3:00AM series: intruder beware.

A Story by David Scott

Not what you think. (Yes, the titled changed) Part of short story series about 3:00AM.

The gun was in the mop closet. Antique wood and twisted metal lay hidden on a shelf six feet high. The ammunition was stored across the laundry room, in a cabinet above the washing machine.

Before last night, the gun had only been used to shoot the soda cans my son and I would hang in the trees down by the French Broad River. Last night, the mechanism designed to direct explosive destruction was tried and true to its purpose.

There is something magical about 3:00AM. The crickets and frogs seem to have tired by this time of night. Their ancient harmonies drift beyond the murmuring of the river. The coyotes have stopped yapping over their kill and the owls sit with wide eyed satisfaction of the night’s hunt. Stirring from their slumbers, scavengers are becoming bold enough to leave their hiding places. Domestic cats are mewling and dogs are whining to be let outside. Tired housewives nudge their husbands awake to accommodate these nocturnal demands. Yes, 3:00AM is magical.

Sometimes the magic is sensual, playful, and creative. Lovers fall into bed after a night out on the town. Maybe they find their bodies intertwined and wake up to enjoy mingling shared dreams with realities felt in their flesh. Campers turn on their flashlights to tell ghost stories and share secret thoughts with restless friends. Poets construct sculptured lines from their unquiet imaginations as intricate and delicate as a spider’s web and as bold and billowing as an afternoon thunder head expanding into the blue sky of spring.

Other times, the magic is mystical. Orbs of golden light can be seen floating between the sentinel trunks of the hardwoods surrounding Brown Mountain. Blue glow worms blanket the leafy carpet of the laurel thickets imitating fey. Meteor showers visit our skies from time to time casting a magical spell in the darkest hours of the night. Twinkling stars dance around the steady gleam of planets mirroring the Sun’s radiant light while hidden, safely tucked behind the skirts of Mother Earth.

3:00AM magic can also birth dark and sinister. Last call at Dugan's Pub has the patrons trying to sober up as they stumble off into the early morning hours. Fate hangs by the wobbly thread of drunken reason, guided to the mouth of undefined need like a spent cigarette held between unsteady fingers. Thieves destroy years of hard work in moments. Drug hazed, addiction fed, desperate disregard of others property and safety finds boldness in these dark moments. Evil is wide awake and lurking in the shadows. Unexplained noises crash into the solace of a restful night’s sleep. The world, like a Waffle House pancake, is flipped into the shocking heat of a grim reality.

Last night, when 3:00AM dragged itself into my semi-conscious mind, I was alone. My wife, my children, and our dogs were spending the night at the lake house. I was to join them today after the work week was finished. The evening hours had been quiet and relaxing without the demands a house full of people can project. Comedies and dramas on the television had blinked their last flash of distraction a few hours ago. I was finally settled and still. Deep and restful sleep had come to me after my ritualistic tossing an turning from one unsatisfactory position to another.

Blurry numbers on the bed side clock seemed to radiate a red warning. I stretched my eyebrows higher to force my eyes to open and focus. Then, with a suddenness that caught my breath, I was instantly alert. More alert than if I had showered and sipped down two cups of coffee. My mind was racing, frantic to catch up with my reflexes. I glanced over at the clock again to confirm the time was indeed 3:11AM. Then I heard a distinct collection of noises I could easily identify were originating from my garage. I could not tell exactly what was going on, but I knew I was no longer alone in my house.

It was not the first time our house had been invaded. It had happened twice before. The last time, our family had been away on vacation and the bandits had enjoyed the opportunity make themselves at home. They even destroyed the garage and damaged our cars. I guessed last night they thought the house was empty again because the family car was gone and no dogs were barking at their approach. I decided last night was going to be the last time they visited my home.

Without turning on any lights, I made my way silently to the laundry room and recovered the weapon hidden in the mop closet. I had not bothered to get dressed and I felt a moment of self-conscious embarrassment as I crouched low loading ammunition into the gun. Calvin Kline boxer briefs did not exactly create a secure wardrobe for confronting intruders.

Carefully I chambered the first found. My finger was trembling as I toggle the weapon’s safety lever. Red paint indicated the trigger was active and ready to fire, lacking only the gentle squeeze I had practiced while firing at the cans by the river. I flung the door open and flipped on the garage lights with one swift motion. My eye caught the movement of two separate forms. One intruder was gone in a flash. His survival instinct was reflexive and lighting quick. I knew he had escaped. The other intruder was slower to respond and had hidden behind the plastic organizers standing along the garage wall. I yelled a warning and tried to frighten the intruder away. I got no response other than the eerie sound of his breathing. I called out again in an attempt to force him to run off. Still, I achieved no response. So, I aimed my weapon at the plastic door and unloaded the clip of ammunition with a steady hand.

I saw the bloody splatter on the wall and I knew I had aimed true. The once quiet breathing was now a loud, gruesome and desperate gasping. One long exhale told me the spirit had left the body of my victim. My heart was pounding even though the adrenaline had left my veins. I felt the chill of the night air as I stood alone in my garage, holding a gun, while wearing only my underwear.

Cautiously I approached the destroyed storage container. My shots had riddled the thin plastic with gaping holes. I had the presence of mind to put on my leather yard gloves as I began the messy process of removing the body and cleaning the blood off the walls and floor. Finally, I hung the dead intruder on a tree in the back yard before going inside to clean up and try to get some rest before the morning alarm demanded my attention.

To be honest, I do feel a little guilty for killing the raccoon, but if the other one comes back, I’ll make a hat out of him as well. Who knew coonskin hats were a product of the magic surrounding 3:00AM?

© 2013 David Scott

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Reviews

Warrior

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Great visuals and great story telling. It had plot and substance. When you add substance to writing it gets that much better. It gets the reader hooked on it and make them feel as if they are part of it. As long as their is that emotional connection between the reader and the story then it's good. The connection you were able to established in the writing gives the reader a sense of comfortably that they are in tune with the writing. So that way when the writing is over, the reader wants more, and wishes it didn't end. I feel the same way when I watched a movie or tv series that I get so attached to, I never want it to end. And for this writing, I didn't want it to end. You had me hooked, and I am sure everyone else who read it was hooked as well. That is good, that is what you want for people to keep wanting more. The way you put the story together makes me feel like my life is different for that moment in which I read your story. I love it, and it was beautiful. Just keep posting stories like this, and you'll have a good following.

Posted 8 Years Ago

8 Years Ago

Thank you for reading this old post of mine. I think I could edit this one a bit more, but it was fu.. read more

...

You killed a raccoon...slumps. They are so cute, and then you made a hat out of him too?

Posted 8 Years Ago

8 Years Ago

Ha. A little truth, a little fantasy...
I do not like killing anything. However, this little .. read more

NeiL ArandA

You have a heightened sense of security. Very descriptive composition with humorous suspense in the end. I'm very protective as well. I guess by playing Black pieces with so much success...:) I enjoyed reading this David. I will subscribe from you. I like your writing style very deep and different.

Posted 10 Years Ago

10 Years Ago

Actually, I avoid using guns... I have trained to use guns however.
This did happen, but it .. read more

Joiedevivre

this is excellent writing. you start out with such beautiful, poetic descriptions of the night and the scenery, and build up an idyllic, serene atmosphere that i almost wish I could teleport myself into this splendour. And then you bring in the fear and it works do well in contrast.