SPEAKING OF GOOD WRITERS...

Lin and I have been blessed with three children, J.R., Erin, and Bethany (adults now), who are all very skilled at writing. Today I am going to showcase the youngest (Bethany), who wrote a Dickens-style account of a burglary. I think you'll like the story. The second sentence is my favorite.






A tale of crime is often said to be one of the best in the realm of story telling, and as I am obligated to tell a tale of my own personal experience, I prefer that it be one associated with a genre attracting such public favor. The night that the named event took place was as one would naturally expect the eve of a criminal act to present itself, a notably dark, ominous night who’s predecessor had been a dreary, autumn day; hardly validated in its claim to be such as any appearance of light had been mysteriously absent, seemingly unable to penetrate the clouds that took pleasure in drowning the city beneath it with endless, cruel, torrential rain. I in fact made mention of the queer quality of the evening, more specifically the moon, to a group of my companions as we traversed our way to a charming, little house-warming party that had been amiably put on by some of our common acquaintances; my superstitious remark, however, held little meaning to anyone on whose ears it fell, including, most certainly, my own.
At the moment of our return from a most enjoyable evening of merry-making and well-wishing, we, meaning my two housemates and myself, were amazed to find the remaining and fourth member of our household in a close, if not fully resembling, state of distress. Upon our immediate inquiry, it was relayed, in a most pitiable fashion, the order of events that had taken place only a little over a quarter of an hour prior to our return, and that had induced in our friend such an affected condition. It seems that as the named individual was seated in the kitchen, deeply engaged in an academic endeavor when she was startled to hear, at quite close proximity and volume, the voices of several, meaning at least more than one, members of the male gender. What is more, she thought she heard what could only be construed as a comment in reference to herself, and being that she was entirely alone in the house, as the others, including myself, were out, she promptly ran to the upper level of the house and waited until the individuals had either removed themselves from our property, or lowered their voices to the extent that one would not mistake them for being in close proximity to our windows. Once the happenings in their entirety had been relayed, despite the potential danger, I deemed it necessary to make certain all was secure outside of the kitchen doors that open onto the grounds behind the house, and I bravely performed this task myself, being cautious of course to keep a firm grasp on the door handle lest someone or something whisk me away into the clutches of night. To my utter surprise, upon first glance, there was indeed evidence that seemed to indicate my possession of inherent detective skills, as well as cause for concern, namely, muddy footprints whose very existence seemed to defy the fierce, pounding rain; an unsettling yet triumphant discovery! After a brief but thoughtful consultation, the four of us decided that due to the lateness of the hour, there was little to be done, regardless of the suspicious circumstances, but go to bed, careful, of course, to leave the outside perimeter of our common dwelling well lit and securely locked.
After a satisfactory debriefing of the evening of festivities with the dear friend and housemate with whom I share a room, a situation allowing of course for in bed conversation, the most comfortable and best kind, I fell into a deep and much needed slumber at about midnight, only to be awakened a mere three hours later by the door to my chamber squeaking open, and appearing into view, the head of my housemate, which ever number you would like to assign, but I will tell you it was the one who possesses a most admirable quality of level-headedness, and she stated in a simplistic and most characteristic manner, “Now there is someone in our backyard.” I quickly reached for my eye glasses, and it was at this point that I was able to accurately see her, and observe for the first time the expression of calm urgency on her face, a combination of emotions that I had never before been aware of until now. She proceeded to relate to me how she had been sleeping lightly, due to the worrisome events earlier in the evening, and had been awakened by the sound of someone attempting to open our front door, had proceeded to peer out the window and had then observed a man climbing over our side gate into our yard. It is important to note, reader, that her entire account of what she had observed occurred only seconds prior to my own awakening, and even as the last words rolled off her lips, I myself heard the jingling of the bell on our side gate; the culprit was indeed still at work!
In the very clutches of terror, the four who inhabited the house that night quickly huddled together, all crowded on one bed, waiting for the authorities, who had been at this point notified, to arrive and apprehend the criminal, yet dreading the possible entrance of the latter before help could come and security be assured. It is amazing how even the smallest fragment of time can seem unbearably long in the minds of those who are significantly frightened, and in reality, the time that passed before help came to the fear-stricken household was indeed in the quantity of minutes although it seemed a short eternity to those who awaited it. Shouting soon ensued, on the part of the legal official, inquiring the purpose and place of dwelling of the terror-inducing intruder, and it became apparent to the group of bed-clothed women as they strained to hear if the trespasser had been apprehended, that it was indeed the case, he had been caught, and as the proud, blue-clad enforcer of the law later related, it had all been the drunken mistake of a good-natured, inebriated young man who was certainly not a criminal, and on retrospection, yes, perhaps it is so. To some, however, who perhaps flatter themselves with imagined talents of the crime-solving nature, the two events are much too coincidental; for now, however, my account will end, although future, sinister events may lend sufficient material for the continuation of this tale.