Of Stalks and Bonds

OF STALKS AND BONDS.

It was late when I stepped off the bus. It had been a long day, an even longer night, and I was ready for it to be over. I looked around, sighed, and started the trek home. It was only three blocks, but it might as well have been three miles. I was exhausted, and I wasn’t sure that I could make it all the way home. I admonished myself for being so “budget conscious” and not ordering an Uber or grabbing a cab. But, at the time it seemed like an extravagance, and I’d felt fine. It wasn’t until I had been sitting in the bus that I realized how completely knackered I felt. I was done in.

But, it was a lovely late spring evening. There was a light breeze that tickled my face, dissipating any lingering humidity from the day. The leaves on the trees rustled slightly, nocturnal insects adding a low buzz to the night. For the moment I felt revived—at least enough to get myself home and into bed.

I walked towards home. I lived in a residential area—small post-war houses built on large lots, mature maple and oak trees lining the road, light from the streetlamps dappling the darkened sidewalks below. I usually enjoyed the walk home—even in the dead of winter. Sometimes it is the only outside time that I had all day. But, tonight I was tired, and just wanted to be home in my bed.

I trudged forward, not thinking about anything in particular, just letting my mind wander. I was just looking forward to climbing into my own bed. But …

What was that? I stopped and listened. At first I heard nothing. Then I heard it again—a rustling in the wooded area to the right of me. Not a mouse, but something bigger, coming from the underbrush—maybe a racoon. I continued to listen. The rusting was getting closer. And louder. Coyote? Deer? Human?

My heart was hammering in my chest. I am not a person who scares easily. I'm not brave-brave, but I’m willing to stand my ground. Except, maybe on a deserted residential street at zero dark thirty on a weekday night. I turned on my heel and walked briskly in the direction of home, not looking behind me, afraid of what I might see.

I ran up my front steps and punched in the code, my door swinging open easily. I slipped inside, quickly glancing over my shoulder, before slamming the door on the empty road, locking the deadbolt, throwing the chain. I leaned with my back against the door, trying to normalize my breathing. I walked to the front window and looked out cautiously, making sure to not jostle the blinds. Nothing. The street was empty.

*****

I saw her tonight, when she got off of the bus—so much later than usual. From the look of her, she must have been working—no fancy clothes, no telltale smell of alcohol. Nope, just a weariness enveloping her completely. I followed her home. About a block and a half into the walk, she stopped and looked around. I think she heard me. I must practice being quieter. I can’t have her spotting me. Not until the time is right.

*****

As tired as I was, I couldn’t fall asleep. The sense of being followed had disturbed me more than I cared to admit.  

The city was fairly safe, and I usually take precautions to ensure that I don’t put myself into harm’s way, needlessly. But tonight … I should have gone with the ride share.

Was I really ever in danger, though? I stopped to consider, and all I could come up with, truthfully, was that I didn’t know. Maybe, maybe not. There was no way to tell. What was making the rusting sound? An animal? Maybe. Our neighbourhood was ground zero for the racoon infestation plaguing the city. Or it could have been a deer. We were pretty close to the ravine at the end of the street, and deer did occasionally wander up to eat shrubs and gardens.

Or it could have been a human. The scariest of all night stalkers.

That was the disquieting possibility. If it was a person, could that person have been innocently travelling towards home, the same as me? Or maybe it was a person living rough. There were entire encampments in the ravine. No malice, just a coincidence.

Or not.

What if the person was a burglar? Were they randomly scoping out potential targets? Did I foil their plans by being on the street at that time of night?

Or was it more personal? Was the person targeting me as a woman, believing I was someone weaker than them, a potential target for robbery, or worse?

Or were they targeting me, in particular?

My job as a news reporter had its share of blowback—people didn’t like my point-of-view. Or thought that I was too hard on the subject of a story. Or too lenient. People warned me to mind my own business, or they would make me. And, believe it or not, in 2024, people felt that the crime beat was a man’s domain, not a woman’s. They tried to pressure me to stop writing, with threats of violence. And then there were the trolls …

I got out of bed and went downstairs to check and make sure that all my doors and windows were locked up tight. I looked out the front room blinds again. No body. Just a stray dog walking down the street. The neighbourhood was still and quiet.

