What was that?!? I swear I heard a slam and then quick footsteps down the smooth hardwood floors. Slap, slap, slap. Someone is running away with my laptop of stories; I just know it. I read about a neighbor losing all her laptops to a thief while she dashed out for a quick errand. Now it’s happening to me. Or am I dreaming? What time is it? Is it 5:35 AM yet? Oh please let me have one more hour of sleep before I go to swimming at 6 AM.

Getaway route.

SLAM! Slap, slap, slap.

There it is again. I creep down the hallway a little bit to see if anyone is there. I retreat. I think to myself, “I can’t do this alone. It’s time to wake hubby.”

I switch on the bedroom light. Hubby needs to know this is serious.

“I keep hearing loud noises. Maybe something fell or somebody is in our house.”

I walk back down the hallway. I notice the front porch light is on and wonder if my older son got home from the movies yet. It’s 12:45 AM. He better be home. I look out the window and see his car. By this point, hubby is finally up, adjusting his glasses as he walks to the front door. He switches off the porch light then opens the door to better look into the night. Nothing.

I peak in on the younger son who is peacefully sleeping away, all snug under his red comforter, just like he was four-years-old, his left cheek on his pillow. My older son’s door is shut so I know he’s home, evidence enough for me. Hubby and I go back to bed. I read my book and he goes right back to sleep, of course.  How is it guys sleep through anything?  I’m too revved up and my ears are on high alert so I can’t possibly sleep. I hear scratching noises.

“I think I hear something!” I shake my husband awake.

“It’s a raccoon.” I didn’t think so because it was from inside the house. I hear it again and just peak out my door to listen more closely.

“I hear a fan,” I call back to hubby. I take a few steps and open my younger son’s bedroom door again. His air filter machine kicked on which explains the blowing noise.

I check on my older son too. He is tucked in and sleeping. Then I notice his window is slightly open and the screen is missing. A hand could easily slip through the crack and take something from his desk, maybe a laptop. I promptly close it, waking my son.

“What are you doing Mom? I’m hot.”

“Not this window. Open the one above your bed and don’t sleep with a comforter.”

After reading for about an hour, a door opens and quiet footsteps go down the hallway. Pat, pat, pat. Is that one of the boys getting up to go to the bathroom? Did my older son sneak a friend in and his friend is trying to sneak out? I’ve heard of teenagers doing those sorts of things. I lay there a few minutes, waiting to hear evidence of someone in the restroom. It takes awhile but I finally hear water running and a toilet flush. I stand at the doorway of my room, waiting for my son to walk back to his room. Thirty seconds is a long time when you are waiting for a shadow of a person to walk by. He finally did.

It’s 1:45 AM now. I managed four hours of light sleep before the alarm went off at 5:35. I thought about the noises on my way to swimming, while I swam and on my drive back. What was it?

At dinner I tell my kids about the noises.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I kept hearing slamming and scratching.” I offer. Gazing over at my younger son I continue, “I checked on you twice.”

“You did?” He was oblivious.

I looked at my older son and said, “I thought a friend was sneaking out of your room to go home.”

“What?!?” he says wide-eyed and slightly offended.

“Teenagers do crazy things.”

My older son pipes up, “I didn’t sleep well either because YOU came into my room to close the window.”

Worth stealing!

“Someone could reach in and steal your succulent plants sitting right there!” I say. A laptop was a little a bit of a push so I didn’t mention my original fear.

“Oh no!” he says sarcastically. “And by the way, I saw you standing in the hallway when I went back to bed after the using the bathroom. I didn’t want to deal with you so I didn’t say anything.”

“I had to be sure you were not a thief!” I say through gasps and snickers. I’m coming to realize the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Oh MOM! What thief washes his hands and flushes the toilet?”

“I knew that, really! I listened for the flush.” I used my best detective skills acquired from all the 1970s crime shows like Scooby Doo, Hawaii 5-0 and Charlie’s Angels.

As we giggle my thinking becomes clearer. I feel like Velma from Scooby Doo, making sense of the whole thing: A hoax inside my head.

I know I heard noises. My imagination ran away with possibilities. The Lafayette Laptop Thief was high on my list even though it’s his day job and the noises were at night. Teenagers are devious and my son has never given me a reason to think he would change his near angelic behavior. Somehow, darkness makes the imagination incredibly bright.

Finally, I gave into Hubby’s theory: Our younger son was banging against the wall in his sleep. His bed is stuffed in a corner by choice. He rams his knees and arms into the wall all the time but for some reason it sounded different to me. My poor hubby had to endure my vivid imagination and heightened sensitivity to the daytime thieves lurking in our neighborhood. It only cost us a night’s sleep. He’s still talking to me.

And best of all, I still have my laptop so I can write about my wild and crazy night.

SAFE!