Husband, Father, Zombie-slayer

Something spooked me, and I gathered both children to me, my arms around them so they wouldn't stray. They were about 11 or 12 years old and they were frightened. We would be safer together. I began edging us towards the door that would lead us into the next room, to where I knew D was, to where he could protect us. Looking around I noticed there were poeple under the bed.
No, not people, corpses! Their wax-like features unmoving, dead eyes staring straight ahead. I started feeling freaked out and then I saw a pair of eyes moving, following us. Panic welled inside and I tried to hurry us to the door, knowing safety was just on the other side but unsure if we would reach it in time. My steps were tiny, as if there was some sort of binding around the three of us, restraining us. I tried to call for help but my mouth was taped shut and my shouts were mere whimpers. I realised I could reach the tape that was covering the child's mouth. As I ripped it off he screamed in terror, for the corpses were Zombies and they were writhing and moving and coming to get us! At last my mouth was freed of its tape and I screamed too, as long and loud as I could...

... I woke myself up. My heart pounded in my chest, my mouth burned dry and I was so hot I felt as if I might melt. Sweat poured off me in rivulets. Next to me, D slept soundly, his breathing even and content. I was too afraid to move any more than just my eyes, scanning the shadows that mocked me from all corners of our bedroom. Still blurry from sleep, I fought the need to close my eyes, fearful of returning to that place.
I needed water, but was terrified of the darkness and what might be lurking in our en-suite bathroom.
I needed D, awake.
So I wriggled over to him as noisily as I could. His breathing didn't change. I wriggled some more and put my hand gently on his shoulder - I needed him to wake gently, not with fright.
His breathing altered slightly but then reverted to its familiar rhythm.
Scooting back over to my side of the bed I wondered, Should I give up now? The thirst still burned in my throat and I inched back over to him, making my presence felt. He stirred but didn't wake.
I sort of felt bad so frumped my way back onto my side and propped myself up on one elbow, trying to convince myself it was safe.
And then he woke up, with a groggy, "What you doing?"
Must've thought I was getting out of bed. He always wakes when I get out of bed.
I was delighted and dashed back over to him, mumbling, "Bad dream!".
He hugged me and slurred, "What sorta bad dream?"
"Monsters!" said I.
"Oh no, not monsters!" he said, "Don't worry I'll protect you."
A moment of silence while he held me sleepily, and then...
"Would you get me some water please?"
To be fair, if he'd woken me up with stories of monsters and asked me to get him water I would've told him to f*£~ off, but not my man. Nope, he forced his eyes open and groped his way out of bed, stopping to pick up the nearest weapon he could find - his hairbrush - then stomped his way to the bathroom, making lots of thumping noises and hitting the Big Bad Brush on the ground, all the while assuring me that he was giving the monsters a beating. Upon reaching the basin he said, "You want me to bring you some water, eh?"
"Ah no, don't worry, the cup in there is all yucky - just put the light on and I'll come drink from the tap."
So he did, and I did.
When we were safely back in bed again, he asked what sort of monsters they were.
"Zombies," I said.
"Well don't you worry, I turned them into paste, they're all gone now."
My hero.
I slept like a baby after that.

~

The moral of the story? My mother was right about eating cheese late at night. Next time I'll go easy on the pizza before bedtime.