My Chest Still Hurts When I Think About It

Once upon a time there was a girl (me) who moved back home from college to help her dad take care of her younger siblings (in this story I'm referring to Paddy and KP).  However, that girl still liked to hang out with friends and would, on the odd occasion, get home later in the evening.  Say after everyone else was in bed.  And on the rare occasion when that happened, she tried to be veeeeeery quiet so as to not wake anybody up.  Which was silly because it's a 100-year old farm house and the stairs are creakier than a 90-year old marathoner's knees.

Anyway on this particular evening I, I mean she...oh heck lets just go with 'I' and 'me'--I was trying to be oh-so-quiet as I tip-toed through the house, brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas, and turned out the downstairs lights.  I am a wee bit scared of the dark, or was at the time I mean, and 100-year old farmhouses exacerbate that condition so my heart may have been beating just a half-beat faster than usual as I tip-toed to the bottom of the stairs.  The house was dark and I had to pat the hallway wall until I found the light switch.

Click, click, click.  Nothing.  

Dang it, why did nothing in this house ever work?  The light bulb must have blown out.  

So I ran my hand along the wall as I climbed the narrow, creaky stairs, just to make sure I could find my way up them.   After about 15 steps I reached the first landing, took a sharp right and continued up another four steps.  By now there was a banister and I adjusted my purse and other things I was carrying so that I could use the banister to guide me through the pitch dark and into my bedroom where, God-willing, there was a functioning light bulb.  

As I reached the junction to my bedroom, two enormous dark shapes jumped out at me and roared.  

I screamed.  I screamed so loud that my chest hurt like a horse had just kicked me in the ribcage. 

I screamed so hard that I no longer needed a light because little flashy stars were twinkling in my line of vision.

And rolling on the floor, nearly peeing their pajamas with laughter, were Paddy and KP.  Seriously.  They couldn't talk for at least 20 minutes and were gagging for air as their faces turned blue with hilarity.  

Meanwhile I sat on the floor and leaned against the banister with my head between my knees, rubbing my chestbone, and trying not to pass out.  

In hindsight, yes it was incredibly hilarious, in fact it only took me until the next day to admit that but at that moment, that night I was so startled.  And to this day I have still never screamed so hard that my chest hurts and my eyes see stars when there aren't any.  

In fact, my chest still hurts when I think about it.  You stinkers.