The Intruder

It was in mid-fall, probably around 1978 or 79, between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. in the morning. For some reason I was having trouble sleeping that night, which was unusual for me because I was a teenager and nearly always slept soundly at night. In those days we used to sleep with the windows open at night when the weather was nice, as it was that particular night.

While I was just lying there in bed in our upstairs room (my brother and I shared a bedroom) contemplating what the next day would hold for me, I heard the sound of footsteps outside in the yard, trampling across the crackly dried up leaves (Thank God for Autumn).

At first, I thought nothing of it because we had always had cats while growing up, which is what I thought it was this time, too. But then as I began to pay closer attention to the actual sound of the footsteps as they came across the leaves, I realized to my surprise that whatever, or whoever, was making the footsteps was walking on two feet instead of four.

Alarmed, I very quietly rolled over to look out the window beside my bed. Though it was still early in the morning and dark, I could make out the faint silhouette of a person walking towards my mother’s bedroom window, which was on the first floor.

Chills went up my spine.

I then very quietly got out of bed and walked over to where my brother was sleeping. Not wanting to alert the intruder that I was aware of his presence, I moved my hand over my brother’s mouth in case he made a noise while waking up, quietly whispering in his ear that we had a peeping tom looking in Mom’s bedroom window. Amazingly he awakened from a deep sleep without making a sound. We then quietly made our way over to where our guns were stored, my 9mm pistol and his Winchester lever action .22 rifle. Once we had our weapons in hand, and were sure we were out of earshot of the intruder, we dashed downstairs, heading towards the backdoor as fast as two teenage boys in their prime could go. Quickly we opened and then ran through the backdoor, making our way along the north side of the house as fast as we could, not wanting the intruder to get away before we could put the fear of God into him.

In no time we arrived in front of the house, stopping just thirty or so yards from my mother’s bedroom window, which was on the south side of the house. I couldn’t see the intruder because it was dark. But I knew where my mother’s bedroom window was. I raised the 9mm pistol and yelled at the top of my voice: “Freeze”.

Not more than a second later, I lowered and then fired the formidable pistol into the ground, just short of where I pictured he would be. I fired it short because he was still outside the house and not inside; I didn’t feel justified in killing him and was worried that I might get into trouble with the law.

After the intruder heard that first big BOOM he was off and running. And I do mean off and running! I don’t think I’ve ever heard two feet moving quite as fast as his!

My crazy but courageous brother then decided to give chase to this very frightened peeping tom. Across streets, through backyards and alleyways my brother pursued this individual, all the while taking pot shots at him with his lever action .22 rifle as they were running.

The peeping tom finally managed to elude my brother, which at first was hard for me to believe because my brother was in very good shape back in those days. But my brother was carrying a fairly heavy rifle which undoubtedly slowed him down as they traversed fences and other obstacles. And then again I'm sure the intruder thought he was running for his life that autumn night, giving him that extra incentive to run like Carl Lewis! Hopefully it also broke him of his peeping tom habit, never to try it again.

A true story.