So I had the apartment to myself for the last four days while my husband took a skiing trip, and that meant I spent many blissful hours lounging around in my pajamas, blaring the music of tragic ’80s divas, and reading. Good stuff, except for the fact that I happened to choose John Connolly’s The Killing Kind, a book my sister loaned to me over the holidays, to while away the lonely hours. I guess the Washington Post‘s quote on the cover — "Unfolds with the force and logic of a nightmare" — should have tipped me off, but I kid you not, certain passages freaked me out so badly, I had trouble sleeping.
Cut to me, hiding under my comforter in the dark, wondering if I forgot to lock the deadbolt, imagining weird sounds coming from the kitchen, whimpering with the knowledge that The Killing Kind‘s spider-loving baddie Mr. Pudd was coming to send me to an arachnid-driven demise. Shudder.
So here’s what I need to know: Have any of you ever experienced reading-driven insomnia, and if so, which scary book(s) gave you trouble sleeping? (Yeah, I’m gonna be taking notes because apparently I’m a little masochistic like that.)