Tom Misuraca 🔈

A FaceTime call. At 10:23pm. Unknown number. In this area code.
I ignore it.
They don’t leave a message, but call back immediately. Maybe it’s a friend calling from somebody else’s phone. An emergency. I answer it. An image appears on the screen. It takes me a moment to comprehend what I’m seeing.
My house.
Somebody’s calling from across the street.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
They hang up.
In anger, I storm to the door, ready to scream at the caller. Then I come to my senses. This could be a ploy. A new kind of home invasion. Rush in on me when I go out to confront them.
Feeling one step ahead of these creeps, I check that all the windows and doors are locked.
I return to my bedroom, knowing I won’t get any sleep tonight.
My phone chimes with another FaceTime. Same number. Nope. I decline.
They call back. Fine. I’ll play their little game. Then I’m calling the cops.
I answer. This time, I see a close-up of my bedroom window. They’re feet away from me.
I run to the window and poke my head through the curtains. I look down to see myself on my phone. I touch my head to test if it’s live. It is.
I pound on the window. Threatening to call the police. Or to handle them myself with the gun I don’t own. Those friends who suggested I buy one no longer sound ridiculous.
I hang up and am about the call the police when FaceTime chimes again. This time they’re at my front door. It’s a clear threat of invasion.
I dial 911 and tell them I suspect somebody is trying to break into my house. The kind person on the other end says they’ll send a car. They warn me not to engage. Hope I have that choice.
FaceTime. I’ll let them know the cops are on the way. Then they’ll flee like the coward they are.
I answer, but before I can speak, I see my hallway on the screen. As if they’d just walked through the front door. How’d they break in so quietly? I shout that the cops are on their way. Then hang up.
I run to the bedroom door and slam it shut. I throw a chair against it like they do in movies. I’ve no idea if that’ll work.
Unthinkingly, I’ve trapped myself. Hope the cops get here soon.
FaceTime chimes. I don’t want to answer, but I need to know where they are.
They’re outside my bedroom door. I see a gloved hand reach for the doorknob. Another movie cliche. From the other side, I see the doorknob turn.
I’ve heard about fight or flight instinct, but never realized how quickly it happens. Though my bedroom window is tiny, I squeeze out of it. I hope to see the cops on the street, but it’s quiet.
I run around the house to the garage, trying to stay hidden from my intruder. I use the keypad to open the garage. No doubt they hear this. I expect to get a call showing the inside garage entrance.
Thank God I keep an emergency key in a metallic lockbox beneath my car. I remove it, get in and speed off. On the way, I call 911 again and tell them all that happened. They say the cops are there and see no sign of a break-in.
They plan to patrol the neighborhood, but I fear the intruder is hiding in wait for my return. I keep driving until I come to a Starbucks drive thru. I order a small coffee and park in the lot, wondering when it’ll be safe to go home.
A FaceTime call.
I answer it to see my car in the Starbucks parking lot. My hands shaking so much, hot coffee drips on my lap.