I grew up in a house that’s pretty old. It was built in 1856. The dining room has a giant window facing the front porch. The porch rapped around the house to the kitchen door on the side. There is a living room right next to the dining room that gives a perfect view of the window.
One night, while I was visiting home from college, I was watching television in the living room. I was the only one awake in the house. My mother was asleep and my father and sister were elsewhere. I hear a small clicking noise and direct my eyes over to the dining room window and I see a silhouette of a large man in a flannel or a coat and wearing a baseball cap. He was just standing at the window, facing into the house. My heart about exploded but I didn’t move an inch. If he was watching me, I didn’t want him to know that I saw him. I got up, walked over to the stairs and as soon as I reached them, I sprinted up to my room. I grabbed and loaded my .35 caliber Marlin 336C, and my uncle’s combat knife that he used in Vietnam. I walked downstairs, threw on all the lights and busted out the kitchen door as I cocked my rifle.
Firmly, but without yelling, I said, “I have a gun, come out and I won’t shoot you.”
Two footsteps on the wooden porch. I swung around to the front porch, completely prepared to attack someone, but there was nothing.
I spent about an hour searching around the 2.5 acre property for this person but I never found anything. I didn’t sleep that whole week.