Don’t worry, though, I’m not going to use his skin to make myself a suit like Buffalo Bill planned to do in The Silence of the Lambs.
I wear togas, not suits.
Besides, the stranger in my cellar refuses to put on the lotion.
All kidding aside, though, there is a stranger in the basement bunker of The House on the Hill, and it’s making me quite anxious. I know I have a certain level of social anxiety, but at least I always feel safe and secure here.
That feeling flies away, though, when someone outside of my approved guest list makes an appearance.
Even more so when that stranger is in the cellar making a whole lot of noise, freaking out the cats, and leaving me to pace around like I’m the one who’s been thrown into a pit!
Look, he’s even referring to himself in the third person in this blog post. That is a definite sign that he’s snapped. Perhaps all that running and the Summer heat finally melted the parts of his brain responsible for common sense and impulse control!
This blog post is actually about the guy from the heating oil company coming over to give the furnace its annual cleaning.
You can stop Googling the phone number for the FBI. There’s no need to track down Agent Starling and have her rush off to Maine.
Love ya, Clarice!
I assure you the lambs have stopped their screaming, but I am still very uncomfortable about there being a stranger in the house!
Do any of you share this same feeling of anxiety? I spent the whole day lamenting the fact that I had to prepare myself for the furnace guy’s arrival. As my appointment time drew nearer, my stomach started to get queasy.
A part of me wanted to cancel it, but common sense did prevail. I understood that the furnace runs much more efficiently when I have it cleaned, and an efficient furnace means less money spent on expensive heating oil.
Still, though, I wished it was something that could be done without my having to be in the house. As outgoing as I try to be, strangers still unnerve me.
I never know how to act or what to say. I didn’t want to eat with him in the house because that seemed rude. I was reluctant to use the restroom because I feared he’d come upstairs to ask a question and not be able to find me. I kept worrying he’d come up out of the cellar, leave the door open, and the cats would get lost down in the pit…I mean…down in the dark, scary basement.
The whole time he’s been here, I’ve been thinking of things I’d rather be doing outside of The House on the Hill, but can’t because there’s a stranger in my cellar.
We all know that’s ridiculous, though, because I’m a homebody and would much rather just hang out here and write. For some reason, I don’t feel like I can work on the new screenplay with Senator Martin’s daughter tinkering away in the basement.
Oh well. It will all be over soon.
Wait! I didn’t mean that in a “I’m going to have him for dinner” kind of way. I’m not Hannibal Lecter.
Just pass the Chianti. Maybe some wine will calm my nerves…