Sleep no more explanation serial#

On the lower bunk, sometimes he'd climb the ladder and sleep with me after I'd been sitting up and staring at the closet for what seemed like hours. My brother wasn't afraid of the closet like I was. Every time he did it, there was nothing in that closet. Sometimes, he'd even make a show of it and enter with a baseball bat or a plastic gun, threatening the monster hiding in there. My father, God bless the man, every night before bed, he'd open the closet door, reach up and pull the dangling string to turn the light bulb on, - the switch had shorted on our sixth birthday- and search the closet for my own reassurance.

Sleep no more explanation serial#

I was sure we were plagued with a closet residing boogie man or a homicidal shadow dweller, maybe even the neighborhood serial killer. More so of my own wild imagination spurring the darkness to life with monstrous intents. Well, not so much the stairs as the hallway that my room was at the end of leading to the stairs around the corner. When these incidents happened - and that was at least three times a week - I took it upon myself to get him safely back in his bed when I actually caught him, so long as he didn't wander passed the stairs, which thankfully now wasn't very possible. I found him inside the toy box once, and I just remember thinking.

Before the child proof door, there were only a select few places he'd go, but it became a game of hide and seek with him.

Some nights, he'd wake up and try to leave the room, tugging on the door and only succeeding in making an unnecessary amount of racket, only to fall back asleep at the foot of the door after his failure. I'm being facetious now, but I really hated that damn child proof bullshit.īut, due to his sleepwalking, he was kept on the bottom bunk. It was one of those plastic coverings that you had to squeeze and turn simultaneously, y'know, the ones that are impossible for anybody under the age of 18 to possibly hope to open due to the sheer amount of pressure it took to turn the damn knob. So much so that dad child proofed the doors to our room and closet (after an unfortunate pissing incident involving a soiled pile of clothes) so that when we were awake, we could leave, but asleep, no dice. Back when we were six, my brother developed a notorious sleepwalking habit among his various other disorders.