It's October and tis the season for all things scary. Frankly, I hate scary movies and being scared in general. To kick this month off, I'm going to tell you about the time I lived a real life horror film.
Leslie, Me, Brandi in my and Bran's apartment
In 2009, I was living in Little Rock with my friend Brandi. We had a cute three bedroom place on the third floor of a gated complex in a decent neighborhood. Both Brandi and I worked jobs with no set hours, so our schedules were always varying. Our best friend, Leslie, (who introduced us to each other) lived not too far away with her husband. Brandi and I shared a passion for late night murder mystery shows like "Dateline", "48 Hours", and other 'who-dunnit' real life shows. We liked to think of ourselves as couch detectives. I mean that pretty literally because we put two couches in the living room so we could both stretch out and watch the shows when we had insomnia. If we weren't solving crimes, we'd be watching ridiculous reality tv or medical marvel shows. (We had lots of insomnia during our time together... ).
One night, I had actually been tired and decided to go to bed at a decent hour. I left Brandi on her couch while I turned in. Our bedrooms were on opposite sides of the apartment from each other. I assumed I'd been asleep for a few hours when I heard loud knocking (actually, more like banging) on our front door. It was so loud that I jolted awake and rushed to the door. I peered out the peephole half asleep and saw a shadowy figure of a woman about our age with long dark hair. She wasn't knocking though. The knocks were coming from another person who was straddling the banister hidden from sight. Instead of opening the door or vocally responding, I went to Brandi's room. She was asleep in bed apparently not hearing the commotion. I shook her awake and asked, "Hey are you expecting company?". Groggily, she replied, "I told them we don't have eggs." Confused, I was sure Brandi was having a weird dream about eggs. (Just an extra piece of info: I'm proud to say I taught Bran how to boil eggs during our time as roomies. Now that she's a great cook, I like to take a little smidge of credit!). About that time, the knocking got a bit louder. So, Brandi got up and peeked through the hole for herself. We decided it best not to answer the door and not to reply to the knockers. Instead, I got my security weapon (read: butcher knife I kept under my pillow) and we hunkered down away from windows on the floor between the two couches. With my knife clutched in my hand, Brandi tells me that when she was still in the living room after I'd gone to bed, someone had knocked on our door. She looked through the hole and saw the lady that was out there now. Since she was shadowy, the lady kind of looked like Leslie. So Brandi opened the door assuming it was Leslie. Instead, the lady asked if she could borrow eggs. Brandi told her we didn't have any and shut the door. Then she decided to go to bed. Now the lady was back, but she wasn't alone. The vibe was very eery since there was clearly a man hiding over the railing knocking on the door and the woman was standing too far back to intend to talk to us or come inside if we opened the door. At the corner where she stood, we thought we saw her turning to talk to someone else around the corner, out of our sight. Brandi decided the whole situation reminded her of a movie she had seen called "The Strangers". In the movie, a couple staying in an isolated vacation house receive a knock on the door in the mid-hours of the night. What ensues is a violent invasion by three strangers, their faces hidden behind masks. The couple find themselves in a violent struggle, in which they go beyond what either of them thought capable in order to survive, (credit: IMDB because you
know I didn't watch it). For reasons I could not even begin to tell you, we didn't call the police. We didn't call anyone or do anything. We just stayed on the floor of the living room, me clutching a butcher knife practicing in my head the best maneuver for stabbing the heart of an intruder. We stayed there long after the knockers left. In the wee hours of morning, we felt safe enough to return to our beds. As if common sense had been sleeping through it all only to wake up in the morning and greet us, we discussed calling the apartment security manager. We informed them of what happened and spoke with a police officer who lived in an apartment in our complex. He told us it was smart of us not to have answered the door (duh). It seemed like the initial knock when Brandi answered was a way for them to find out who lived in our apartment. If a male lived there, he'd most likely be the one to answer a door late at night. Since Brandi answered, they were sure only females lived there. Later, when I heard the knocking, the girl had returned with at least one male, possibly two. Had we opened the door, the man knocking and hiding to the side could've easily pushed his way in and overpowered us. Kind of scary to think about.
Photo Credit: Google Images
Now, when Micah is out of town and I'm home alone, I keep that same butcher knife close by. Although I live in one of the safest towns in America, I'm not taking any chances. I keep 911 on speed dial. And if you're thinking about trying something tricky on me in the middle of the night, beware. My heart stabbing maneuvers have only improved since then I'm sure!
