Reds Under the Beds

I am not a particularly nervous, superstitious or gullible person. I don’t deliberately avoid cracks in the pavement or throw spilt salt over my shoulder. I didn’t fret unduly when I broke a mirror last year, although I was a little upset as it was one I particularly liked. I don’t ever read a horoscope and I’ve never been taken in by a telephone or internet scam. And, after all, it’s just sense, rather than irrational fear, not to walk under a ladder, for who wants to risk a pot of paint or bucket of water landing on their head.  

So with all this in mind I’m hoping you’ll not judge too harshly my return home traditions. Having been away for a day or two, or more, I have a specific, non-changing routine. Like everyone else I empty my suitcase (or, after a shorter trip, holdall), throw away the junk mail and open the rest of the post and then change out of my travelling clothes into my comfy-at-home-gear before putting the kettle on. But before all that I have another list of not to be broken practices without which I could not settle.

First, I switch on all the lights. (Which to be fair to myself isn’t all that peculiar as I only do so during or following twilight.) But when I say all the lights, I mean all the lights. Second, I enter every bedroom – there are two – and look under each bed – also two (I have an additional futon in case of a houseful) – and in each wardrobe – there are three – for the red, yellow, or blue furry, low growling creatures that I despair might lurk there. The origins of this I can date to childhood terrors and are not, I know, unique to me. Strangely, I’m not worried about monster infiltration at any other time. It’s only when I’ve been on a trip that I think they might have snuck in and taken up residence. The upstairs bathroom and under-stairs cloakroom/washroom are next on the list. This time I’m checking for snakes in the toilet bowl. A little more recent this anxiety. I read an article in a magazine about such a reptile escaping from a zoo and finding its way into the drainage system – you can guess the rest – and I’ve been concerned for my own pipes ever since. This obsession goes beyond my regular home-security activities as I need to check the loo every time I visit. Finally, I enter the kitchen and open and check all the white goods for gnomes, elves and piskies just in case they’ve decided to make mischief with the electrics whilst I’ve been away. I’m not sure where this last dread comes from but it’s definitely a serious matter.

When, and only when, all this is done I can relax. Having unpacked, changed, and the rest, it’s time for something to eat. On my most recent return home it was beans on toast I fancied. ‘Same for you?’ I called whilst assembling the foodstuffs and utensils I’d need. ‘Sure, sounds good, thanks,’ Bob replied. He was sitting in his usual place in the middle of the living-room bookcase his three purple eyes busily flicking over the pages of one of my novels which he was holding with the sucker on his head. He’s been staying with me since he arrived from a galaxy far, far away just a few months back.