This happened two nights ago. I'm just now getting ready to talk about it.
It was around 11:30pm and my wife and I were in bed asleep. I awoke to the sound of (what I thought was) someone breaking through the side door of the attached garage and entering the house. It took me at least ten seconds to wake up sufficiently enough that I felt certain I had not dreamed the sound. My wife was awake too, and asked quietly, "what the hell was that?" I got real scared, real fast.
As I picked up my Mossberg 500 12 gauge, I heard the stairs squeak. I know the sounds that my house makes, and this squeak was the third stair heading to the basement - away from us. I handed my wife the Ruger P97 (she knows how to use it), told her to stay put, and went down the hall and positioned myself at the top of the stairs, with the gun pointed down the way the person had gone.
A million things were clouding my head as I sat there! I cursed myself for not telling my wife to dial 911 on the cell phone that was sitting right next to her on the headboard. Every time I had imagined a break-in scenario, that was ALWAYS the first thing I planned to do.....and I forgot to do it in my panic/grogginess. I remember sitting there at the top of the stairs thinking, "God, I hope I don't have to shoot somebody tonight." I couldn't believe it was actually happening to us. I imagined sirens and red and blue lights bouncing off the houses in the midnight hour. I pictured a stretcher being rolled out to an ambulance. I thought of so many things all at once.
Whoever was downstairs pulled a chain and a soft light filled the basement. Then I heard muffled talking. Couldn't make out a single word that he or they were saying. I debated yelling down at them that I was armed, but chose to just be quiet as I knew there was no other way out of the house except the way I had the shotgun pointed. I was mostly hidden behind the wall in a crouched position with just my head, arm, and gun exposed. I was shaking and was happy that I had the shotgun instead of the pistol.
When I heard the sound of a pop or beer can being opened, it started my mind turning in a different direction. One of my friends, whom I hadn't seen or spoken to for a few months, is prone to copious drinking binges. We all make it a point to not drink when he is at our house, as he gets out of control with the quantity he drinks.
The muttering continued and I thought I recognized it as his "drunk" voice. I said his name and he said, "yeah?" I put the safety on and went downstairs to find him sitting in the Lazy Boy with beer in hand, talking to himself. Either out of thankfulness for not having shot someone, or out of the climax of the situation having passed, or just pity for my alcoholic friend, I felt tears running down my face as I set the gun down and plopped onto the couch. It was such a strange feeling - I can't describe it.
He had pulled a Homer-Simpson-coming-home-from-Moe's and had parked half in the driveway and half in my front yard. He remembered where I keep the key for the side door and had actually used it to get in. The loud noise we had heard was him tripping over the step and falling through the opened door onto the floor.
I drove him home in his car while my wife following in ours to bring me back home after dropping him off. I didn't yell at him that night, but yesterday I called him up and lit into him pretty good about it. The first thing he said was, "that really HAPPENED? I thought I had DREAMED it." I hope the guy gets some help.
For us it was all TOO real, and although I'm happy it turned out OK, it did reveal some flaws in my actions and plans.
It was around 11:30pm and my wife and I were in bed asleep. I awoke to the sound of (what I thought was) someone breaking through the side door of the attached garage and entering the house. It took me at least ten seconds to wake up sufficiently enough that I felt certain I had not dreamed the sound. My wife was awake too, and asked quietly, "what the hell was that?" I got real scared, real fast.
As I picked up my Mossberg 500 12 gauge, I heard the stairs squeak. I know the sounds that my house makes, and this squeak was the third stair heading to the basement - away from us. I handed my wife the Ruger P97 (she knows how to use it), told her to stay put, and went down the hall and positioned myself at the top of the stairs, with the gun pointed down the way the person had gone.
A million things were clouding my head as I sat there! I cursed myself for not telling my wife to dial 911 on the cell phone that was sitting right next to her on the headboard. Every time I had imagined a break-in scenario, that was ALWAYS the first thing I planned to do.....and I forgot to do it in my panic/grogginess. I remember sitting there at the top of the stairs thinking, "God, I hope I don't have to shoot somebody tonight." I couldn't believe it was actually happening to us. I imagined sirens and red and blue lights bouncing off the houses in the midnight hour. I pictured a stretcher being rolled out to an ambulance. I thought of so many things all at once.
Whoever was downstairs pulled a chain and a soft light filled the basement. Then I heard muffled talking. Couldn't make out a single word that he or they were saying. I debated yelling down at them that I was armed, but chose to just be quiet as I knew there was no other way out of the house except the way I had the shotgun pointed. I was mostly hidden behind the wall in a crouched position with just my head, arm, and gun exposed. I was shaking and was happy that I had the shotgun instead of the pistol.
When I heard the sound of a pop or beer can being opened, it started my mind turning in a different direction. One of my friends, whom I hadn't seen or spoken to for a few months, is prone to copious drinking binges. We all make it a point to not drink when he is at our house, as he gets out of control with the quantity he drinks.
The muttering continued and I thought I recognized it as his "drunk" voice. I said his name and he said, "yeah?" I put the safety on and went downstairs to find him sitting in the Lazy Boy with beer in hand, talking to himself. Either out of thankfulness for not having shot someone, or out of the climax of the situation having passed, or just pity for my alcoholic friend, I felt tears running down my face as I set the gun down and plopped onto the couch. It was such a strange feeling - I can't describe it.
He had pulled a Homer-Simpson-coming-home-from-Moe's and had parked half in the driveway and half in my front yard. He remembered where I keep the key for the side door and had actually used it to get in. The loud noise we had heard was him tripping over the step and falling through the opened door onto the floor.
I drove him home in his car while my wife following in ours to bring me back home after dropping him off. I didn't yell at him that night, but yesterday I called him up and lit into him pretty good about it. The first thing he said was, "that really HAPPENED? I thought I had DREAMED it." I hope the guy gets some help.
For us it was all TOO real, and although I'm happy it turned out OK, it did reveal some flaws in my actions and plans.