My Story Start…The Visitor

It truly was a “dark and stormy” night. Sitting alone at my typewriter (I much prefer the old-school clacking of the keys as they snap at the paper), I smiled to myself at the cliché. A warm fireplace helped me feel relaxed, despite the occasional clap of thunder and flash of lightning. And a not-so-gentle rain began to tap rhythmically on the windows. It made a soothing white noise, which created a perfect atmosphere for writing my third mystery novel. I made the keys click out “Chapter One.” The next word after that was interrupted by a light rap on the front door – so light I waited for a second sound to be certain that I didn’t imagine it. Slowly, I rose and walked toward the door.

_________________

As I approached the vintage dutch door, my steps instinctively shrank. My mind shifted from my mystery-novel writing to the array of possibilities that might await me on the other side of the door…

…a stranded traveler, out of gas perhaps, in search of a landline phone, as cell service was futile out here;

…a would-be novice author intruding on my time, to extract advice on writing the great American novel;

…a salesman (what is it this time – Long-term Care Insurance? An unbeatable investment scheme? Perhaps a lightning rod – and what good timing, given this storm) – each, clearly a ruse to gain entry to my home.

I decided to call out, “One minute, please!” to buy time, while I quietly extracted my handgun from the cabinet and tucked it behind my back in my belt.

Fortunately, I thought, I could open the top half of the dutch door, keeping the lower half locked in order to prevent whoever was on the other side from barging in.

As I approached the door and put my hand on the latch to release the top portion, another light, but more insistent rap made me recoil and hesitate for a moment. What could be the urgency? Had he not heard my call to wait?

Slightly irritated yet cautious, I snapped back the latch and made a show of aggressively pulling back the top section so as to take the offensive and exhibit no fear.

“Yes,” I asserted before the door was even fully ajar. To my great surprise, I saw no one! Was this an attempt to lure me outside? I reached back to grasp the butt of my gun with one hand and cautiously leaned my head slightly forward, looking left and right from over the bottom half of the door.

“Sir,” a small voice chirped from just below the still-closed portion of the door. “Here’s your order of Thin Mints and Smores.”