Living Dangerously - Part 1

It was very late when OB made his way back home.

He'd made an effort to avoid late nights when stories started making the rounds of break-ins, armed robberies and mugging in the area. For someone who prioritised security, he couldn't allow himself fall victim. But the birthday party was too important to avoid and the traffic going back home was frustratingly slower than snails on nails. So every step he took towards his residence was taken pensively. He had the hairs at the back of his neck on the tip of their ends.

But he got to his door without incident. He was about to sigh in relief when his door opened after the first lock turned. That. Was. Unusual.

OB was a creature of habit. There were things he knew he'd never forget to do no matter what. They'd become so much a part of his subconscious that he did them pretty much by rote. One of such habits was locking his doors twice. This was so entrenched that when he moved into this house, he had the locks changed because each time he tried to lock them twice he realised they were of the one-lock-only variety. So, how, for everything that was unlockable, did his door open after he'd turned only one lock?

The pensiveness that was beginning to ebb returned. And it didn't return alone. This time it came with a family of waves of foreboding. He felt a tensing of his muscles as adrenaline pumped into his system. Palpitations threatened to immobilise him but he steadied himself and, moving calculatedly slowly, reached for the light switch.

The florescent tubes turned on, illuminating the entire sitting room. He glanced around. Nothing was amiss. Everything laid exactly as he left them.

He frowned deeply.

It didn't make sense. His residence wasn't broken into. The place looked untouched. Yet, his door was singly-locked? There was no way he could've done that himself. He wanted to excuse the lock issue and ease the tension he felt but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind forced him to remain highly cautious.

He looked around again. Nothing. He realised his right hand was still on the light switch in his frozen, motionless, cautious pose and his door still open. He dropped his hand and slowly and quietly closed his door, careful not to allow it make any sound except a soft click when the latch bolt keyed in. He stood there for a while trying to still his tensed frame and get the familiarity of the house that he was accustomed to.

That was when he perceived it. There was a funny smell in the house that was different. Something definitely wasn’t right after all and his presentiment was correct. He stealthily moved to the shelf just after the table next to the door. Moving two big volumes on the shelf aside, he reached for the pistol he saved for a day like this. He quickly checked for bullets and was happy it was loaded. He noticed that his hands were shaky but quickly cast away from his focus not to split his attention.

He tip-toed to the door leading from the sitting room to the dining room. Some of the light from the sitting room filtered into it and he could see that just like the sitting room, it was all clear and left the way he last used it. He listened for unusual sounds. All he could make out were his clocks, in the sitting room and dining room, ticking in tandem as the seconds went by.

He moved towards his bedroom making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible. But as he crossed the corridor between the dining and bedroom, he unbalanced his silver tray on which he arranged his flasks, tea cups and tea paraphernalia. It clanged about the ground murdering the quietness of his movements.

He cursed under his breath stopping all his motions. When the noise abated, he listened some more. Hearing nothing, he bent, dropped the pistol and tried to put the disorder aside so he wouldn’t stumble over any of them. As he set the flask down, a shadow passed between the light that was reflected on its silvery surface. He grabbed the pistol and spun around quickly but saw nothing. His brows burrowed in concentration as he held his breath and scanned the area. Nothing. Yet, he was certain he wasn't hallucinating when that shadow crossed behind him. He was positive. Too sure.

Now, more than ever, OB knew he wasn't alone. He stood up slowly. He had a feeling whoever it was knew he was suspicious of something but the person was waiting for the best time to strike him. All thoughts of how this person gained entrance into his house were gone. All he cared about now was being the one that lived long enough to tell this story.

A plan formed in his mind. He was going to bait this person. He needed to bring this to an end quickly.

Grasping the handle of the pistol firmly, he moved back to the dining room and turned on the light there. Then, he entered the sitting room and switched off the light. As he suspected, the space and darkness of the sitting room seemed to embolden the person to make an attempt on him. He sensed movement behind him as he reached behind his flat-screened Samsung TV to turn it on. He purposely didn't turn around but shuffled backwards still facing the TV. He picked the remote control with his free left hand and pretended to wait for the decoder to boot up the channels while everything in his body listened for the assailant’s attack from behind.

He felt it. He had bided his time for this particular outcome: the assailant jumped at him. He felt it. And at that exact moment, in one swift motion, he swirled around, pointed his pistol at the airborne figure and pulled the trigger...

To be continued...