CREEPY, THY NAME IS TOWNHOUSE
The Crankys live in an end unit townhouse. Even though we are on the end we have two neighbors, the front door neighbors and the backdoor neighbors. I know, I can’t figure it out either.
The front door neighbors are door slammer and heavy footed people. When they are up and about you could swear they are in your down stairs stealing food from the refrigerator.
The back door neighbors are quiet, except when their teenagers decide to listen to whatever they call music today. I’d complain except they seem like otherwise good kids. I do hate that their rap “music” gets stuck in my head and I go through the day with rhymes for “Ho,” “doe (door),” “go,” “flo (floor),” “grow,” “bo (boy)” and “dough” running through my head.
Because of the creaks, bangs, clangs and rap coming from around our house, we are always careful to lock up all possible entrances, otherwise I would constantly be checking out rooms and closets to make sure the creepy noises were not coming from inside.
The testosterone step-crank does not understand this issue and never locks up after he enters or leaves the house. If he was not a such good kid, this would cause me to wring his neck.
In addition to making sure we always lock-up, we have an alarm system which even when not set will emit a “beep, beep, beep” whenever an entrance is compromised.
Last night while in bed and waiting for Mrs. C to come home from work, I swear I heard the “beep, beep, beep.” I waited for about five minutes for Mrs. C to climb the stairs.
I went down stairs to check.
No one, nothing.
The door was still locked.
I went outside to see if Mrs. C’s car was in the driveway. It was not, but the security light over the garage door which is motion activated was on. CREEPY.
Ten minutes later Mrs. Cranky came home. I told her of the mysterious “Beep, beep, beep.”
“There was someone in the basement,” she announced with surprising certainty.
“While you were playing golf, I was in the kitchen, and the door to the basement kept opening and closing. I think someone was waiting for me to go upstairs so they could leave.”
“Why didn’t they leave when you went to work.”
“Because I set the motion alarm, it would go off as soon as they moved from the basement. When you came home the alarm was off, he waited until you went upstairs and then made his getaway.”
“But they would be gone, what would they care if they set off an alarm? And how was the door locked”
“I’m just saying. And by the way that is why I want you to always leave the door to the basement open, when it opens on itself it creeps me out.” (That is a whole nother story.)
“Well how did this person get in?”
“I don’t know, is the hidden key still outside in its place?”
The scenario Mrs. C proposed was ridiculous, but she has a sixth sense that I have learned should not be dismissed.
“Not now, you’ll let in the moths that are hanging around the outside lamp.”
“What? I’m supposed to sleep tonight after you planted the idea that someone has a key to our house that makes creepy noises all the time and I can’t check because a moth may get in? A friggin moth? What about a creepy person?”
“You know I hate bugs in the house!”
The key was in its place. The “beep, beep, beep” remained a mystery, one of those things you convince yourself later was just your imagination.
Still, I slept like a baby.
When you live in a creepy house you learn to ignore the creepiness.