At around 4.10am this morning, for a good 2 minutes, I was convinced that someone or something was trying to kill me. The sound came out of nowhere waking me from my sleep, emanating from the roof directly above me. What ever it was it meant only one thing, I was moments from death.
That was of course before I’d fully woken. It’s true to say I was startled and did spend a good five minutes after the noise occurred trying to re-locate my heart and put in back safe within my chest. But I soon realised that I was not under attack.
I tried to think what the sound could have been from my bed, not wanting to get up. I concluded that something had fallen from the roof. Since its only April I quickly ruled out Santa as the culprit, unless he was doing dummy runs for homes without chimneys. The other options were,
- A burglar trying to find his way in had fallen
- The roof itself was about to fall in on me.
With neither option particularly sleep inducing I was resigned to the fact I would have to get up and have a look. Considering one of my options was someone trying to break in I’m not sure where this new found sense of bravery had come from. Maybe I hoped that with the noise being so loud my dad would be up investigating as well but as I passed his room no stirring could be heard. Thanks to my dad’s heavy sleeping, I was a search party of one.
Luckily or maybe unluckily, I found no obvious cause for the noise. Luckily because this meant I could be 100% sure no one was trying to kill me and unluckily because I was now starting to doubt myself. Had I heard anything at all? I was sure I had! Hadn’t I?
Yes I bloody well had! I would never have woken with such a start from a nightmare. And at any rate I can remember the dream I was having. I was trying to put a door back on its hinges as it wouldn’t close properly. Not the most interesting of dreams but probably stems from a broken door at work.
I digress. Getting up after the sun had risen I was able to confirm my sanity upon discovering some tiles had fallen from the roof directly above my room. Mystery solved…or was it. Why did they just decide to fall off? Maybe there was someone on the roof, maybe it was Santa who had been on a dummy run. Did Santa die falling from my roof? Surly it would be the hitting the floor that killed him, not the falling. Though he is quite old so maybe he’d had a massive heart attack on the way down the hard surface of the floor only sealing his fate.
The only hole in this theory is the question of where the body was? Surly if it just disappears as it does in the movie ‘The Santa Clause’ the suit would have been left for me to put on as so to take over the role of the jolly fat man. Did someone beat me? It’s true that I haven’t seen my dad today, I’d assumed he’d gone to work before I re-awoke. Maybe he had, just not the normal place of work, a place ever so slightly colder.
In 256 days, when christmas day comes, I will have my answer (or I’ll just ask him tonight).
Any ideas on how this all happened? Or maybe you’ve woken up to worse? (other than your partner)