Murder at My House

My husband is on a business trip. I am home alone. It's about ten o'clock at night. As usual, I curl up on my bed with my laptop.

All of a sudden I get an uneasy feeling, you know, the one you get when you think someone is in the house. I'm just being paranoid, I think. But to be safe, I tip-toe to my bedroom doorway to take a look. That's when I see him, his larger-than-life shadow projected on the wall.

The realization washes over me that I'm going to have to deal with this alone. Ouickly, I back-pedal and sink into the closet for a weapon. I find a five pound dumbbell. It'll have to do. I clutch it with a death grip, assuming attack position.

As I make my way back to where I spotted the intruder, I try to remain calm, but fear is beading on my forehead and upper lip. I take a deep breath and lunge out into the hallway only to find he's already vanished from sight.

Now he has gained the edge, because nothing is scarier than that which I cannot see. My heart starts to pound like crazy; I can feel it in my throat. I search around me in a panic. Where is he? For the love of God where is he? 

He's behind a door, or under a piece of furniture, waiting for me to seek him out. And I will seek him out; I have to, because the very thought of him lurking in my house somewhere is too much to bear.

I race through every room, flinging furniture aside. I spot him in the kitchen crouched beneath the table. He is there, staring at me, in plain sight as if he's daring me to come after him.

And I do--go after him--swinging the dumbbell as I go. A miss! Damn it! I grab a skillet from the stove (thank God I had a grilled cheese sandwich for supper and didn't do the dishes) and strike him again, giving the blow everything I have. He's seriously wounded, I can see this, but I don't stop there. I continue to beat him over and over, startled by my own violence, by how much I am enjoying the killing. Yes, by now, it is officially a killing. When I finish with him he is nothing more than a black, pulpy spot on the linoleum.

Spiders are particularly bad this year. And freakishly big too. Don't you think?