It’s strange that I love scaring people. See, I was often afraid being exposed to Jaws (still afraid of the Ocean), Devil Dog (okay, it stank but that was a long time and it was a hell hound!), and the Exorcist (despite the effects, sleep went on vacation for 14 solid days and I still can’t watch the movie). I’ve also found it strange that sometimes, when the Question was put before me (Scare or Not To Scare), that I have scorned familial relationships for the sake of elaborate set-up hours to get the Perfect Scare.

Now, they’re not cruel scares like fake choking: that’s stupid and likely to backfire. My forte was in the over-the-top ridiculous scare. Like taking my brother’s favorite teddy bear, crouching behind it, controlling its motions—step by ominous step—up a dimly lit staircase to the floor where my brother was exiting a lonely bathroom.

So recently, my wife was in the bathroom with Sy and Elayna, getting their teeth brushed before putting them down to bed. I walked by to do some Good Night Songs but found that—be it the noises of the electric tooth brush or my daughter’s giggles—no one noticed me.

The Question was before me but my body was in motion long before my mind was decided. I slithered down the hardwood and into my son’s room, peeked over my shoulder, then slid under his extremely low bed. It was tight—really tight—and I started thinking why a thirty two year old man would contort his body thinking he was still thirteen. I tried to shrug it off as I pulled my son’s bed-cover further down so as to prevent premature exposure.

Even without the Question being fully answered The Plan was already forming. Wait under the bed for the good nights and the closing door. Hear my son turn around to go to sleep. Begin scratching underneath the bed. Increase volume until Son thinks that there was a Monster (or similar) under bed. Reveal myself with a big growl.

To stave off the rants—realize that my son and I have a history of nigh five years of scares. Peek-A-Boo didn’t faze him; he wanted me to do an all out predator roar. I would throw back my head and unleash an ungodly howl so that his 9 month old frame could come running toward me with fits of laughter—despite the horrified glares of my family. Yes, my son is odd but then again I’ve always thought he might be prescient and occasionally call him Muad’Dib.

And under that bed I felt miserable. The muscles in my back were taut. A box behind me was digging into my ribs. Dust was getting into my nose. Guilt pulled at me—what am I doing? What if he flips out? What if he doesn’t react like how he’s reacted for the last five years?

The Question was still nagging me, but I was in too deep (literally). My wife, son and daughter came into the room; their songs completed their prayers offered. For some reason, my mind mumbled “ah, well the gig is up—they saw you, old fool” so I dragged my body out from under the bed, like Samara Morgan exiting a static-ridden TV screen. I figured that I might as well make a good show even if I was already caught.

But I wasn’t caught. No one saw me. Indeed, my wife would later tell me that the sheets began to rustle and then out came Some Thing.

Presently, my wife “wooped”. Not a happy woop, mind you. It was those low woops that is not quite a yelp but is considering its options. As my dark arm reached out of the sheet she let out a shriller woop which weighed hysteria as a viable expression. My son, for the first time, looked a bit concerned. His eyes widened and his hand shot out the way you would put one defensive member forward when some weird critter is threatening you. My daughter was nonplussed—more by my wife’s strange barks than anything crawling out from under the bed.

At this point my son started laughing “You got me Daddy. You got me good!” leaving me fairly impressed. The boy’s uncle (my brother) had (at one point) jumped back against a wall and clenched his heart when hearing “Daaaaadddyyy” from his favorite teddy bear Johnny—but my son laughed it off.

My wife’s reaction had me in giggle fits for the next few hours. Now I have another Question: scare her more often or have a happy marriage…?