Night Noises 2

Thanks to the experience I wrote about in the previous post, I became a light sleeper. If there was a noise in the night, I’d immediately wake up and couldn’t get back to sleep until I identified its source.

In the first home we owned here in Utah, my nighttime worries intensified. The home was a split level. Upstairs were three bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms. The main floor held our kitchen and living room. We had four children at the time, so us parents and the youngest children slept upstairs. Downstairs was a big family room that we used as a bedroom for our two pre-teen daughters. Also in the basement, was a door that led to a laundry room that held a door to the backyard as well as a storage room. That laundry room door had a large doggy door cut into covered with a plastic flap. We didn’t have a dog, but clearly one of the previous owners had a big one.

Each night, we tried to make sure the outside basement door was locked. I also liked to lock the door between my daughters’ room and the laundry room, but I didn’t always remember to lock it.

One night, I woke up because I heard something in the basement directly below us in the storage room. For a long time, I sat and listened, but couldn’t identify the sound. I couldn’t remember if I’d made sure the basement door was locked. Could something, like a racoon or a neighbor’s cat, have come in through the doggy door? Could there be a rat in the storage room? Did a person break in? As I continued to hear unidentifiable sounds coming from below, I gradually felt more and more terrified. I especially feared for the safety of our young daughters.

Eventually, I was so scared I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt it was a man’s job to protect his family, so I turned on my nightlight and woke up my husband.

“Roger, wake up,” I said as I shook him. “There’s something in the basement.”

He’s a deep sleeper, but he slowly sat up. “What?” he said, all bleary eyed.

“Did you lock the basement door? I think I heard something in the basement.”

“I didn’t lock it, but it’s probably locked,” he said.

“Will you go see what it is?” I asked. I explained I was worried we had an intruder. Or maybe it was a raccoon.

In my mind, like a scene from a movie, my husband would find a baseball bat and go down to deal with whatever was making the noise. He didn’t move.

We both sat and listened for a while. It would be quiet for a long time. Then I’d hear something.

“Did you hear that?” I’d say. He was listening carefully, but seemed unsure.

“There!” I said, “What was that?” I said. That time he heard it too. I’d managed to convince my husband we had an intruder.

“If there’s someone down there, I’m not going down there!” he said. “That’s what the police are for.” He reached for the phone.

I didn’t want him to call the police, but before I knew it, he had called and was telling them our address.

Not much later, a police officer arrived at our front door. After we explained our concerns, the officer consulted with a couple of others outside. One officer went toward the backyard, two came inside. One of the officers was a short, dark-haired woman. She stood at the top of our basement stairs with outstretched arms close together and held a gun in both hands pointing toward the basement door, just like they do in the movies. The other officer edged his way down the stairs. I followed from a distance to tell them the way.

The room was dark, but one of the police officers turned on a flash light. There were toys and clothes all over the floor. I remember feeling embarrassed and apologized for the mess. I was also glad my girls were safe, sound asleep in their beds.

I left the room when the police officer opened the door separating the bedroom from the laundry and storage room area. It turned out the basement door was locked, so they let the other officer in.

There was nothing down there: no human, no raccoon, not even a rat. We had no idea what we’d been hearing. The police officers assured us that it was better that we called them even though it was a false alarm. They also strongly recommended that we nail a board over the doggy door. They cautioned it was large enough that a human intruder could easily get in that way.

My husband thinks the whole thing is funny now, but I thought he would have felt humiliated that a woman with a gun was there to protect his family instead of him. I realize now that is sexist. Women can protect their families too.

After that time, I no longer woke him up if I was scared at night. I was embarrassed that we’d called the police for what seemed like nothing. Instead, I repeatedly pushed past my fear. I’d either talk myself down from my scary imagination, or I’d go investigate the noises myself. I also made sure, every night, all doors and windows were locked.

Now, we live in a safer-feeling neighborhood. However, I’ve learned that a locked-up house won’t stop determined intruders. It helps that I more easily sleep through night noises since I’m deaf in one ear, wear an ear plug in the other, and we have a fan on for white noise. We also have adult children who are up at night. 

Most of all, I’ve learned to value my sleep more than my fears. But that’s another story.