring a towel.

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