A Humorous Sleepwalking Story

Sleepwalkers often hear morning-after reports of unusual, and frequently humorous, activities they engage in while sleepwalking. As amusing as the story may be to others, it’s sometimes difficult for a sleepwalker to believe the accusations as there is no memory of the event in question. After all, if one were really doing these odd things, wouldn’t there be some sort of hard evidence? As a lifelong sleepwalker, this was my rationale until the day I found myself in a bizarre situation with no other logical explanation.

Throughout my childhood and young adult life, I listened skeptically to anecdotes starring me as the adventurous, yet harmless, sleepwalker. I was confronted with stories about being discovered on a variety of late-night excursions: taking hikes up and down stairs, pacing the hallways, eating food from the refrigerator, hovering over family members as they slept, and even engaging in relatively coherent conversations. Still, I wasn’t completely convinced I was doing those things in my sleep. I didn’t necessarily think my loved ones were lying to me, but wondered if they were possibly misreading the situations. I reasoned that maybe I was really awake during the night, but was simply too tired to remember what happened the next day. It could happen, right? After all, I always woke up feeling rested and safe in my own comfortable bed.

Although most of my sleepwalking episodes took place during my childhood, I was in my early twenties when I had my most memorable experience as a sleepwalker. I was living in a condominium with a friend of mine at the time. We had what seemed like the ideal arrangement. I worked days and she worked nights. This gave each of us coveted alone time while the other one was at work. In hindsight, I realize it also meant there was no one to catch me in the act of sleepwalking…no one, that is, but me.

On this particular night, I was tired and stressed from a long day at work and decided to go to bed earlier than usual. I distinctly recall going to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me, and lying down in my bed. What I don’t remember, however, is anything I did after that.

I awoke to a bright light shining on me and an uncomfortable feeling of dampness underneath me. I reached out my hand to feel around me and struggled to find the covers. Imagine my surprise when, instead of touching my soft mattress, my hand rubbed against something bristly and moist. Not ready to fully awaken, I placed my hands behind my head and pulled my pillow closer. The problem was my head was not resting on my fluffy pillow. What I drew firmly into my head was a hard, cold object. The impact made it painfully clear that something strange was going on. I opened my eyes and sat up in bed. It was then that I discovered I was not in my bed at all. I was, in fact, not even in my house. I was curled up on the bank of the pond in my backyard. The mattress I thought I was sleeping on was actually the dew-covered grass and my pillow was a small rock near the edge of the pond. After getting over the initial shock of my location, I quickly took my embarrassed and pajama-clad self back toward the house, thankful that my neighbors were not early risers.

Since that day, I’ve only heard reports of my participation in a few isolated sleepwalking episodes. This may mean one of two things: either my escapades as a sleepwalker have diminished, or I’m simply getting more adept at finding my way back to my own bed. Regardless, my experience that day has taught me to take extra precautions. For instance, before going to bed at night I place my car keys out of sight or grasp, conduct a nightly routine of checking to confirm the windows are closed and locked, and always lock the deadbolts on my doors. Yet, in spite of these safety measures, I’m always aware of the possibility I may wake up somewhere other than in the comfort of my own bed. Such is the life of a sleepwalker.

Source: A personal recount from the author of this article