Working On It

Chapter 1

On a normal night, if woken by a loud crash coming from my living room, my first thought would not be "psycho-killer-clown". I'd made the questionable decision to watch IT to 'celebrate' Friday the 13th, and had subsequently fallen into a very shallow, fitful sleep that I was unceremoniously torn out of when I heard something smash outside my bedroom door.

Heart pounding, I pulled my comforter up around my chin, and cowered for several moments, wondering if I should get out of bed to investigate. Fleeting glances around the room to make sure nothing was in there with me came back positive. Absolutely no living thing was in the room.

Including Marshall.

Suddenly panicked, I threw my blankets off and retrieved my baseball bat from the corner of the room. My hands were sweaty around the grip of the bat, as I twisted it round and round in my hands. Before I could lose my nerve, I pulled my bedroom door open and crept out into the dark hallway. I considered flicking the lights on, but figured that it would only alert the intruder—psychotic clown or otherwise—to my presence and seriously decrease my chances of catching him (it?) by surprise.

I barely dared to breathe. As I got closer to the living room, I heard a muffled curse, and another thump, followed by a loud meow.

"Marshall!" Iwhispered, furious. The stupid cat really had to be out there with whoever—or whatever—was in my living room at two in the morning?

I charged into the living room, bat held high over my head like a battle axe. In front of me was a slumped figure, bending over my cat who was purring contentedly. Traitor. Never being the person to ask questions first, I swung the bat and was rewarded with a loud crack and an 'ow!'. The figure fell over, clutching his head.

I took this momentary incapacitation to snatch my cat away from the intruder. I clutched Marshall to my chest with one hand, the other pointed the bat at the very human intruder. Satisfied with my ability to take out the idiot if I needed to, I flicked the lights on, no longer needing the element of surprise. Marshall struggled in my grip until I finally had to let him go; I grabbed the home phone off of the coffee table in his stead.

I punched in 9-1-1 quickly, but hesitated when Marshall loped right back over to the intruder and began to nuzzle him.

"What on earth, Marshall?" I hissed, "You stupid cat."

"When'd you get a cat?" the intruder slurred, grinning up at me. Evidently, I wasn't what he was expecting because the smile slipped off of his face immediately, and was replaced by a confused frown. "You're not Luke."

"What are you doing in my apartment?" I demanded, waving the bat in the man's face threateningly, my thumb still hovering over the 'call' button.

"This is Luke's apartment." He tried to get to his feet, but staggered and had to grip the couch for support. He was hammered. "What are you doing here? Luke is single. The singlest pringle to ever single." The man chuckled to himself at his words and dissolved into quiet mutterings of single and pringle, one after the other.

"This is not Luke's apartment," I insisted, dropping the bat a little bit. "You've got the wrong place."

The man's face fell, and he pointed over at the sliding glass door that he had evidently come through. "But I got in through the door. Luke said he'd leave it open for me."

I very rarely, if ever, used that door. It could have been unlocked for ages and I never would have known.

"Look," I said, setting the phone down and lowering the bat completely. "This isn't your friend's apartment, so if you could just get out, that'd be great."