A memorable Christmas scare that left us trembling
We awoke on Christmas day to a
quiet house. Our kids had dispersed this holiday and left us alone to celebrate
with each other. After a strong cup of coffee and a light breakfast, we illuminated
the tree, turned on Jingle Bells,
and opened our gifts. The late morning sun shone in through the curtains,
reminding us that although December, this might prove to be a nice day.
Later, our
daughter, who now lived in Rhode Island, called to wish us a Merry Christmas.
We spoke to her, her husband and her two kids. They gushed over the gifts we’d sent
and told us how much they wished they could see us. Blankets of snow kept them snuggled inside by the fireplace, unable to venture out. They described a perfect
white Christmas.
We, on the other hand, left our
little house to visit friends. We spent the afternoon sipping eggnog near our
friends’ fireplace and sharing stories of Christmases past. Although sunny
outside, the temperature had dropped to the single digits. Like us, our friends
were celebrating their holiday alone. Their children lived in Atlanta, but had
decided not to make the yearly trek to their parent’s house with gifts, kids
and casseroles.
At about 5pm we arrived back to a
quiet, dark house, looking forward to an evening in front of the television,
watching old movies. My husband loved the AMC channel, particularly old horror
movies—Lon Chaney and Vincent Price.
I decided to take a shower before
we settled in.
With soap in my
hair and water running down my back, a ringing sound caught my attention—a
sound very much like the doorbell, but I rejected that thought because we lived
deep in the woods. Our driveway made a circuitous mile-long route from the
street to our sidewalk. The neighbors resided long distances
away, nowhere in view. No one would ring our doorbell on Christmas night. Impossible.
Ding, dong, ding, dong. The sound
persisted. I called for my husband. No response. What in the world was going
on? Ding, dong, ding, dong.
I rinsed the soap from my hair and
turned off the shower. That’s when I realized my husband was also in the shower
in his bathroom. I raced in that direction and said,
“Someone’s at the door.”
“What? No way. Not tonight.”
I ran to my closet to throw on some
clothes.
The doorbell continued its
persistent ding, dong, ding, dong. Geez, wouldn't whomever was out there just give up and decide we were out of town?
Once dressed, I peered outside. By
now the sky was dark. A car crept up the driveway with its lights turned off.
My heart froze.
My husband showed up, wrapped with
a towel around his waist and carrying his 12- gauge-double-barrel shotgun,
clearly ready to blow someone’s head off.
“What are you doing?”
“Thieves often case houses during
the holidays. That car is definitely up to something.”
“But, you might shoot your leg off
or worse still murder someone.” Fear gripped me.
The car crept back down the
driveway near the house, lights off. Two shadowy figures emerged from the
backseat. They approached the house.
“Stay here,” my husband ordered.
“Be careful,” I said with a shaky
voice.
“I’m only going to scare them.” He
looked pretty frightening, his hair stood up on end with soap
still clinging to each tress, barefoot and with his towel wrapped at a rakish
angle. Water dripped off him on his way out.
I trailed behind him. The dark figures
were walking up our sidewalk as if in slow motion. One kept turning back to the
car, which had begun to creep back up the hill toward the street to a position
to watch and wait.
My husband went out the side door.
He lifted the gun with one hand and held the towel with the other. “Stop or
I’ll shoot.”
The two figures halted as if
slapped. The taller one removed the hood from the hoodie.
A voice came from the car, which
had once again eased back close to the house, apparently to retrieve its
passengers.
“Dad, it’s us.”
I gasped.
I gasped.
My husband called for them to stop. But he had lowered the gun barrel and seemed to be
holding the towel closer to him.
“Dad, it's us,
Mary, Pete and the girls. We wanted to surprise you.”
I threw open the door. Our
daughter, son-in-law and two grand children emerged from the darkness.
They had flown in from Rhode Island
as a surprise. A big Christmas surprise, they explained in shaky voices.
Instead they’d nearly frightened the two of us to death.
My husband, who by now was
clutching the towel for dear life, standing as he was nearly naked in front of
his daughter and two grand daughters, shivered from the cold and said, “You’re
lucky I didn’t shoot your heads off.”
They began laughing, explaining how
they had called us from the Boston airport this morning to wish us a merry Christmas.
Laughing more. “We didn’t tell you we were about to board a plane and would see
you in a few hours,” our son-in-law said. But, we didn’t
find it funny. Living secluded in the woods and being surprised by a strange
car creeping down our driveway like that. Nope, not funny at all.
Once everyone settled down with a
warm drink, we relaxed
and enjoyed the rest of that Christmas evening, grateful the day had not
ended in a tragedy.
***
Joan C. Curtis recently released the e-Murderer, a psychological thriller.
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