I'm almost asleep when the dogs start barking.
Its 2:42 a.m, I know this because I opened my eyes to the red glare of the clock on the bookshelf. I am alone in the house. TheBeardedOne is 3,000 miles away.
At first I am annoyed, it isn't unusual for Luxe to be 'vocal'. But I sit up to look at him. He's alert, on all fours, staring down the dark hallway, which leads to the stairs, which leads to the rest of my house.
I glance at my Golden Chowtriever. She is also standing up, and barking.
This is unusual.
My skin begins to crawl, and my heart picks up the pace, when I hear her low, slow growl. Her fur is bristled along her spine. She is also staring down the stairs.
Now I'm concerned.
I don't live in a "bad" part of Portland, but I've read enough crime to know that home invasions peak, during two times of year. During summer, and leading up to Christmas. I just put my lights up, yesterday.
I reach for the remote, and press hard for the volume button..the laughter of the audience fades away. The light of the television guides me to the gun safe, but I can barely see the keys to unscramble its combination.
It beeps twice; the soft noise seems like an explosion of sound at this moment, but the small door pops open. I reach inside, and grasp around the handle of the gun.
It's always loaded, and the safety is off.
I take a deep breath, and take care to straighten my index finger away from the trigger. God forbid I shoot one of my dogs.
I step silently across the soft carpet, in two huge strides. With my left hand, never taking my focus off of the dark, looming hallway, I turn the round knob of the air purifier. It is always humming, a comforting, gentle buzz.
There is no sound.
I listen.
The alarm hasn't begun screaming at me, I'm waiting for it. I calculate in my mind, if someone is to be at the bottom of the hallway, what my next actions will be.
In several more soft strides, I reach the windows, overlooking the back yard, which is light up by my holiday cheer, stretching on extension cords around the low fence.
Nothing. I'm breathing carefully. Deeply. Time is moving slowly.
I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror; I have a black t-shirt and undies on, I am barefoot and my hair is in a curled ponytail. I hold the heavy, dark gun. I almost laugh at the reflection.
Suddenly, the dogs charge into the dark hallway, barking maddeningly, it startles and frustrates me, because I can't hear a thing besides it.
I breathe, and follow them.
The black hallway becomes shades of gray, and I can see myself stepping down the stairs. The dogs are at the bottom, waiting for me to open the door, to see what is on the other side.
I listen, I take a breath, and I turn the creaky knob and swing in to the downstairs.
There is nothing.
No broken glass, no open doors, no curtains floating up in the breeze. I always leave the lights on downstairs. And I see nothing.
The dogs aren't satiated, and I let them loose in the backyard, half expecting a large body to leap upon me when I open the door.
But there is nothing. My heart is calm, but I'm hyper aware. Feeling the cool wooden floor under the balls of my feet, I check every closet, the guest room, the office. I pull the curtain back from the bathroom-shower.
[I recall a story of a high-school male-friend, who came home to his front door open, and a naked woman, overdosing on methamphetamine, clutching his mother's jewelry, in his shower. He called the cops, and escaped without injury]
Nothing.
The basement, renders nothing.
I'm okay. I let the dogs back in. They appear to be satisfied, they are no longer barking.
I still have no idea what the hell that was all about.
I know a dancer who was attacked in her doorway, a man leaped from her bushes at her front door, she was holding her suitcase of costumes and items, she screamed and fought him as he tore at her clothes, finally giving up at raping her, and grabbed her possessions instead.
My uncle married a woman who was raped and then stabbed to death in their motel room, as he was downstairs gambling, she was cut up in the shower.
I've been attacked before, and put up a fight that left me bruised and shaken, with the man retreating into the alley. ( I was thirteen)
You are Never Safe. Don't be fooled into thinking you are.....perhaps I read too much Ann Rule and view too many true-crime television shows, but I know the statistics. The best prey is the unaware prey.
..................
Erg,
Casper-Elle
Its 2:42 a.m, I know this because I opened my eyes to the red glare of the clock on the bookshelf. I am alone in the house. TheBeardedOne is 3,000 miles away.
