Monday, December 8, 2008

A Twist Of Noir 016 - David Price


Thank god for my temperamental prostate. I'll tell you up front, aging is a bitch. That damn gland starts to grow for no good reason. That's when your problems begin. The more it grows, the more it squeezes your bladder. Then you can take your choice cause you're going to get both, either you have to pee every hour or when you try to pee, all you get is dribbles like you're a leaky faucet. Ever see those commercials of the old guys playing golf? One guy has to keep leaving the tee to go take a leak. Well, it's no lie.

This condition makes for a long night with many trips to the can.

I never thought I'd be glad for this miserable malady but it saved my life for sure.

It's 2:45 am. I'm awake for the fourth time since 10:00pm. You can't sleep with that nagging need to pee even though you try. Fuck it. Time to get up again.

Wait. What's that noise? I freeze sitting up on the side of the bed. There it is again. God damn, someone is in the house. I can hear a downstairs cupboard open, then close. My ears follow the sound of muffled footsteps as they cross from the kitchen to the living room. The closet door opens. Oh crap.

I always sleep with my bedroom door closed and locked. But, it's just one of those little push button locks built into the door knob. You know the kind, you can open it with a small screwdriver from the opposite side. It's no real protection but I always figured I'd hear the fumbling and wake up if someone tried to get in.

I open my nightstand drawer where I keep my little .357 mag S&W, 5 shot revolver. She's wrapped in a hand towel to keep her warm on these cold nights. I have her loaded with .38 Hydra-Shok rounds for good stopping power without the mag kick. She only has a 2" barrel so accuracy isn't going to be my strong suit. Then again, I don't figure to use her unless I am in a real fix and my tormentor is less than 10 feet away. In that case, I know she will do all she can to protect me.

We're on real good terms and have been for over ten years. Just holding her calms my racing heart.

Got to think. What to do. Geeez, my cell is downstairs and I took my extension phone out long ago so I wouldn't be bothered by pesky callers.

So I'm alone. No way to call out but at least the door is locked. Whoever is down there can have my stuff. Just don't come up the stairs and try and get in this room.

Oh no, I can hear footsteps on the wooden stairs. Lucky choice on my part. Glad I opted for wood over carpet on the stairs. Now I know someone is coming a calling.

My mind races. I've read about these "creepers". They aren't content to just break in your house and rip you off, no, they want to do it while you're home, preferably asleep. They get off on getting in the room where you are sleeping and doing something or moving something to let you know they had the power over you while you slept. Once you wake up, you eventually realize what has happened.

Sometimes they just kill you in your sleep. Anybody who does this shit is crazy. You've got to figure on the worst case scenario and act accordingly. You never want to leave to chance the outcome of such a meeting.

I crawl over the bed to the side farthest from the door. I kneel down to use the mattress and box spring for cover. Wonder if the bastard has a gun?

I wait patiently. Damn, I really have to pee but now is not the time. Can't make a sound to let him know I'm awake.

The footsteps reach the landing. He's at my door. I hear the knob turn. Motherfucker is actually trying to come in. WTF?

The lock holds. Silence, then the sound of jiggling. He's working on my crummy little lock.

Why didn't I get a deadbolt? Shit.

Well there's only one way to play this. There'll be none of that "Freeze" or "Stop or I'll shoot" bullshit. Nooo, I'll wait till he fills the doorway and squeeze off three quick rounds, leaving two in reserve in case I miss.

He never should have come up those stairs. He was home free but now he's going to pay till it hurts.

The knob turns. The door is opening slowly. I wait. Damn, can he hear my heartbeat? Sounds like a kettle drum to me.

There, it's wide open. I can see the shadow fill the doorway.

Blam. Blam. Blam. The first two rounds hit center mass, the last one hits his melon as he falls into the room. Barely a grunt, it's over.

I flip on the light. He's dressed in black and wearing a ski mask. A regular ninja. In his hand is my 8" carving knife from the kitchen.

I step over the body on my way to the can.

Aaaah! Best piss I've had in a week.

BIO: David Price is an ex college jock and retired probation officer residing in San Diego. His first writing effort appeared in Thuglit #28.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I can feel the relief! Good job.