It was an ungodly hour when the doorbell rang that was for sure. I had gone to bed Saturday night and had been very much asleep and dreaming when the ringing doorbell woke me up. Even though it has never been rung once in the middle of the night in all of the five years I have lived there, I instantly pegged it to some teenage kids running around way past their curfew. I don't know why. I never did that as a kid but I guess the teenager once controlling me would have found it a perfect prank. You ring the bell and high tail it out of there.
I was about ready to drift off to sleep but before I could, my mind shifted up to second gear. Perhaps my house was burning and a frantic neighbor was ringing the bell to wake anyone inside up before becoming a crispy creature. After all, I had done the same thing several years ago when I drove by a burning garage right next to a house. I finally looked at my clock and saw that it was 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, not the typical time for teenage pranksters to be out and about. That got me motivated to jump out of bed, throw on some sweats and head downstairs, smelling for smoke as I walked. I didn't smell any smoke and when I got to the front door, I could see that the front deck was empty so I could probably rule out the house fire. Never the less, I continued a circuit of the house but didn't see any fire or smell any smoke from the outside and it was still pitch black out all the windows meaning that the roof wasn't on fire.
Back in bed, my brain was still mulling over the teenage prankster theory when it hit third gear. Perhaps it was a burglar casing my house by ringing the doorbell to see if anyone was home before robbing it. Twice since I have moved into our house I have spotted tracks in the snow going around to the backside of the house and stopping at the sliding glass door before back tracking. One was right after I bought the place and I assumed it was a friend of the previous family used to going around back but the second time was last winter. After the first time I cut a stick to jam in the track so that any would be burglars would have to break down the door as opposed to easily jimmying the flimsy lock. I live in a small town were crime is virtually contained to a few people walking out of grocery stores or gas stations with unpaid goods. Breaking and entering is not a word I see in the police blotter. Still, despite all this, perhaps someone was looking for an easy score.
So I listened, from the warmth of my bed, listening for anything louder than a mouse fart that I couldn't identify. After a few minutes of that, I knew that I would quickly tire of it and besides, what was I going to do if I heard a window break in? Call 9-1-1 and hide under the bed? Ask them to politely leave and come back when I'm not trying to sleep? So I started looking out windows and saw that both the uphill and downhill neighbors had their lights on in front and behind their houses. I told my mind that this was definite proof of teenage pranksters at work and not burglars and went back to bed only too wide away to sleep now. So after rolling around a bit, I just gave up and said hello to Sunday a bit earlier than normal. If it happens again, my doorbell will no longer function. Ignorance is bliss or in this case, a sound night's sleep.