My spouse believes in being energy efficient. When we leave a room, we turn out the light. I frequently come home to a dark house, one brave light valiantly beckoning in the room at the end of the upstairs hallway. That would be my spouse’s study, and the only light on in the house.
The laundry room is in the basement, at the bottom and to the right of a long, wooden stairway. There is a light switch at the top of the stairs, said switch being a key feature in my decision to buy the house.
On a typical weekend, I get myself pumped to do a round of laundry. It’s immensely satisfying to begin a task that has a finite and achievable end. This particular weekend, I am home alone, a somewhat unusual Saturday afternoon with spouse out on an errand. I take the two storey trek with my piled high blue hip-hugger laundry basket, down the stairs from upstairs, round the corner, down the stairs to the basement, flicking on lights as I go. I slide the basket onto the top of the dryer, and am happily humming and sorting. Colours, bright colours, whites….colours first, detergent, dials and then the sweet sound of water surging and squishing into the washer… and then….. for no reason that I can fathom, I am plunged into a blackness so sudden and complete that I gasp; I actually put my hand on my chest and reach frantically for a surface….
…. And then I hear these….sounds….the door clicking shut at the top of the stairs, and, unthinkably, FOOTSTEPS, on the ceiling above my head. I’m talking to myself as I gaze about looking for some landmark amidst the hovering looming shapes and then there is a huge CLUNK that literally propels me towards what has to be the door, and away from those awful chugging breathing sounds….
I scrabble my way to what I pray fervently is the bottom of the stairs and, stealthily, I crawl up, one stair at a time, ears attuned to every squeak from the upstairs intruder. I turn on the light switch… softly, slow motion, silently turn the knob and open the door a crack. I peer into my darkened downstairs and see…nothing. I run wildly about the space and turn on every light. Breathlessly, I look around. The next move is mine.
Now you know to never travel to a place where someone can put the lights out without your knowing who and why. Take the 12 gauge with you and if you need light pop a couple of rounds off. If it was your old man tuning the lights off you can believe that he won't do it anymore after he gets done paying for the repairs and if it was an intruder, may your aim be steady and true. That my dear is the Detroit rule.
ReplyDeleteFirst rule is that there is always a rational answer - and I'm guessing the answer is in the first sentence of this tale of terror.
ReplyDeletewm--the detroit rule sounds vaguely familiar.... my dad used to say : so unto others before they do to you. thanks for the sage advice ( and it was my spouse upstairs, btw)
ReplyDeletegarth-- aren't you the clever one!! classic narrative strategy.... glad you found me out!
thanks for the visit.
Sorry... everybody hates a smart-arse.
ReplyDeleteGreat post-Halloween fright you gave us!
ReplyDelete