I sit bolt upright in bed. I'm sure I heard something. A sound of some sort. I take a deep breath to help put my thoughts in order. What sort of a sound, I ask myself? A far away sound, a near-by sound, an inside-the-house, across-the-street or some-other-part-of-town sound? Threatening? Harmless? More of a noise? I feel unsettled. My wife, Margaret, just lies there, still as a corpse. Asleep, I imagine. I doubt she's heard the sound but I don't think I'll ask. I'm going to get up and deal with it… myself. I'm going downstairs.
- It's dark in the bedroom. Where are my slippers? There they are, in the patch of moonlight by the window. I put them on. It's quiet. Perhaps there wasn't a sound. Perhaps I'm a bit gaga. I put on my bathrobe.
- Our door is closed. Margaret and I are isolated. Could the door have muffled the sound? Was it louder than I thought? I open the door…slowly, peek through the crack; pull the robe around me, tie it tight with the cord. I feel more secure in a tightly tied bathrobe. I have no weapon. I don't know what I'll do if the person who made the sound is waiting to pounce. If there is a person. If there was a sound. I clear my throat, quietly, “Harrumph”; fair warning I feel. I cross to the head of the stairs.
- The hall opens up, on either side of the stairwell, onto two bedrooms, those of my children, Mark nine, Judy seven. Could either of them have made the sound? Moonlight from the skylight fills the hall with a blue-tinted radiance. It's lovely. I cross to Judy's room. Her half-covered form lies sprawled across the bed. She's asleep. I tuck her in. My sweet baby girl. Mark is asleep too, snoring gently. I close both their doors and start down the stairs, one - step - at a time. No lights. I'd rather not know what's down there.
- I'm relieved to find Toby the dachshund sleeping on the Lazyboy in the living room. It's not allowed. He knows that. I shoo him down, but he's not in a hurry. Finally, with one of those put-upon dog groans, he stands. You can barely see his stubby legs in the leathery folds of the chair. He really IS like a sausage, with a head, of course, and a tail. He lacks grace, that's for sure. It takes him considerable time to get to the floor. When he finally makes it and turns to face me, he's smiling. I swear. He couldn't have made the sound. Dear Toby. I'm sure of it. He wags his tail twice and sits. Waiting to be acknowledged. I scratch behind his ears. That seems to please him. He drags himself back to the seat of the chair, curls up and falls asleep again.
- I slump on the sofa and take in the room. The moonlight has changed the way things look. I'd never noticed it. Over against the far wall there's a blue half-a-lamp on a blue half-an-end-table. The lamp was beige this afternoon. The other halves of the table and lamp are black. No shading. Black. Strange, a kind of mysterious void that leads… perhaps… to another dimension. I think about that for a while.
- Toby's snoring again, like Mark. I'm told that I snore too, if one can believe Margaret. I'm not sleepy. The sound thing has me wired. There's a deck of cards on the coffee table. I deal them out and play Solitaire. I've a program with 350 versions of Solitaire on my computer. But the truth is, it's wonderful playing hands-on by moonlight. I lose three times and quit.
- Toby's still asleep, along with everyone else I assume. I go to the fridge. Stand there with the door open; I'm looking for… for something. Margaret hates that. "Close the damn fridge door" she'll shout. She's right. I never know why I'm standing there. I wonder what worries her more, the food rotting? Or my - going - comatose. I'm really not hungry. I close the door and wander around the downstairs - listening.
- What in the world made that noise? I decide to look in the cellar. I approach the cellar door with great caution, turn on the light, open the door and step forward. I've forgotten the golf bag at the top of the stairs. I'd planned to put it away; another point that Margaret likes to belabor. It isn't enough, she says, to intend. Because, she says, in the space between the intent and the execution - things happen.
- At that very moment, the bag begins to fall. I lunge, too late, and down it goes. Clubs, bag, balls (oh yes, and some cleaning utensils), bang, clatter and crash their way to the bottom step, and beyond. Margaret would surely have said how lucky I was, to not have been crushed.
- Toby goes crazy. He leaps from the chair and yelps, as though he'd been hit by a car. I try to calm him, but he simply goes crazier.
- The kids appear in the moonlight at the top of the stairs. They rub their eyes.
- Margaret joins them. She's not dead, apparently. She flips on the hall lights, then, seeing that I'm not dead either, she stops, folds her arms and stands protectively in front of the children. "What in the world is going on?" she asks, in the clenched-tooth manner she's honed for special occasions. "What in God's name was that terrible sound?"
-
- I move to the base of the stairs, put one foot firmly on the bottom step and look up. "That's why I'm down here sweetheart, I came to see what it was, and frankly," They're examining me. "I... I'm convinced," I'm stammering now. "It was less of a sound... and… and … more of a noise!”
- I can NOT believe I said that.
- Margaret scans my face - for signs of intelligence I suppose. I try to say something endearing but my smile has gone rictal. She shakes her head and sighs. My son is a little more tolerant, “Daaaaad!” he says. Judy clings to her mother and yawns.
- Then they all turn - as one, flip off the lights and go back to bed.
- Toby grumbles, circles, ogles me… reclaims the Lazyboy.
- And what am I doing? I'm standing here at the foot of the stairs staring… at the empty, moonlit, upstairs hall.
