We scoped out the house from a distance. It was a small building near the highway, hidden away amongst the trees. We watched the resident, an old woman, sit on her porch. It was a boring sight, but we needed to find out her routine before we decided to rob the place. The good news was she was the only resident, we have yet to see anyone else, but the bad news was she never seemed to leave the house. We thought we might get lucky and she would drive the pickup to go grocery shopping, but it was been close to two weeks without her stepping of the property.
Eventually our patience had run its course and I confidence had been tested long enough. I climbed into the car on Friday evening and waited for my partner to climb in as well. A usually well-prepared individual, but he stumbled on the way to the car, dropping his phone. He cursed as he climbed into the car and threw it into the backseat.
“That is a bad omen,” he muttered, shutting the door angrily.
“Well, don’t take it out on my car,” I chirped back and started the engine.
We drove a short distance until we were nearing the city limits. I could understand why the old girl decided to live out this far. The city didn’t have a bit of privacy or quiet now that I think of it. I guess that made it easier for our line of work, but I felt confident that hitting this place shouldn’t be too difficult.
“It’s up here,” I murmured. I could see the house standing solemnly amongst the trees. “No lights, so it is safe to cut the phone line.”
“Safe in that sense,” my partner joked as he collected his wire cutters. “It will be done in a second; I will see you at the fence.”
I walked onwards, lighting a cigarette and puffing on it slowly to steady myself. The leaves were fresh, which saved us from an annoying crunching noise. I eyed the windows and stuck around the tree line. There definitely wasn’t a sign of movement or activity, but you couldn’t be too sure, hence why we needed to cut the line.
Moments passed and soon my partner joined me. He dusted off his hands and walked ahead of me.
“C’mon,” he whispered. “We’re burning nightlight.”
I followed him and extinguished the cigarette on the ground. With a twist of my boot it was doused in the cool grass. The fence was short and typical which made climbing over it a breeze. Once on the other side we moved even slower than before.
“Careful where you step,” I told my partner. “I saw dog toys this afternoon and they might squeak.”
“What about the dog?” my partner asked with wide eyes.
“Relax; we both watched this place for weeks. If there was a dog we would have seen it.”
I felt confident, but he wasn’t still. It wasn’t what caught my eye in that moment. I pulled my friend back and pointed in front of him. Indeed there were bright yellow dog toys, but something far more dangerous was hidden amongst the unkempt grass; a bear trap.
“What the hell?” he murmured realizing how close he was to stepping into the violent device.
I quietened him with my free hand and watched the windows again. The curtains were blocking all form sight and they didn’t shift. The old lady was no doubt still asleep, but I felt less safe than before.
“Let’s get on the pathway and go through the front,” I murmured.
“Why should we do that?” he asked surprised.
“Call it a hunch, but I think going through the backdoor wouldn’t be healthy for us.”
He caught my meaning and we approached the front door. I knelt down and began picking the lock. It was simple, old-school. The same make of lock that I practice breaking into as a teenager. Within seconds it clicked and the door swung easily on the weak hinges. The inside was dark and we stepped in with soft steps. We stood in a living room filled with dusty magazine piles along the walls and musty furniture. It was definitely the right kind of run-down looking room that the old bat would own.
We proceeded forward and kept an eye out for anything valuable. So far it seemed the only thing of value might have been the paintings, but I didn’t come here to lift decorations. Old folks like this usually had a store of money somewhere.
I stepped into the kitchen and my partner followed closely. We both turned to the backdoor and saw a glint of metal. Hanging above the door was an axe. It was rigged to the door so once it had been opened the sharp instrument would swing down and embed itself in the entering person. My hunch was more than correct and I was surprised to see such a violent alarm system.
“I don’t feel right about this place,” my partner whispered. “That’s a flag right there and it seems like a take-no-prisoners flag.”
“I think it is an I-have-something-to-protect flag,” I replied.
“You are right about that,” an elderly voice murmured.
Behind once of the decorative cabinets the old lady walked out in front of us, blocking the back door. In her hands was a heavy gun which roared with a flash and my partner flew backwards in a spray of blood, smashing into the kitchen wall. In that instant it was fight-or-flight, but having seen such cold force taken out on my friend I was already moving. I sprinted into the living room and with another roar there was a spray of papers as magazines were torn. I felt a painful pinch in my side.
I sprang outside taking no heed of where I stepped and the inevitable happened. There was a snap and pain shot through me, starting at my right leg. I felt the metal teeth of the bear trap dig into the bone of my leg as I fell forward. I stared down at my leg, but it was too dark to make out how bad the wound was. However, the pain and warm feeling of blood told me it was as bad as it gets stepping into such an instrument of evil.
The old lady walked out onto the porch, toting her shotgun as she watched me scream and writhe in agony. Her slipper-covered feet crunched up the gravel pathway and she stared down at me with thin lips and dark eyes. She was uncaring and watched me a moment longer. I didn’t feel fear starting at her though, I felt anger. I wanted to kill her in that moment, but my body wouldn’t let me.
She lowered her gun and with another blast I felt an additional pain shoot through me. My right leg immediately became lighter as she shot off the captured part of my leg. I stared down at the stump in horror, more than pain. A few crunches later and the old woman opened the gate to her fence and stood by it with crossed arms, expectantly.
“If you want to leave, now is your chance,” she muttered.
I crawled, bled and passed out just off the property. The last sound I heard was the metal sound of the gates latch being clicked shut. When I woke up again I was in the hospital parking lot, bleeding in my car. The door was open the lights beyond the sliding doors welcomed me. I survived.
I never returned and I didn’t report anything. I knew it wouldn’t be the best idea.
Be sure to follow!