Horror on White Oak Drive
It was a dark and stormy night. Ding-dong! Cindy and I were immediately awake. I turned on the bedside lamp. “Was that the doorbell?” “Yes!” Cindy replied, her eyes wide open. “What time is it?” Cindy looked at her bedside clock. “Four o’clock!” “Four o’clock! Well, who—why. . . ? ” I got out of bed and stepped from the bedroom into the dark hallway. I looked through the nearly lightless living room toward the front door. Its window was small, probably ten inches by ten inches, a square resting on one corner. From my location in the hall, I could see that the front light was on. And I could see raindrops glinting as they passed through its glow. But I couldn’t see anyone on our front step. Tightening the muscles in my solar plexus, I crossed the living room to the door and looked directly out the window. No one. I cracked the door open, knowing that there was still at least a locked storm door between me and any boogerman. There was definitely no one out there.