How One Night My Husband Was Horrible

We go to bed early in my house.

Wait.  Clarification.  The Justins go to bed early in my house.  My husband gets up for work around 1:30 a.m., and so he is often in bed by 6:30.  Junior, who selflessly gave up his nap at age 2, usually goes to bed at 7:30.  (Unless he doesn't.  But that's a different blog.)  I usually stay up late to get stuff done.  I would say I am a night-owl, but then that would indicate that I sleep in.  But I don't.  I am also an early riser.  Being an early-rising night owl sucks.

Last night, all the stars aligned and it looked as though I was going to get to go to bed at a decent time. Junior laid down with little complaint at 7:15, and I was able to snake-slither my way off of his bed without waking him. (And before anyone says anything about how bad it is to lay down with my son - duly noted. But he does go to bed around 7:30.  I win.) Furthermore, there was nothing left to be done for the day.  No dishes to load, no laundry to fold.  I could do this.  I could totally just...go to bed.

So, I went to our bedroom and, doing the same snake-slithering move in reverse, got into bed - but it didn't work.  Or maybe Justin was already awake.  I don't know, and I don't care.  Actually, I hope I did wake him up, because he behaved horribly.  Not at first, though.  At first, we held hands for a bit, whispered nice, married-people whispers, I closed my eyes...

And opened them to something like this:

Wife, would you still love me if I looked like this?

Okay.  That was sort of funny.  Ha, ha, Justin.  I closed my eyes.  But I could feel him looking at me.  I opened them.  To this:

What about this, wife? Would you still love me?

Less funny.  More scary. "Stop it," I said.  And I closed my eyes.  And still, I could feel him.  I could feel him  being awful and silent, and the more I ignored it, the more silent and awful it became.  I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter.  It didn't help.  I looked.  I saw this:

WHAT ABOUT NOW, WIFE? WOULD YOU STILL LOVE ME?

"Damn it!" I said.  "Stop it!  You know I hate it when you make faces!  Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he said, but the bed was shaking from his laughter, so he wasn't too sorry.  The other reason I know he wasn't sorry is because the next time I opened my eyes, it was to this:

Love me, wife.  Please...

All contorted, his hands pulled into claws, his muscles strained so hard the cords in his neck were popped out.  I pinched him.  Hard.  Poked him in the throat for good measure, too.  And then I turned over.  He said he was sorry.  I wouldn't face him.  If I don't face him, it's harder to hear him making awful, silent faces.  He said he was done.

I closed my eyes.  I pulled the sheets up higher - they were nice and cool.  I snuggled further under the down comforter.  My pillow was just right.  It was barely 8 o'clock - I was going to sleep gloriously.  For like eleven hours.  ELEVEN HOURS.

I heard him rustling around.  The rustling was worse than the silence.  I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter.  I will not look.

"Wife."

I said nothing.

"Wife.  Look."

"I don't want to look."

"Wife."

I looked.  I saw this:

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Fuck! The back bend!

Seriously.

My husband knows that, as much as I love horror movies, I am easily spooked.  I cannot tell you how many times he has vowed "THIS IS THE LAST TIME YOU EVER SEE A SCARY MOVIE EVER!" in his biggest, baddest husband voice.  And he says that because, once we go to bed after seeing one, he doesn't sleep well.  And the reason he doesn't sleep well is because I don't sleep well.  Because I hear things.

And he also knows that one of the creepiest things in horror movies is the possessed back bend.  It's horrible.  You know that it is.  When some pasty, scrawny little girl in a tattered white nightgown shows up, you know at some point her muscles will lock up and jerk her into a horrible back bend, and you will want to scream and scream, because it's that bad.  Every time I see that girl in a movie, I half-hide my face and start saying, "She's going to do it.  She's going to do that horrible back bend thing, you know she is."

And here was Justin, back arched off the mattress, neck cocked at an awful angle, eyes popped out, jaw frozen open in a silent scream, being the worst husband ever in the whole world.

Finally, he dropped back to the mattress, because acting possessed and being a dick to your wife is exhausting.  He swore he was done.  He said, "No, really, wife, I promise this time," and although he was laughing still, I believed him.  I snuggled down again, made him spoon me. His silence wasn't creepy, it was normal.  I couldn't hear him making the awful faces, and really, anything else would have been pretty anti-climatic after the back bend.

The down comforter, the cool sheet, the perfect pillow placement...sleep came.  And then I opened up my eyes to this:

I may look cute, but I am about to whisper some creepy shit, okay?

He was right in  my face, eyes peering intently into mine.  Honestly, not that scary, but you always kind of wonder just how long they've been staring at you, you know?

But then he whispered, in this creepy, somehow final whisper:

"Mommy," he whispered.  "You are done sleeping in this bed. You. Are. Done."

And he was right.  At least for the night.  Jesus.