Bing Bong
The recently familiar sound of the security system chime broadcasts from the keypad.
Designed to keep your small children in the house and away from the dangers of the outdoors, it notifies you that somewhere in the house, a door or window has opened.
The problem is that as of late, it goes off all the time for no apparent reason. Set off by a magnetic sensor between the window and frame, when the connection is broken, the chime goes off. But somewhere in the house, a loose wire or bad magnet has gone astray. Lately, we have grown accustomed to ignoring it.
It’s raining outside and the lightning sets off a sporadic night time light show. The wife gives me that look. The one that says you were supposed to call the security company to come and fix that. Silent non-verbal communication passes between us. I release a heavy sigh as if to say yes, yes, I know. The next look is her eyes traveling from me to the hallway and back along with a slight tilt of the head.
With heavy deliberation, I get up from the couch to investigate.
My 8-year-old son also gets up with me. He knows the drill, and pretends to act the part of the hero by charging down the long hall at full speed. There are three bedroom doors clustered at the end of the hall. Two are next to each other, and one is opposite the room to the left. He barrels into the master bedroom on the right, a straight shot down the hall. From here I can see the light spilling from the girls’ room, even though they are sitting in the family room watching TV. I breathe a heavy sigh, how many times to I have to tell them? Electricity costs money!
As I reach the end of the hall, I stop at a point where I can basically see into almost all of the rooms from the one spot just by turning 270 degrees. Their door is half closed and sharp shadows are cast by the desk lamp pointed at the wall that joins the two rooms. They sometimes do this to perform shadow puppet shows. The light bounces off the wall and clearly defines the boundary from behind the door in the light, to the hallway in the dark.
That’s when I see it. Cast on the floor in shadow is the outline of a gun attached to an arm. Either behind it or in front of it are the fingers of the opposite hand, flexing as if nervous and preparing to grip it even harder.
I freeze in my tracks, and my heart jumps into my throat as the adrenaline surges thorough my body.
This is it. Hundreds of thousands of years of human evolution, and it all comes down to this basic instinct…fight or flight.
At first, this instinct is much more basic. If you were an early human and you heard something growling at you in the dark, you had to decide. I imagine that early cavemen had the exact same feeling in their chest that I have now. But I have to struggle to overcome it and put some semblance of rational thought into what to do next.
I move my finger to my mouth to make the universal signal for silence to the boy, now stopped and looking back at me from the master bedroom. He smiles because he does not understand what I have seen and what could happen. I motion to him to come to me. He pauses, confused, but I put more emphasis into it and motion again. Suddenly he realizes something might be wrong, but does not fully comprehend the danger. How could he? I’m not sure I know what is going on.
He comes out of the room and I continue to make put my finger to my lips and then point him back down the hallway. He moves silently, but his feet make noise as the run back down the hall. I look back to the shadow and see that it has not moved, but the fingers continue to flex.
I really don’t have a choice in the matter. I have no weapon to defend myself or my family. The lightning and thunder continue to crash outside and thankfully the rain hitting the roof drowns out the conversation between my wife and son about why he has returned with a frightened look on his face. I hear the mumbling, but cannot make out the words.
Slowly, I back down the hall, trying to control my fear and anxiety. Questions begin to pop into my head. Why is this person in my house? My home is my castle, and it has been invaded by an unknown enemy force. What do they want? Why this house, of all the houses in the neighborhood? It’s a small, non-descript subdivision that you could plop down anywhere in this area, they are all the same.
I reach the family room hoping that the invader is more scared than I am.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” my wife asks.
I motion again for silence, but she doesn’t seem to comprehend yet.
“Hey, I asked you what’s wrong!” she insists. I widen my eyes and turn them down the hall and back to her again, trying to let her know that there is a problem without actually saying anything. She looks irritated, like I’m playing a prank on her. I scoop up the twin girls, one in each arm. At 5, they are light and easy to carry, but they protest, “Hey, we were watching that!” I mouth for her to grab the boy and we head to the garage off of the kitchen, and away from the intruder.
The rain continues to fall hard and steady.
