I feel pretty safe in my new home. Unless the crickets mount a full offensive, I don’t think I’ve got any to worry about breaking-in-wise. This is really saying something, because I’m the girl who imagines nightmare scenarios of robbers jiggling the front door handle while I hop into the girls’ room, drag a heavy dresser in front of the door, and leave The Rock asleep in our bed. I sure hope he can defend himself because I always forget to wake him in my fake emergency evacuation plan.
Many times I’ve woken up at some ungodly hour, convinced a burglar roamed the kitchen, picking up knives from the butcher block and making his way up the stairs for The Rock (while I’m barricaded in the kids’ room frantically dialing 911). We even had a security system in our old place and still I worried. I’ve seen Die Hard, I know the bad guys can disengage an alarm with an xacto and some putty.
So it was to my pleasant surprise that I began to get better sleep in our new house and actually experienced a little something called REM.
Until last night.
So I’m sleeping soundly. Rapid eye movement and everything. I’m in the middle of a dream and all of a sudden-like, the sound of shouting and a window slam pulled me out of slumber. Next thing I know, my cell phone light pops on. No call, no email, no nothing. Just a light that signified nothing other than to alert of possible danger.
I listen for a few minutes, heart clicky clacking, then decide to peek over the stair railing. I don’t want to wake The Rock because he’s tired and needs sleep and we’re just getting over the days when I jolt him from bed with this eerie wail thing I do during nightmares. (Imagine the sound Edvard Munch’s The Scream might make if it had audio.)
I take my phone, which keeps illuminating strangely and without reason, and look down over the stairs. And there, down there below, I see shadows writhing across the carpet. SHADOWS for Lord’s sake! Do you know what the sight of shadows at 4AM do to a girl with hypochondriacal robber visions?
Let’s just say it’s ungood.
Still, I don’t want to wake The Rock. He’s going to need all is energy for robber fighting.
I watch a bit longer. Maybe The Rock left the TV on in the family room? That would be an explanation not involving knives. I’m gonna have to ask him. So after a few more minutes of watching black ribbons make their way across the hall, I softly call to The Rock.
“HONEY! HONEY! THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!!!!!”
Also: “By the way, did you leave the TV on?”
He joins me, disgruntled, at the stair railing. He sees the shadows. I tell him about the shouting, the window, and the cell phone. He thinks it might be the paperboy. I silently laugh because paperboys do not kill people, like the guy who is downstairs right now.
The Rock then enters his office, which I thought was weird. This is no time to pay bills or surf the Internet, but he emerges seconds later with a hammer. And a Die Hard xacto knife.
He creeps downstairs with his paltry weapons and I sit at the top landing, waiting for the shout, whereupon I will run into the girls’ room, secure the door, and hope The Rock can hold the robbers off with his hammer.
Several minutes of searching later and there is no one downstairs. The Rock thinks my computer’s power light threw shadows onto the carpet, which I misread as maniacal shouting window-breakers. He then checks every room and closet, even the shower, because he knows I like it when he does that.
Our home has not been infiltrated. I breathe a sigh of relief and tell The Rock, “You know what the lesson is here?”
He waits expectantly, thinking I’m gonna say something like, “I should be less crazy,” and instead I say, “You’re going to need a bigger hammer.”
Also I think it would have been so funny if The Rock went downstairs and caught a big gaggle of crickets breaking down the door.
No! Funnier would be a giant cricket head just staring silently at him through the window.