Ben has been gone the last few days helping at a Summer Training Program in Indiana. The kids and I have stayed busy visiting friends and letting the mosquitoes eat us alive. We’ve been sleeping well despite the heat, so I was surprised last night to find myself awake at midnight. Then I realized the hall light was on. I can not stand any light at night, so I was a little annoyed, figuring one of the kiddos had left it on after going potty or something. I got up and switched it off. Just as I was crawling back in bed, it went back on.
Insert eerie music. There are two ways to turn the hall light, or light on the landing at the top of the stairs, on. There is a switch at the top of the stairs, which I had used to turn the light off – and one at the bottom of the stairs. I grabbed my cell phone and crept toward the door to my bedroom to peek out. There was no one on the landing, so the light had been turned on downstairs.
Creeeeeeek. The sound of a footstep downstairs, then silence. I waited a full minute thinking if it was a kid, they’d be on their way upstairs and I’d see them at the landing. I waited. I waited. Nothing. The person seemed to be listening for movement upstairs. The longer the silence lasted, the more sure I was an intruder was standing at the foot of the stairs waiting to make his move.
I dialed 911 on my cell phone and started to panic a bit. I was trying to figure out if I should try to get a detailed text typed up so I could just hit send in case the murderer at the bottom of the stairs came at me too quickly and I didn’t have time to make a call. Then I was thinking of trying to sneak the kids quietly into the closet in Tim’s room but I was sure Mr. Killer would hear me and rush the stairs.
Creeeeeeeek. Silence. Creeek. Creeeek. Creeeek. The killer was coming up the stairs. I grabbed my sewing scissors. I punched in 911 and had my finger on the send button. My heart was pounding and I could barely breathe.
Then I saw it.
The yellow hair sticking up in every direction. The crazy and dazed look in the eyes. The drool hanging off the lower lip.
It was Libby, my four-year old.
I couldn’t transition out of panic mode. I grabbed her and swooped her into my bedroom. I was panting and sweating and clutching her, the scissors, and my cell phone.
I swear I was a millisecond away from making the 911 call. I can not believe how freaked I was. She had been downstairs looking for a cup of milk. Then she told me she had been afraid to come back upstairs because she had heard me get up. She didn’t want to get in trouble for creeping around downstairs. Good grief!!
This would be a “Giggles” post, but can’t laugh about it quite yet. I’m still in the “Planning for when the Real Murderer Comes” mode – locating all emergency numbers and programing them into my cell phone, etc.
I think Libby is fine. She doesn’t remember seeing me lunge at her with scissors in tow. Hee Hee. OK. I’m almost laughing now. I’m so glad Ben comes home today!