Under Cover of Darkness

Was that the door? It can't be. I'd know if it was because my doorbell is actually an obnoxiously loud buzzer more befitting a 1950s factory floor than a residence. However, the bedroom door is shut, and that would muffle the sound a good deal. No... yes... no... yes... no... I didn't imagine it. There is definitely someone (or something) at the door.

It's the middle of the night. I'm not the sort who has late-night visitors these days. Maybe some drunk college kids have stumbled their way to the wrong address for an afterparty. Or, it could be a mentally ill person living in the park who has ventured out into the streets to perform strange rituals on city stoops. That happens a lot around here. Or maybe it's a criminal cabal plotting a home invasion to rob me of my houseplants and dishes. Fools! Those dishes are filthy, and I'm not cleaning them until morning. If then.

I should ignore whoever it is and go back to sleep. They'll go away eventually. Of course, there might be an emergency–perhaps a neighbor in distress or a family member who's lost their phone. I should check. I should. I really should. I guess I have to. I must. Damn it.

I better arm myself–just in case. It might be murderers out to get me or a neighbor who needs to borrow a weapon for some reason. Perhaps a cake recipe they're in the middle of preparing. I wouldn't want to have to go all the way back up three flights of stairs and down again. Where the heck did I put that thing? I should grab my phone, too. I may need to text 911 to report a stolen weapon or possibly check my Facebook feed real quick as I'm being slaughtered by MS3K gangbangers.

Oh, I see. It's not even 10 p.m. I must buy a clock one of these days. It seems I've fallen asleep early and lost all sense of time. Apparently, FedEx just delivered my new upright dustpan and sweeper. In my defense, 9:45 p.m. is definitely late in the evening as FedEx deliveries go.