There I was, laying in bed trying to catch a few zzz's, when all of a sudden I heard it: the deep, rumbling reverberations of he who haunts the night. At first I was in denial...this just couldn't be! I'm warm and snug in my bed, within the safe confines of our cozy apartment...how could he be here? All the nightmares of my youth came crashing back into my mind from obscurity...the sleepless nights, the awful noise, the desperate pleading for it to end! And yet there he was, and there was no denying him. That's right, the Lawnmower Man is my neighbor.
The Lawnmower Man's method of torture is simple: keep you up all hours of the night with the terrible, lawnmower-like noises produced by his nasal cavity. And torture it is. When I was a child he always found his way into my parents' room, but I could somewhat escape by closing doors and hovering under layers of blankets in agonizing terror waiting for him to stop. My mother, fearless as she is, knew the magic words to fend off the evil fiend. "Turn over!" She'd grumble into the night air. I would hear shuffling after that (undoubtably the Lawnmower Man retreating in surprise from her unexpected attack), and then...silence.
I've learned the tricks the townspeople speak of to keep him away. Sleeping on your side helps, they say, perhaps because you are not so openly vulnerable as when laying on your back. I do not know. Protective sticky strips placed on the nose are also said to ward him off, but that is usually for the more superstitious. But I am without defense because the Lawnmower Man is one thinly insulated wall behind me, residing in the next unit. I keep working up the nerve to bang on the wall and yell "Oh Lawnmower Man, behold! By the power of my mother I say unto you, turn over!" But alas I cannot. Instead, I've found some small way to exact revenge on his torture with the aid of my husband. That's right, the Lawnmower Man isn't the only one to strike at night. We have the power of the Horny Toad, and let's just say...Lawnmower Man can't beat that.
