dark. It was a faint sound, barely audible but definitely noticeable for someone who is awake. It was probably so subtle a noise that anyone and everyone would sleep through it. I mused briefly that maybe my nightmare was a good thing as I set the glass back on the counter and approached the large kitchen window which had the venetian blinds pulled. As silently and gently as I could, I eased open a slot between the two large wooden beams of the blinds and peered outside. All I saw . . . was a whole lot of nothing. I shook my head with a quick jerk to ensure I was fully awake and peeked through again. If I had closed my eyes, it wouldn’t have been any darker or worse than what I was seeing. My eyes searched for anything distinguishable or movement, but again there was nothing. The sky had been cloudy with dark rain clouds and tonight lacked even the faint illumination of starlight. I might as well be blind outside.
THUMP . . . CRACK.
What should I do? My mind started to race. What is going on? Maybe it’s a dog or a cat, I vainly hoped. Oh god, what if it’s whoever killed that woman? That was only last night, I remembered. It occurred to me in a sudden moment of clarity why people in the Middle Ages learned to associate night with evil deeds. The day was peaceful, but bad things do happen at night. What should I do? Will I sit here and wait my turn for them to come storming in my house and violate Stacy and kill my kids? “Hell No!” I said with as much confidence and anger as could be mustered. My family needed my protection, and this was the time to step up. Slowly I let the blind close and began making my way back to the den where my gun awaited. Quickly I slipped on my loafers while pulling up my jeans because they tend to sag without a belt on and suddenly remembered the plan with Tom.
With a loaded gun in hand and five extra bullets in my pocket, I worked my way to the basement step by step in the dark. It would be nice if manufacturers would put instructions on the sides of guns such as how many bullets it can take. With a fear that it could be overloaded and misfire, I only placed six rounds in it. That should suffice, I hoped. I removed the metal bar that locked the back glass sliding door to the basement and heard a noise behind. A crumpling sound of paper on the carpet. Oh god, they were in here! Rapidly pivoting around, my gun was in hand pointing at whatever I couldn’t see in the dark.
There stood Murphy, panting and excited because he thought he was getting a trip outside to the backyard. “I almost shot you, dog!” I said sternly, as though it was the dog’s fault and he should have known better. Deep breaths again and again. I have to keep calm I kept thinking. I can do this. “Sit down, Murph. You stay here, big dog,” came out in my best commanding voice, and he obeyed.
The door slid open with a steady noise that probably wasn’t audible beyond a few feet but left me freaking out. I stepped out into the cool night and slid the door back ever so slowly. The wind was blowing in occasional gusts and made the night cool, but it felt relieving for me, at least at first. As I reached the door to the back gate, I gripped the rifle tightly and listened the same way a rabbit listens when it knows it’s being hunted. In that moment, my ears could have heard a pin drop. A gentle howl of the wind blew steady.
THUMP.
It was more distant now, barely audible. The sound was almost certainly coming from the front of my house and the wind probably carried it back to my location. Calculating that the noise of the back gate opening wouldn’t be heard very far, I slowly lifted the handle with rusted metal. CREAK. As I stepped out of the backyard, I released a small amount of tension and started to focus on my
THUMP . . . CRACK.
What should I do? My mind started to race. What is going on? Maybe it’s a dog or a cat, I vainly hoped. Oh god, what if it’s whoever killed that woman? That was only last night, I remembered. It occurred to me in a sudden moment of clarity why people in the Middle Ages learned to associate night with evil deeds. The day was peaceful, but bad things do happen at night. What should I do? Will I sit here and wait my turn for them to come storming in my house and violate Stacy and kill my kids? “Hell No!” I said with as much confidence and anger as could be mustered. My family needed my protection, and this was the time to step up. Slowly I let the blind close and began making my way back to the den where my gun awaited. Quickly I slipped on my loafers while pulling up my jeans because they tend to sag without a belt on and suddenly remembered the plan with Tom.
With a loaded gun in hand and five extra bullets in my pocket, I worked my way to the basement step by step in the dark. It would be nice if manufacturers would put instructions on the sides of guns such as how many bullets it can take. With a fear that it could be overloaded and misfire, I only placed six rounds in it. That should suffice, I hoped. I removed the metal bar that locked the back glass sliding door to the basement and heard a noise behind. A crumpling sound of paper on the carpet. Oh god, they were in here! Rapidly pivoting around, my gun was in hand pointing at whatever I couldn’t see in the dark.
There stood Murphy, panting and excited because he thought he was getting a trip outside to the backyard. “I almost shot you, dog!” I said sternly, as though it was the dog’s fault and he should have known better. Deep breaths again and again. I have to keep calm I kept thinking. I can do this. “Sit down, Murph. You stay here, big dog,” came out in my best commanding voice, and he obeyed.
The door slid open with a steady noise that probably wasn’t audible beyond a few feet but left me freaking out. I stepped out into the cool night and slid the door back ever so slowly. The wind was blowing in occasional gusts and made the night cool, but it felt relieving for me, at least at first. As I reached the door to the back gate, I gripped the rifle tightly and listened the same way a rabbit listens when it knows it’s being hunted. In that moment, my ears could have heard a pin drop. A gentle howl of the wind blew steady.
THUMP.
It was more distant now, barely audible. The sound was almost certainly coming from the front of my house and the wind probably carried it back to my location. Calculating that the noise of the back gate opening wouldn’t be heard very far, I slowly lifted the handle with rusted metal. CREAK. As I stepped out of the backyard, I released a small amount of tension and started to focus on my
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