Have Land and a Backhoe.

A homeowner’s encounter with an invader

The old wooden house stood in the middle of a dry, quiet plaine.

A dusty road ran along in the near distance. Scant trees.

The old man sat inside smoking on his pipe in deep contemplation.

Puff. Puff. A quiet calm and peacefulness as he sat in his chair.

Then the muffled sound came.

THUMP.

He doesn’t flinch.

Another one, THUMP.

Slowly, his eyes shifted upward at the wooden ceiling. He stayed sitting firm as a rock.

Silence.

He got up, swung around to a wooden door at the back.

A huge washed-out painting of an American flag and bald eagle sat above the fireplace facing the chair he was sitting on.

He grabbed his H&R Topper M48 shotgun standing by the side of the door.

He walked silently toward the wooden staircase that led up to the top floor.

Outside, a crow landed on a power cable and cawed. The property is marked with a giant NO TRESSPASSERS sign on old tin.

Back inside the house, the old man took his time up the stairway. His eyes were trained on the single wooden door. It was ajar.

A muffled sound came from inside the room.

The old man stopped for a second, then continued inching up.

Almost at the door.

He stopped just two stairs below the balcony landing and waited.

Another caw from outside.

The invader burst through the door!

Like a barely noticeable beast he lunged at the old man.

In one lucky or skilled move the old man swiveled on impulse and let one out.

BANG!

Instead of landing on his feet, the invader flung over the full flight of stairs landing on the ground floor.

THUD.

A stiff log.

The old man stood still, panting. Then he trotted down and hovered over the body.

The invader was clad all in black. An unidentifiable mass of 168lbs.

Outside, night slowly fell over the property. Dusk gave way to dark over the sprawling, dry plaine.

The old man was back in his seat in front of the fireplace.

This time he was not smoking on his pipe.

He was scrolling.

On his phone.

He was skimming a series of comments.

He stopped on one of them.

No, no, no, you do not need to use it! This is why you should make sure you call the police! If someone breaks in, even if you’re armed leave the house and try to avoid shooting and killing someone!!

He smirked.

He shifted as if he was contemplating something.

He sighed, as if inconvenienced, and readjusted himself.

Then he started typing on his phone.

And gave out a huge almost scary laugh at the end.

The earlier comment now had a response:

You couldn’t be more wrong…

I will never leave my own home if some idiot breaks in.

How long’s the cops gonna take to get here, you know where I live?

Tools were made to be used.

If danger comes my way, I’m prepared.

I have land and a backhoe. I’m not calling the cops.

He sipped from a large steaming mug.

Outside, the soft moonlight glistened over little mounds of earth behind the wooden house.

Caw!

A crow flapped its wings and took off from power lines in a puff of black feathers.