Here's the thing about horror movies and Living in a yurt


A few things have always perplexed me about horror movies. One of those things is wondering why in the hell do people ALWAYS go TOWARDS the creepy sound coming from the basement? If it were me, I'd bolt in the opposite direction.

So I thought.

Last night I woke about 3:30 am to the most horrific sound coming from outside in my backyard. The sound was a cross between the noise a velociraptor and a zombie make. If you don't know what a velociraptor is, I'll kindly point you in the direction of my 8-year-old nephew, Henry, and he will happily educate you .

Given that Louie my cat never came home last night I realized I had a choice. Pull the covers over my head and ask my angels to surround me for protection (which is what I normally do) or get up and investigate.

I proceeded to hop out of bed and grabbed my flashlight on the way to open the backdoor. As I did, there it was again. The blood-curdling screech of something proudly vocalizing it made a kill. Probably my adorable cat.

I slowly opened the back door and it hit me. I AM THAT horror movie person. The one that goes towards the noise and it all made sense. Humans are naturally very curious. Even if it means being attacked by a Velocirzombie. We just have to know, don't we?

I step over the wooden doorway leading out to the deck and as my barefoot steps down onto the mat, I feel it squish beneath my toes, it's internal organs smoothly sliding between each one.

I grind my teeth and shine my light down at my foot to see the remnants of what I can only assume was Louie's gift to me. As if on cue, the Velocirzombie screeches loudly as my furry companion frantically jumps onto the back porch and rushes by me into the safety of our tent home (insert sarcasm here)

And I sigh a breath of relief knowing whatever fine delicacy it's dining on tonight is not my beloved fur child and hop to the sink to wash his gift off of the bottom of my foot..20 times or so.