It was about 3:30 in the morning and I was in my bedroom, listening to music and stuff. Not too loudly, though, because when the front door creaked open above me I could hear it clearly. It stopped, fully open, and I froze for about a second, wondering who's in the house now. The white trash coke addict neighbors with a vendetta against my dad*? A burglar who would have no issue with killing me? That serial killer with a hook for a hand? Samara from The Ring? Katie from Paranormal Activities? Marilyn Monroe?
Ignoring all that, I started to wander upstairs to the door. I wondered briefly about grabbing a baseball bat, but decided against it. Yeah, my five foot tall frame could totally take down any man/horror movie character. Like, totally. Not that I had a bat, or any weapons at all, actually, nearby. I guess I could have thrown my little plastic fan at someone, or flung perfume and hoped some of it got in their eyes, but that's pretty much it. Well, other than my, you know, fists. Yeah, I could take on anyone.
Actually, I was more worried about looking ridiculous than getting killed. Priorities, you know? I've got them.
When I got to the foyer, the door was undeniably open. There were about a million june bugs on the screen. They made me jump. I kinda might have taken their movements for the killer, though I'm not entirely sure why he would go back outside after putting through all the effort of opening the door. Kind of defeats the purpose. Anyway, everything was wicked dark, with tons of shadows. Especially when I looked up the other set of stairs. It was fucking freaky. But I didn't hear anyone. After about a minute or so of standing breathless I got up and closed and locked the door. When no one jumped out at me with a gun, I decided that there's either no knife wielding assassin, or they don't want to be found and I should really just let them be. And that's pretty much where I am now.
This is actually not the first time that I risked my life (totally, dude) like that. When I was about thirteen, my mom's mom (my grammy) was over. It was probably about nine or ten at night, and for some reason, we were the only ones home. I was in my room (back then, it was upstairs) doing whatevs when grammy comes over to tell me that the she could hear the tv going on downstairs. It hadn't been on earlier. Slowly, I tiptoe downstairs with her behind me, and turn the tv off. There wasn't a burglar that time, either. And, honestly, if there had been one, it would have been a really dense one. Seriously, kids, if you want to rob a house, turning on the tv and thus giving up your location is retarded.
I don't really remember too much of the first time I (clearly) saved everyone's life because it was actually sort of a dream. But it totally felt like real life. And so it counts. And, actually, it probably should count quadruple, because if I remember correctly, the people we were hiding from were gonna eat us or something. Yeah. But I was the one who opened the garage door and saved us. Or, I might not have saved us, but I definitely put forth a valiant effort. And I was, like, ten, and you really can't expect perfection from a ten year old. I probably died a hero. In my dream.
*funny story about that, actually. That'll have to be a different post.