night-time escapades

There are two things you may not know about me. 

First: I live in an old ranch house in the middle of nowhere. The stairs creak, there are a lot of curtain-less windows and plenty of stories from previous tenants of, well, noises. Ghosts. It is so picture perfectly scary that it was used as a film set for a horror movie last year. Charming, right?

Secondly: I am a big, fat wuss. 

So it is surprising to me even that I've slept here husband-less hundreds of times with virtually no problems....until Monday night happened.

It started out like any other night, you know, eat dinner, bathe the child, put her to bed, clean up. I was loading the dishwasher when I heard a loud 

OOOOOOoooooowwwWWWWWOOOOOooowwWWWWWW!

It sounded like the cry of someone who had just been shot and was bleeding to death outside my window. Naturally, my first thought is: HOLY. CRAP. There is a ghost out there that is crying their eyes out!!! 

After searching the house with shaky knees the sounds led me to the back door, and with a sudden burst of bravery I flung it open. I heard a "REEEEERRRRRR!" and a raccoon scampered off into the dark. SIGH. Raccoon. Back to cleaning.

Not a half an hour later I was putting a book on the shelf and 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. 

on the front door. A split second of reasoning deduced that I wasn't expecting anyone, I hadn't heard a car pull up, and it was way too late for random visitors. Panic set in. So I did what any self-respecting protective mother would do. I dove into the kitchen and hid between the cabinets in the fetal position. I called Nathan. 

"I think there's someone trying to break into our house."

"What?! What did you hear?"

"Knocking."

"Honey, someone breaking in wouldn't knock."

"No. It was a soft knock, like they're trying to see if I'm home. You know? Home Alone? Sticky Bandits style? Nevermind. Call my dad and tell him to come over quick. I'm calling 911."

Then I sat there like a paranoid squirrel listening to every little noise. Soon I heard the diesel engine from my dad's truck come roaring up the driveway. He circled the house like a mad man with the high-beams on going so fast that I'm pretty sure I saw him get airborne on a driveway rut. Like Jeff Gordon driving an F-350. By the time he was done rounding the track three cop cars had shown up.

They proceeded to search the premises with big spot lights - in every dark corner, up in the trees, the garage - covering all the bases. Nothing. No perpetrators, no footprints, nothing. And yet I'd heard a knock! This guy is good, I thought. I loaded up the car and stayed the night at my parent's house. 

(UNRELATED: When we got there my mom and sister were watching The Bachelor. I figured some mindless entertainment would be good for my nerves, so I sat down and joined them. I had never seen the show before. HILARIOUS. Is all I have to say about that. Did anyone else appreciate the baton twirler as much as I did?! Seriously laughed till I cried.)

When I came home on Tuesday and nothing had been stolen I figured I should face my fears and try to stay home for the night. I could always leave if I got too scared, and besides, nothing had been stolen. It was probably just my imagination. 

I went to bed early, got up early, and opened the blinds just as a beautiful little woodpecker came swooping down onto the front porch. It landed on a wooden pillar right by the front door and 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I felt like such an idiot.