At 4:30 AM, I heard, “RATTLE, SWOOSH, CLICK.”

Panic put a knot in my stomach. Straining to listen, I held my breath, considering the options—none were comfortable. Avoiding squeaks, I made my way to Dad's room. “Wake up!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Shhh. Someone’s in the house.”

“You’re dreaming. Go back to bed.”

“If you don’t check, I will. Did you hear that?”

“Stay here.” He flipped on the hall light casting a giant shadow on the wall below. Halfway down, he froze. “Who’s there?”

I watched from the landing, afraid for Dad’s safety.

He reached the bottom, turned on the living room light and saw a man sitting hunched on the couch, frozen. His face was white as the snow he had escaped earlier.

“What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t dare answer; I was afraid you might have a gun.”

Everyone was awake, adrenaline pumping, so after Leonard called my sister for a ride, he told his tale over breakfast. Our laughter broke the tension.

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