The Perfect House (That Came with a Cost More than Dollars)

Photo by Stefano Pollio

When the lights flickered out, I saw the evil smile on the face staring in from the other side of the window, and my heart lurched when I realized I hadn’t locked the doors.

My heart was pounding as I dashed to the kitchen door and twisted the deadbolt in place and then quickly ran into the living room to the front door and secured that lock.

I was feeling a bit of relief until I remembered the patio doors.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” I kept repeating as I dodged furniture to get to the two large French doors that stood wide open. “How could I have forgotten that I had not shut these?” I was chastising myself, as I pulled the doors shut and secured the lock, remembering when I sat out on the patio less than an hour ago. Feeling chilled, I had come in to get a sweater, and then I’d decided I wanted a glass of wine and something to snack on while I waited for my husband to get home for supper, which would still be a while.

I had popped some popcorn and was slicing an apple, letting my mind drift to our good fortune at attaining such a beautiful house at this remote location where we could appreciate so many of Mother Nature’s gifts at such a low cost when the lights had gone out and I saw the face.

Had I gotten to these double doors before they’d been discovered by the person I saw at the window? I kept wondering, worrying about the possibility that he was hiding in the house. Even with the sweater, I was shivering with anxiety about that prospect.

But he couldn’t have run that fast around the house before I got there, I told myself, trying to ease the burden of doubt that accompanied the fear enveloping me.

I took down the shotgun, which had been in my father-in-law’s family for a couple of generations that my husband kept in mint condition, ready to use, and laid it on the hearth of the fireplace. I am not a gun person, but I knew how to shoot one from my own father’s teachings, and having this one handy gave me strength.

I lit the gas logs in the fireplace and sat in the chair near it and against the wall so that I would be somewhat hidden from the potential intruder.

I waited for something to happen.

Photo by Ján Jakub Naništa

But the only thing that happened in that hour of angst was hearing the garage door roll up manually, and my husband drive into the space, then the doors roll back down.

I saw flickers of light as the door from the garage opened, which was one I had forgotten to lock, I realized with a sick feeling, and my husband walked in with a flashlight shining toward the floor.

“I’m in here,” I hollered.

Of course, he had lots of questions, which I answered to the best of my emotionally charged ability. And after hearing my tale, I followed as he found his way back out to the garage and to the breaker box. The main switch had been flipped off, which he flipped back up and lights came on.

“How did that happen?” I asked him, but he had no answer, feeling as perplexed as I.

We went outside to shine a light around the area where I had seen the face, but saw no sign of footprints, even though we could see our own.

“I truly wasn’t imagining things,” I told him, “And I was not the one to switch off the lights.”

“I know,” he assured me. “But I am suspecting that this was not a fluke or an isolated incident.” He paused and I saw a ripple of concern cross his face when he continued, “What if this incident was the reason the previous owners sold so cheaply and so quickly after building? What if there will be more unexplained things to happen, but worse?”

I had no answer.

Just then, the lights went out once again, the door slammed shut, and we heard the lock click.