At first I am annoyed, it isn't unusual for Luxe to be 'vocal'. But I sit up to look at him. He's alert, on all fours, staring down the dark hallway, which leads to the stairs, which leads to the rest of my house.
I glance at my Golden Chowtriever. She is also standing up, and barking.
This is unusual.
My skin begins to crawl, and my heart picks up the pace, when I hear her low, slow growl. Her fur is bristled along her spine. She is also staring down the stairs.
Now I'm concerned.
I don't live in a "bad" part of Portland, but I've read enough crime to know that home invasions peak, during two times of year. During summer, and leading up to Christmas. I just put my lights up, yesterday.
I reach for the remote, and press hard for the volume button..the laughter of the audience fades away. The light of the television guides me to the gun safe, but I can barely see the keys to unscramble its combination.
It beeps twice; the soft noise seems like an explosion of sound at this moment, but the small door pops open. I reach inside, and grasp around the handle of the gun.
It's always loaded, and the safety is off.
I take a deep breath, and take care to straighten my index finger away from the trigger. God forbid I shoot one of my dogs.
I step silently across the soft carpet, in two huge strides. With my left hand, never taking my focus off of the dark, looming hallway, I turn the round knob of the air purifier. It is always humming, a comforting, gentle buzz.
There is no sound.
I listen.
The alarm hasn't begun screaming at me, I'm waiting for it. I calculate in my mind, if someone is to be at the bottom of the hallway, what my next actions will be.
In several more soft strides, I reach the windows, overlooking the back yard, which is light up by my holiday cheer, stretching on extension cords around the low fence.
Nothing. I'm breathing carefully. Deeply. Time is moving slowly.
I catch a glimpse of myself in my mirror; I have a black t-shirt and undies on, I am barefoot and my hair is in a curled ponytail. I hold the heavy, dark gun. I almost laugh at the reflection.
Suddenly, the dogs charge into the dark hallway, barking maddeningly, it startles and frustrates me, because I can't hear a thing besides it.
I breathe, and follow them.
The black hallway becomes shades of gray, and I can see myself stepping down the stairs. The dogs are at the bottom, waiting for me to open the door, to see what is on the other side.
I listen, I take a breath, and I turn the creaky knob and swing in to the downstairs.
There is nothing.
No broken glass, no open doors, no curtains floating up in the breeze. I always leave the lights on downstairs. And I see nothing.
The dogs aren't satiated, and I let them loose in the backyard, half expecting a large body to leap upon me when I open the door.
But there is nothing. My heart is calm, but I'm hyper aware. Feeling the cool wooden floor under the balls of my feet, I check every closet, the guest room, the office. I pull the curtain back from the bathroom-shower.
[I recall a story of a high-school male-friend, who came home to his front door open, and a naked woman, overdosing on methamphetamine, clutching his mother's jewelry, in his shower. He called the cops, and escaped without injury]
Nothing.
The basement, renders nothing.
I'm okay. I let the dogs back in. They appear to be satisfied, they are no longer barking.
I still have no idea what the hell that was all about.
I know a dancer who was attacked in her doorway, a man leaped from her bushes at her front door, she was holding her suitcase of costumes and items, she screamed and fought him as he tore at her clothes, finally giving up at raping her, and grabbed her possessions instead.
My uncle married a woman who was raped and then stabbed to death in their motel room, as he was downstairs gambling, she was cut up in the shower.
I've been attacked before, and put up a fight that left me bruised and shaken, with the man retreating into the alley. ( I was thirteen)
You are Never Safe. Don't be fooled into thinking you are.....perhaps I read too much Ann Rule and view too many true-crime television shows, but I know the statistics. The best prey is the unaware prey.
..................
Erg,
Casper-Elle
VIEW 25 of 42 COMMENTS
roxiebeee:
i like having my backyard lit up by christmas cheer.... it's comforting when i wake up startled in the middle of the night. i think i'm going to keep the yard lit year round with other kinds of multi-seasonal lights.
saltlord:
You know you can do it. I just hate the feeling when you think you have to do it. I'm glad you're ok.