On a dark and quiet night...

When I think of the scariest experiences in my life, they don’t usually include anything we acknowledge at Halloween. A loved one is diagnosed with an incurable disease, for example. I haven’t been through too many scary experiences. But there is a spooky one I’d like to relate in the name of Halloween.

I was eighteen with a terrible habit of coming home past midnight. I drove down the silent middle-class suburban neighborhood where I lived in my parents’ house. It was excellently illuminated by street lights. I parked my trusty Chevy-Tracker, Ted, in front of the house and came inside. It was completely dark. My family was all asleep. Except for my brother who was still out.

I went upstairs and collapsed on my bed before realizing I had left my phone in my car.
So I went downstairs and opened the door. I had a strange feeling that I was being watched.

I couldn’t help but hurry to the car. I had this nagging feeling that I wasn’t safe. I grabbed my phone, locked my car, and scurried back into the house. My heart quickened as I locked and bolted the door.
I made the trek back upstairs. No sooner had I got inside my bedroom than someone rattled the doorknob downstairs. It was violent. They had expected to come inside. Then they kicked the door. HARD.

I frowned. Had my brother forgotten his key again? I called his cell to stop him from going through the trouble of digging for the spare key. From the giggling and music in the background, I could tell he was still at a party.

Um—I had been potty-trained for a long time, but I almost lost it.

A stranger had just tried to break in. They had been watching me, knew when I went inside, and planned on waltzing into my house. For who knows what reasons!

My brother, being the hero that he is, tore himself away from the girls he was flirting with and his guy friends and came to save his big sister from things that go bump in the night!


Happy Halloween all! 

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