I am afraid of noises in the night. I guess it's not really the noises that frighten me as much as it is what the noises might represent.
That bump could be a prowler, a robber. . . a murderer! It doesn't matter that no house in our neighborhood has been broken into in years or that the string of robberies that did occur several years ago were all during the day when people left garage doors open. There is, in my mind, still the possibility. That creak could be a crook!
It doesn't matter that I've locked every door and window in the house and checked them twice. That bump could still be a prowler in the house, bent on stealing. . . what? I don't know what we have that is valuable enough to steal! It doesn't matter that the phone is on the nightstand and 911 is easy to dial (how many movies show too little time for dialing, after all?) or even that David is snoring away beside me (how many movies show the big, strong man getting killed, too?).
Those thumps are scary and keep me awake in the dark when I wish it could be light or I could sleep.