Fear the Crab

Harken back to the tales of old, when a man’s home became his fortress, besieged on all sides by the noisy conspiracies of cockroaches in flight, saved at the eleventh hour by the timely arrival of nose-borne boogers.

Listen well, then, when I describe the true-to-life account of the same man’s further adventures in home defense!

* * *

I was jarred awake by a crash, a sharp crack of decibel followed by the trickle of something in cascade. It sounded like breaking glass. Yes, the sound of a window break, accompanied by the tinkling of glass on the floor. Adrenaline-rush, on!

Whilst waiting for my super-Hulk-powers to formulate, I made the split-second decision to grab my collapsible baton, the one I used to carry with me on bike rides. No intruder would walk away from this encounter with an un-bumped noggin.

Maile worriedly asked what was going on, but I had to quickly calm her before entering Rambo-mode. I apprised her of the situation, then crept into the hallway, straining my ears to detect the sounds of further intrusion.

Stop! Wait by the doorway before proceeding. The killer may lurk beyond. Darn, I should have brought one of Maile’s dental mirrors to check around corners. I hoped it would not be a fatal mistake.

I had to chance a peek into the living room. The cold light of my blue LED clock cast disturbing shadows, but yielded no other movement. My eyes were well-adjusted to the dark, and I saw nothing out of place. The windows here were not broken. I continued down the hallway, stealing a glance into the empty bathroom and adjoining bedroom. My next destination was the kitchen, likely the source of the intrusion into my domicile.

If the intruder was in the kitchen, the battleground would be a tough one. If this person did not have a weapon, one could easily be found within the many cabinets. I could only hope that their search for utensils would be akin to mine (fruitless and frustrating, thanks to countless reorganizations).

The ambient light from outside filtered through the frosted louvers, glaring across the many silhouettes of pots and pans, and threatened to reveal my approach. Behind me, the wall was illuminated by this soft light as it streamed through the doorway I was next to, therefore I could not peek around lest I cast my shadow to amplify my presence. I now had a decision to make.

The light switch was on the other side of the wall I was against. I could easily reach my hand around the edge of the doorway and bathe the area in fluorescent luminescence. This would possibly serve to blind the intruder temporarily, and enable me to rush in and incapacitate my opponent with a swift chop to the back of the neck, ala Star Trek. However, my own vision would suffer the sudden burst of brightness.

My only hope would be my intimate knowledge of the kitchen layout (just, you know, not the contents of the cabinets). Having tread many a path between the tables and chairs, I could let my body’s memory of the area guide me into position during the few milliseconds available to me. It just might be enough.

Decision made, I switched the baton to my off-hand, slowly reached around the edge of the wall and pressed the light-switch. With a guttural cry from my bottom, I charged forth, stepping into the blaze of battle to challenge the intruder of my domain.

Nobody was there. The kitchen was empty, no one hiding behind the counter, nor in the sink. Both microwave and stove were devoid of life, and the toaster was untouched. The windows were intact, the doors secured, and a quick inspection of the outside yielded no signs of trespass.

This was not a trick of my imagination. I clearly heard the sound! Maile heard the sound! What was it, if there was no intruder and every barricade to my castle was left unbroken? I gripped my baton tightly. Something had come. It had gone without incident, but it had made its presence known, nonetheless.

On high alert, now suspicious of every shadow, I returned to my den. Disturbed by this recent activity, I could only find solace in the fact that when danger threatened, I was ready to defend and protect my family and home. Perhaps, some comfort could be taken from that.

* * *

Maile, in the course of these events, sleepily went to the bathroom and found that her razor, normally hanging from a suction-cup hook in the shower, had fallen. The suction had come loose and both implements clattered upon the shower tiles.

She just didn’t bother to tell me until I came back to bed.