things that go bump in the night

'stay right where you are,' my darling husband snapped!

considering that it was 4.00am, and that till the moment he had barked his order, i had been fast asleep, there didn't seem any immediate danger of my jumping up and rushing off anywhere.

'what's happening pa?' i asked sleepily.

'nothing,' the man of the house retorted, 'don't move!'

wide awake now, and definitely not ready to take orders lying down (forgive the awful pun!) i struggled up from bed. 'pa, what's going on, did you hear somebody in the house?' i asked, my words bouncing off a closing door around which came a snort that could have meant yes, or no, or anything else. 

my dh had stalked off to see who had invaded his territory.

he, as he had proved years ago, is far braver than he strictly needs to be when woken up by intruders in the middle of the night. such situations usually ended with the bewildered intruder bound with cord yanked off a table lamp, and dumped in the back seat of the car, while my husband prepared to dash off with his booty to the police station, clad in nothing more than boxer shorts!

i peeped out of the bedroom and saw lights snap on rapidly in room after room. 

'where's s?' the question ricocheted up the stairs. 

where was my son? in his room, i hoped, fast asleep, like he was meant to be. suddenly horror stories about disgruntled domestics sneaking into children's rooms and slitting the throats of the sleeping babes rushed to my mind. 'oh god, let him be safe, please!' i prayed.

it was definitely time to act. i shook my daughter, 'get up,' i snapped at the poor thing. (yes, when you have no idea what you are doing, barking orders feels useful.)

i yanked the mattress up, frantically searching for my 'whacking stick,' a wicked brass tipped bamboo staff i kept hidden there specifically for these situations. 

there was no way i was going to let my man face what i imagined was a mustachioed, knife-wielding, lungi-clad thug, armed with just courage and a sense of outrage, or let my child have his throat slashed in his sleep, so weapon in hand, i crept out of the bedroom, determinded to save the situation.

'check on s!' the command bounced up the stairs again. 

heart beating so loud i could actually hear the pounding, i gripped the bamboo staff tightly in my sweaty hands, and pushed open my son's bedroom door softly... and froze at the sight in front of me...

sitting cross-legged in bed, there he was, my son, plugged into his music, completely oblivious to the galatta his nocturnal wandering had caused, calmly eating some kiwi fruit he had just raided from the fridge!

'pa,' i shouted down, 'i found your intruder!'