Knockin'

You move into a new house. All is fine except for a music box that sometimes starts playing, and a curious beating on the back door. You figure that the music box is somewhere in a few of the things that the owner of the house has stored in the attic. It's no big deal. But that knockin'....

The first time you hear it, you've just gotten everything situated, and have gone to bed. Just as you are drifting off to sleep, someone starts knocking... no, HAMMERING... on the door. You make your way downstairs, check the doors, and find no one there. At either door. Puzzled, you head back to bed.

As soon as you find yourself about ready to drift off again, the hammering starts anew. Without turning on the lights, you fly down the stairs, and go directly to the back door... you know that's where it's coming from. Why? Because it's metal, and the knocking has a metallic quality to it. Checking once again, you find nothing.

By now, you are convinced that it is just a neighbourhood kid jacking with you. You make your way up the stairs, and right as you start to get into bed, the hammering occurs again. Immediately, you are down the stairs (in the dark) and out the back door... no matter that you're in your bungies only. But the punk is nowhere to be seen.

Again upstairs, the knocking comes back. You decide not to humor the little asshole... he'll go away. And sure enough, after you don't get up the next couple of times, each time louder and louder, the knocking stops.

Over time, the knocking comes back, but when you ignore it, it stops.Definitely a brat about beatin' on doors. Safe assumption, right?

You arrive home late one winter evening... it's just starting to snow. You hit the hay, but can only sleep for a couple of restless hours, so you decide to devote some time to your blogging. Working in only the light from the computer monitor, the knockin' begins again. The first time, you ignore it. Then as it starts again, hard enough to be felt in the floor, you realize that there is fresh snow on the ground... you'll be able to track the little bastard! You grab your shoes, and fly out the door.

Once outside, you notice that there are no tracks. So you run around the house, hoping to catch him/her at another door. But the only tracks there, after your tour, are YOURS...

What's your assumption now?

Posted by That 1 Guy at October 12, 2005 09:00 PM