Was I being paranoid? Or just cautious? Was I more prone to exaggeration because I was so tired? I had no idea. But, I didn’t want to be that person who says, “I should have listened to my gut,” after something horrible happens to them. No, as my grandma always said, “Better safe than sorry.”

I took one last look out the window, and headed back up to bed.

*****

I watched her roam around her house, checking doors and windows. Funny that she would think that would stop an intruder.  She peeked out her window, again, taking stock of the street. Then she disappeared back upstairs, I assume to her bedroom, feeling safe in the knowledge that the street is quiet.  

But, as I watch her house, I know that I am not alone.

*****

I woke with a start.  

What was that?

I sat up in bed, straining to hear.

Nothing. Just the normal nighttime sounds of the house creaking and settling.  

But something had woken me up from a dead sleep. I looked at the clock—3:06 a.m. Nothing good ever happens at three o’clock in the morning.

Quietly, I slid out of bed, not turning on the light. I crept downstairs, phone in one hand, Louisville Slugger in the other. Stealthily, I moved from room to room in the dark, peering around corners, checking locks. Everything was fine—

Then I heard it. A faint scratching sound coming from the door on side of the house. I strained to see. Was there a shadow outside the door? Did it move? Was someone trying to break into my house?

I stepped away, and dialled nine-one-one.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone is breaking into my house,” I whispered to the operator. “Right now.” I gave her my name and address. “Please hurry!”

“What I need you to do right now is go into a closet, or a room with a lock on the door, and hide. I will stay on the line with you until the police arrive.”

“Okay. I’m going to be in—”

Then it was too late. The side door swung slowly open, and a man stepped into my kitchen.

*****

The time for action was now.

*****

“Who are you? What do you want?” I asked, backing away from the man slowly moving towards me.

He smiled. “I warned you to drop the investigation. But you didn’t listen. Now, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson,” he snarled, mouth curled into an evil leer.

“Don’t come near me!” I yelled, dropping my phone and holding the baseball bat with both hands, ready to take a swing at his head.

He only laughed. “That’s not going to stop me. But I will enjoy taking it away from you, and showing you how a real man can use a bat.”

He took another step towards me.

Then there was a black and brown streak through the side door. The streak landed on the man, clamping on his arm with its mouth. 

A dog. 

The dog knocked the man to the ground, tearing at his arm. The intruder howled in pain.

“Get him off of me! Make him stop!”

The dog munched harder, worrying the man’s arm violently. The man screamed.

I looked at the dog.

“Leave it!” I said.

To my surprise the dog let go of the man’s arm, and turned to me, expectantly.

I walked towards the intruder, bat on my shoulder.

“Make one move and I’ll show you how a real woman can use a bat.”

At that moment, two uniform officers came through the side door, guns drawn. They looked at the man, then to me, then to the dog, then back to me.

The woman officer spoke first.

“Looks like you've got things under control.”

After they took the intruder away  No malice, just a coincidence.his name was Moe Canter—they took my statement. Apparently Mr. Canter identified as an "incel"—involuntary celibate—and took umbrage with my story on the subculture. He blamed women in general, and me in particular, for the forced celibacy of men like him. Apparently, he wanted to teach me my place as a woman. Very creepy and very unsettling.

I shook my head. If it hadn’t been for the dog, I’m not sure that I would have come through this unscathed. The officers helped me secure the door, and asked me to come down to the station in the morning to sign the my official statement. Then they were gone.

But the dog was still there, looking at me, tongue lolling out of the side of his? her?—I took a quick look— her mouth. I was pretty sure she was smiling at me. 

I looked her over. I’d seen her in the neighbourhood over the past few months. She’d just shown up one day, and hadn’t left. I was pretty sure she was a stray. I’d never seen her with any people.

I went to the cupboard and got down a bowl, filled it with water and placed it on the floor.

“Thank you,” I said, ruffling her fur. 

I squatted down and looked at her. She looked at me, and gave my hand a gentle lick.

“You want to live here?” I asked. “I don’t know much about dogs, but I’m a pretty quick study.”

She wagged her tail, and gave me her paw.

I hugged her.  “You saved me tonight. Thank you.”

*****

“You saved me tonight, as well.  I thank you,” I barked.