Here's the scene:
My daughter was getting over the flu, and was asleep in her bedroom upstairs. My wife, having caught the flu from our daughter (we did teach her to share, after all), was asleep in our bedroom upstairs. I, in an effort to keep from catching the flu from either one of them, was asleep on the couch downstairs, on the main floor of the house.
It was 1:30 in the morning. I was just winding down, having set up the best version of a bed I could construct on the couch, and was at that very point where you begin to realize you may have shifted over to thinking about things to actually dreaming about them.
That's when the incessant pounding began. My first thought was that the dog had once again gone full force in trying to deal with an elusive itch, and in his zeal was pounding his scratching leg against the wall of his crate. There is precedent for his. Many times he has scared the crap out of us with this noise.
So I ignored it and tried to head back to Morpheus' house.
But it continued. Bangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbangbang!
My next thought was that he would soon reach that point in his efforts where he hurt himself, either by scratching too hard or by getting his foot caught up in his collar. (Again, there is precedent). I reluctantly slid off the couch and went to the back room to help him. It's at the point when I walked in the room that I realized someone was pounding on the back door.
My internal dialogue went something like this:
"Someone is at the back door. Who could that be. Shit, it's 1:30 in the morning. No one I know would be knocking at my door at 1:30 in the morning. Who is it then? What do they want? Why are you asking me, ask them? Fine. I will. No need to be a jerk about it."
Now I've seen enough horror movies to know that there was no way in hell I was opening that door. My imagination was running wild with what could be out there, and I have a pretty good imagination and let me tell you, none of my ideas were pleasant.
So I decided to converse with the person.
Me: Who's there? (Good opening. Very direct and pretty much industry standard)
Her: It's Jessica. (I know several Jessicas. None of them live in this state or know me well enough for this to be happening.)
Me: And who is Jessica? (Side note: I'm really exhausted, so proper phrasing is lost on me.)
Her: I'm your neighbor, sort of. Can you let me in? (Seriously?!?!?!?)
Me: No, I can't do that. What do you want? (No blood sucking demon is getting in that easily! No way in Hell!!!)
Her: I need help with my car. Can you just let me in?
Me: Yeah, that's not going to happen, lady.
Now, I should state at this moment that I am not, inherently, an asshole. If a person needs help, I will give it if I am able. But not at one-fricking-thirty in the morning. I did have pangs of guilt at being so resistant to her request, but then I imagined her accomplices hiding in the bushes with weapons at the ready waiting on my idiot head to pop out, and the pangs went away. Back to it:
Her: Please! I need help!
Me: Okay, I'll call the police for you (Genius! That'll run her and her crazy goon friends off!)
Her: Can you just let me in?
Right, no matter what the situation, her constant insistence that I let her in was pissing me off. I called 911 on my phone and talked to the operator, explaining that a strange woman was banging on my door demanding I let her in, and she said she'd send a police car. I didn't know if this was a proper emergency or not, but I was nervous as hell so I didn't care.
My storm door banged closed and I heard her walk away. My satisfied conclusion was that she heard me calling her bluff and realized the cops were on the way and she decided to book it. No matter what the actual situation, the authorities would be here soon and they would deal with it.
A few minutes later, to my surprise, a knock came at the door. This time it was less insistent, more casual. I knew if it was the police they wouldn't be so nonchalant about knocking.
Me: Who is it?
Her: It's Jessica. Can you let me in? (My house is nice, but for crying out loud, it's not that nice, lady. Why do you want to come in so badly?)
Me: I told you that's not going to happen. The police are on the way.
Her: Can you get me help? (Um, I just said that thing about the police, didn't I?)
Me: What kind of help do you need?
Her: Can you just let me in?
Me: The police will be here in just a moment. They can help you.
Her: Where are they coming to?
Me: They are coming to right where you are standing.
Her: Okay.
The storm door closes again and she walks off. I steal a glance out the window, but I don't see her. That freaks me out more than anything, but at that moment I see flashing lights. Ha! They've got you, you crazy late night knocker lady!
Throughout this I was texting with my wife, who was no longer asleep and wanting to know what was going on. She reiterated the fact that I shouldn't open the door, and instead of arguing that I had that idea first I just reassured her that I was keeping us safe. I knew she was as freaked out as I was, and sick. Not a good combination.
I thought the police might come and talk to me, but they just talked to Crazy Knocking Lady out back for about ten minutes and then everyone was gone. No more knocks, no more disturbances. I reassured my wife that all was safe and secure and then went back to the couch.
Where sleep stubbornly eluded me for some time yet.
I still haven't found out anything about who she was or what happened, and I doubt that I will. I did a Holmesian sweep of the yard and the back alley looking for any sign of someone being there but found nothing.
The way I see it, one of two situations existed:
1. She was up to no good, and the cops dealt with her.
2. She was genuinely in trouble, and the cops helped her.
All I know is that anyone who repeatedly insists on being let inside my house in the wee hours of the morning is out of their mind, no matter who they are or what their situation.