Page 9 of The Intruder

My pasta sauce is almost ready.

It smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles. I was never much of a cook, but since I’ve been living out here, I’ve learned to make some delicious sauces that just take some time and love to develop. If I am killed tonight when the roof falls on my head, this will be a great last meal.

The rain is coming down hard. The raindrops have coalesced so that it almost looks like someone is pouring buckets of water over my house. I watch in fascination as I dip my wooden spoon into the sauce and take a taste.

It’s almost perfect, but it needs something.

Oregano, maybe. My father used to say that whenever an Italian sauce needs something extra, oregano usually does the trick. I reach for the small shaker on my spice rack just as something catches my eye outside the window.

Earlier in the evening, I thought I saw a face at my bedroom window, but I convinced myself it was the moon.

I tend to be the sort of person who is always looking over my shoulder, so I try not to go overboard with those suspicions.

Then I saw some movement outside my toolshed and convinced myself that it was a rabbit or branches blowing in the wind.

But now I see something that makes me realize that I have made a very incorrect assumption.

There’s a light shining outside. It’s coming from my shed.

I drop the wooden stirring spoon onto the counter, splattering tomato sauce in a two-foot radius.

I convinced myself the other two things were my eyes playing tricks on me, but even with the heavy rain obscuring my view, this light is unmistakable.

Why is there a light on in my toolshed? I don’t even have a light bulb in there or any power source, so how could there be light? There’s only one possible way.

Somebody is inside. And they have a flashlight.

My legs tremble beneath me. There is somebody in my toolshed. I can’t even pretend that it could be a bunny…or a bunny and a deer cuddling together. There is a person in there. And I don’t know why or what they want.

Why didn’t I ask Lee to look in the shed? Why did I let my stupid pride get in my way? There’s no chance he’s going to come back here now—not when the rain is coming down hard and the wind is picking up.

I squint out the window, trying to make out the silhouette of somebody inside. There’s only that small window, which is how I can see the light, but I can’t see the shadow of a person moving around inside.

But there’s someone in there. There has to be.

I have to call the police. It seems overdramatic, considering they surely have other more important things to deal with during a big storm, but if there’s an intruder on my property, I have the right to call them.

I don’t know what the intruder wants or what they will do to me, especially once the power goes out, so better safe than sorry.

No, I definitely need to call the police.

But wait. I can’t. The phones are out. That means I can’t call Lee, and I can’t call the police. I can’t call anyone.

I square my shoulders and back across the room toward the light switch, keeping one eye on the window. It’s hard to see much with the kitchen illuminated, but if I turn off the lights, I’ll have a better view of the shed.

I flick the lights off, plunging my kitchen into darkness, then return to the window.

With the improved visibility, there’s no doubt at all that there’s a light shining from within the shed.

But of course, that’s no guarantee that the intruder is still in there.

For all I know, they are standing at my front door right now.

I imagine a giant, burly man waiting at the door, an axe in his fist. (Apparently, I believe Paul Bunyan has been hiding in my toolshed.)

I’m not trapped here though. I’ve got my truck.

For a moment, I’m tempted to make a run for it and start driving in the direction of the nearest town.

Yes, the roads are going to be a disaster, but it’s better than being a sitting duck.

I’ve already got a questionable roof, and now there’s an intruder lurking outside my cabin.

I might be better off searching for a hotel—there’s got to be someplace with an available room.

Or maybe they’ll let me sleep on a sofa in the lobby.

And then in the morning, I can deal with whoever is hiding out there. If they decide to break into my cabin, so be it. I have nothing of value here.

Yet why should I? This is my house. My property. Why should I be forced out because of somebody trespassing?

That said, I’ll never sleep through the night knowing there is a stranger out there.

For all I know, they are completely harmless. Maybe it’s just a drifter looking for a place to camp out during the storm. Maybe it’s… Well, I already decided it can’t be a rabbit or deer because of the light and all that. But my point is it doesn’t have to be an axe murderer.

I’ve made a decision.

I’m going to go out to the toolshed and see what’s inside.