The night-time intruder
Last night I was woken at 3am by the sound of tapping. Tck-tck-tck-tck. Tck-tck. Tck. I jumped up, rushed to the landing and listened to see where it was coming from and my worst fears were confirmed: it was coming from the patio doors that face onto the garden and the park.
There’s been a spate of burglaries in our community in recent months. Our next-door neighbours were burgled – the thieves came in through the patio doors that face onto the garden and the park. This sounded like someone trying to pick the lock.
I woke DH: “Someone’s trying to break into the house!”
DH jumped up, rushed to the landing. We listened together. Tck. Tck-tck. Tck-tck. Clearly from the patio doors.
“I need a weapon. I need something to threaten him with,” whispered DH looking around for the baseball bat we don’t own.
“He’s not going to be armed,” I whispered. “This isn’t London. Take a photo. That’ll scare him.”
Tck-tck. Tck. Tck-tck. Tck. Tck-tck-tck.
“Stay here,” whispered DH, my hero, and crept off down the stairs. There was a long silence. My heart was pounding. Should I go down? I waited. Then I heard spraying. Lots of spraying. Was DH knocking out the intruder with kitchen surface spray?
He came back upstairs.
“He won’t be bothering us again,” he said. “You can call Security in the morning. Good night.”
“OMG,” I said. “What happened?”
“Burglar? It was a cricket, darling. Trapped behind the shutters. Dead now. Night.”