Once upon a time last Sunday night, DH helped me put the girls to bed and then left for his 12-hour shift in the ER. I putzed around the house for a while, considered the laundry (and then didn't do any), enjoyed the quiet and finally, at around 10pm, put on my own pajamas and headed to bed.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I sat up. Who would ring the doorbell after 10pm? I wasn't expecting anyone. I didn't want to answer the door in my PJs. I figured I could safely ignore it, so I lay back down ... until I remembered that I hadn't locked the deadbolt when DH left.
I got up, tiptoed to the door in case someone was still patiently waiting for me to answer, very slowly and quietly turned the lock and then ran back to bed.
I had no idea who could have been at the door, but I didn't think much of it. It could have been an inconsiderate neighbor wanting to borrow ingredients for a late night snack; it could have been some stranger with a flat tire wanting to use the phone (though who doesn't have a cell these days? Even
I do, and I hate phones!). In any case, it likely had nothing to do with me, personally, and when I didn't answer they moved on to someone else or gave up entirely. After that single ring of the bell -- nothing, and I went to sleep.
Until 1:15 in the morning, when the deep silence of a sleeping house was shattered by the tinny sound of the doorbell.
I sat straight up in bed. The house was locked. I had no intention of opening the door. But who could it be?
My half-asleep brain spun through a Rolodex of odd possibilities: Maybe MIL was in trouble and needed a place to spend the night (though she'd go to SIL's before coming here). Maybe one of my far away family or friends had taken a spontaneous road trip to see me, and wanted to surprise me as soon as they arrived, no matter the time (wishful thinking! Though for the record, please call before ringing the bell in the middle of the night). Maybe some desperate unwed mother had abandoned her baby on our stoop and wanted to make sure I found him before morning, before he would have succumbed to the elements (yeah, I told you I was still half asleep!).
Nothing made any sense. I felt vaguely uneasy. The door remained quiet again for almost an hour, and then the ringing began again -- more frequently, more aggressively. Every couple of minutes, the doorbell would ring two or three times in quick succession. Ignoring it would not be an option if I wanted the kids to stay asleep, if
I wanted to get any sleep.
But what could I do? There I was, defenseless, a woman alone in the house with three small children to protect. More ominous possibilities ran through my head now: What if someone was out there waiting for my resolve to wear down, and when I finally did answer the door to make him stop, he'd rush in and attack me? Someone too lazy or drugged out to pick a lock, or someone who gets off on the psychological assault as much as the physical...?
I've never been nervous about DH working nights; I've never let my imagination run wild over the phantom creaks and groans of a house or random bangs and bumps in the night. I love the feeling of having the whole dark, quiet world to myself. But these noises were not the passive sounds of the house shifting and settling, these were forceful, insistent -- and most creepy of all,
external -- noises that would not let me go.
I texted DH at work, hoping he wasn't too busy with a medical emergency to help me with my domestic one. "It's 2am. Someone keeps ringing the bell," I wrote, "and it's FREAKING ME OUT."
He called right back. "Have you checked to see who it is?" he asked. No, I said. We don't have a peephole in the door, and I didn't want to risk peeking through the curtains of the big picture window for fear that whoever was out there would see me (or, for that matter, that I would see him and confirm my worst fears). "Just look," DH said.
I peeked quickly from the far edge of the curtain. I saw no one. Of course, I wouldn't if he were standing very close to the door.
I told DH. The doorbell rang again. "Okay," he said, "Why don't you stand on a chair and look down through the half circle window at the top of the door, just to make sure. There won't be any blind spots from there."
I slowly dragged a kitchen chair across the carpet. I stood on it and rose up on my tiptoes, terrified that I would look down and meet a pair of eyeballs staring back at me.
I checked.
The porch was empty.
"No one," I told DH.
"You know how that doorbell sticks sometimes?" he said. "Sometimes you have to push it twice to get it to stop buzzing? I bet it has a short in the wiring. See if you can find a switch to turn it off and call me back."
I dragged the chair beneath the doorbell chimes and removed the case. No switch, but a clear and simple diagram of the wiring: One master wire; one wire for the front door; one wire for the back (though we don't have a back door, so go figure that one); each wire connected to a metal loop to complete the circuit. I dug out a screw driver and pried the front door wire away from its connection. It took a few tries because the wire was so used to curling securely around the loop that it kept falling back into place. Every touch of the screwdriver to the wire set off sparks and a new round of frenzied ringing.
Miraculously, none of the children woke up through any of this.
Finally I had it disconnected. I called DH to report my success. "You see?" he said. "Nothing to worry about. We live in a very safe neighborhood. You're going to be fine. Besides," he teased, "if any more of those very polite burglars come back, just do what you did before -- don't open the door."
UGH.
He would understand if he were a girl. I wasn't worried about being robbed. There are worse things than having your stuff stolen.
Still keyed up from all the tension of the night, I turned on the TV to help me unwind. I watched a DVRd episode of
Bones -- because what's more calming than a forensic crime drama? -- and finally fell asleep around 4am.
I rose again at 7am to get the girls ready for school, exhausted but relieved to be done with the mysterious case of the doorbell in the night.
~RCH~
