Home Invader

The rooster didn't wake me up this morning. In fact, no birds sung at all so much as I could discern, perhaps because what sounded like an unusually large crowd of motorists was outside my house, and had frightened them off. Yet it wasn't the motorists that woke me, either.

No; I was wrenched awake by footsteps in the hall that led to my bedroom. I knew they were not my dog, as dog feet hit the floor more rapidly and their claws make a clicking sound. These were the slower, fuller footsteps of a man or a lady, but most likely a man, as they were heavy--and this likely man was an invader in my home! I shuddered as I heard his footfalls getting ever closer to my bedroom door, and as I wondered if my life would end within moments, I stared at the door, until, as luck would have it, I heard the invader open another door in the hall instead, probably to the toilet.

It was only then that I beheld the sight of my bookcase, situated, as it had long been, by the door to my bedroom. The alteration lay in the books perched upon it; many books of many types, and yet all of them books that were not mine. In truth, as I stared more, I realized that at least of the books were not books; the only description I can conceive faithful to their nature, at least if limited to short titles. I could think of nothing they would be other than books, but their forms were those of cubes, possessing no pages that I could note; only a complete cover, but as with books with which we all have more familiarity, the covers had illustrations and titles, and the same titles were on the narrow-but-long side.

I had hardly begun to ponder this enigmatic change in my bookshelf when I heard the shower begin spraying. I immediately became aware of the home invader again, although I couldn't fathom why he would use my shower as part of his scheme. Nevertheless, I knew I would have to act, and so reached for my gun in the drawer to the left of my bed. Many mock me for electing to keep my gun so near to my person at all times as I sleep, but in my town, there are no police nearby, and though we haven't much of a criminal element, the slightest chance of a vile act is enough that I have always resolved to protect myself, and this morning, I must admit that even amidst my horror was a sense of pride over those who had belittled my insistence on keeping my gun by my bed.

However, I could feel nothing. My hand could normally find the handle to my drawer without even necessitating so much as a glance, but this time it did not; it touched only a small surface that I first assumed to be the handle, but seemed wider. Thus I looked over to my left, and beheld an even stranger site than my bookcase. This was not the same furniture as I had by my bed; it was not a cabinet with a drawer by its top, but a simple, small table. Much like my cabinet, it had a lamp upon it, but that lamp was not mine either.

It was then that my attention was brought back to the home invader, as the shower spray he had turned on had now been shut off, the footsteps began thumping again, and to my horror, I head that door open as they thumped back into the hall! I leaped to my feet and, denied my gun, seized upon the strange lamp. Perhaps this blunt instrument would suffice to drive the intruder away, if he had brought no weapon of sorts, but I have never imagined that home invaders would come in unarmed.

Furthermore, the more I perceived my changed bedroom, the less I fancied my chances, as this man seemed increasingly apt to be far more diabolical than the petty home invader I initially assumed him to be. I now saw no other scenario to account for my changed surroundings than that somehow, this fiend had slipped a sedating substance into my food or drink, and while I was unconscious, changed things around me, presumably with the intent of defeating my mind in addition to my flesh. Furthermore, those motorists I heard outside could hardly but be his accomplices in this deed, ready to come in and assist in his invasion should he need it. This would be my end; I was increasingly sure, this villain had taken so much advantage thus far, imprisoning my and alienating me in my own home, that he had likely left me no means of defeating him, but still I clutched that lamp, and resolved I at least would die with my dignity.

In through the door he burst, wearing nothing more than a towel around his body--that would be understandable for a man just out of the shower, but for one with the intention of attacking another man in his bedroom, it remained strange, but then, so did stepping into the shower at the start. His hair was longer than most men's hair usually is, though well shorter than most ladies wear it, and what was even stranger was that he actually yelled out first as he beheld me, his victim. The strangest thing was what happened next, though; as he continued to yell, he ran out of my bedroom door and, judging by his footsteps, towards the front door of the house, which he flung open and rushed out. I gave chase after him, in doing so catching sight of that part of the house, which he seemed to have rearranged just like my bedroom, and through the still open front door, I heard the home invader shout out in fear:

"Help!  A stranger has invaded my house!  He chased me out and is wearing strange, old-fashioned pajamas!"