The Holiday Intruder

"Your due date is December 28," said Mr. Jenkins, the town librarian as he handed me the newly checked out book with his rough, worn hands that had their own story to tell. "You'll love this one," he said with a bit of excitement. He stood about 6'-3" with a broad, stately stature that made me wonder why he'd ever considered being a librarian rather than an athlete or a fitness instructor. His hands were covered with scars, some quite a few years old, some much newer. Often I'd wanted to inquire about them, but didn't want to make him uncomfortable by intruding into his personal life. Maybe one day during one of our short talks while checking out my favorite books, he'd initiate the conversation. Town librarian has been his title for about 25 years now, the same age he was when he first started working at the Maple Leaf Library. I come once a week to check out another book to read. 

I love to read. I can hide myself in books and disappear from reality. I can be whomever I want to be and do whatever I want to do. This week, according to this book, I will be a detective. Detective Bradley, I'll call myself. This book was one that I just couldn't wait to get home and dive head first into. All of my friends have been talking about it. It was the craze of the eighth grade. I couldn't wait to get home to my reading tent and crack open the cover to read by the night light. It was my favorite reading spot. I was determined to hide myself in my room and find out more about this book that had all of my classmates dazed. "Thank you, Mr. Jenkins! You have a nice day and Merry Christmas," I said with a big smile before I started my one mile walk home. I left the library with a half skip and partial run, rushing home as quickly as I could to begin my reading. 

Christmas was right around the corner, so the town was adorned with Christmas decorations -- Santa and reindeer flying through the air downtown, Frosty waving a hello to all who passed, and all the lovely wreaths and Christmas lights strung from one side of town to the other. Oh, how I just love the Christmas season! My favorite was the manger scene down from my house, Mrs. Lamb's house to be exact. Along with the surrounding yard decorations embellishing it, it was the most lit decoration on the whole street and could be seen a few houses down from my bedroom window. 

Turning the corner onto Lance Street, the street on which I live, I could see and hear police sirens pulling up to my neighbor's house three houses down from the little brick house that I call home. "What's going on?" I asked Sam, my classmate who was outside making a snowman with his little sister Hanji. Sam and Hanji spend their vacations away from school at their grandparents' house while their mom works. We'd play together outside whenever we get our work done. Since it was Christmas vacation, we had a lot of playtime on our hands. "Grandpa said there was another break-in last night. It was Tommy Pierce's house this time. His mom and dad's wedding bands are missing," Sam said worriedly. "Mom said, we'll have to go back home if this keeps happening because she's worried about our safety."

This was the fourth burglary this month. Last week, Mr. Thompson's house and Mr. and Mrs. Cant's around the corner was broken into while they were out of town. The week before that, it was the Meadow's home when they were away visiting their family. Mr. Thompson's tool box had been stolen. Mr. Cant's family heirloom had gone missing and Mr. Meadow's watch that had been given to him by his grandfather was gone. A lot of my neighbors go out of town for the holidays, but sadly their vacations are cut short because of the break-ins. Last year there was only one break-in. Because of that one, my parents decided to stay home this year while our family comes here instead. "It will be alright," I assured Sam. The police is on it. They'll catch the guy." "I surely hope so," Sam said with a sigh. "I don't want to go home."   

I finished the walk home to my house and met my mom and puppy Tooty in the living room. Dad was still at work. He normally doesn't get home until after six. "I see you got the book," Mom said. "Yes," I replied. "I can't wait to read it!" "You be careful outdoors," she warned. "They're at it again." "Yes, Mother," I promised while running off to my room. "Make sure you do your chores before starting your book," she yelled. My heart sank to my feet at the sound of her words. "WHY COULDN'T I JUST DO IT LATER!" I cried from my broken heart that lay limp on the floor of my soul. Accepting defeat and not wanting to prolong things, I did as I was told. A spotless and immaculate finish it was!

Finally I made it! It was time! Into my room and into the tent I went with my most prized possession! I hastily settled under my blanket (it was dark by this time) with the night light glaring, the only light in the room, shining brightly on the words of the cover written in bold capital letters -- The Guest in the Home. In this story, a lot of strange things were happening in this little boy's home with no explanation. No one was taking credit for any of it. Things were going missing, or were moved out of place, certain sounds could be heard in other places in the house when everyone was together in one room -- or at least thought they were. It turns out that someone had been staying in this families home right under their noses. I, Detective Bradley, was determined to find out who or what it was and why. I finally slammed open the cover and began reading. I was so absorbed, lost, and enthralled, slave to the plot, until I heard a low, rumbling voice saying that it was time for dinner. Apparently I had read, read, and read until Dad came home, dinner was cooked, and the smell scented the house without me even noticing.

We ate dinner, which was lovely -- baked macaroni and cheese, baked chicken, brown and serve rolls, corn, and broccoli. Mom and Dad talked about the break-ins. Tooty sat by my feet glad to have my company after hiding myself in my room for hours. I remember Mom asking, "What if our house was next?" We had taken all of the preliminary precautions since last year. Dad taught Mom to fire a gun and we also got an alarm system so hopefully we are as prepared as can be for any burglar. I remembered what Mr. Jenkins the librarian had told me when I mentioned the break-ins to him. "Always have a plan of protection. Know the steps you would take if it happened to you and practice them to perfect them just like you would do in a fire drill. A lot of burglaries are committed by people who know you and know what you have in your home." Thinking about the break-ins made me want to do some detective work. For now though, back to my book. I decided that I'd let Tooty join me during my reading this time. 

Sam called about an hour in and said that he'd been watching from his window and saw a dark figure creeping behind Mrs. Lamb's house which was across the street from his grandparents' house. She had been gone for a few days now due to handling a high profile case out of town. He didn't know what to do. "If it's a burglar and we call the police and they don't catch him this time, I'm doomed", he whined. Suddenly, I had a plan! "Meet me in the back of your grandparents' house," I told him. "We shall investigate!" I quickly threw on my sneakers and headed out of the house quietly pass my parents' room. Sam met me outback by the gazebo. "What now?" he said. "Follow me," I commanded.

We crept across the street quietly and to the side of Mrs. Lamb's house, peeping around the corner left eye first, then the right, but saw no one. As quiet as mice, we came around the back while staying close to the house in crouched positions. The back door was ajar and clanking could be heard from inside. We looked at each other with a mixture of fear and determination. "He has to be stopped!" Sam whispered. "Then we're going in!" I exclaimed in a quiet yet excited voice. We crouched on the porch and peeped inside. The glass in the backdoor window had been broken. We saw no one, but could hear someone inside. We went in bravely staying low to the floor. As we peeped above the counter, we could see a tall, wide, dark figure, but couldn't make out who it was because of the dark.  As we crouched back to the floor, a flower pot fell from the counter and suddenly the noise stopped. He knew someone was there. What would we do now? What would HE do now? We had just made it to the corner of the kitchen to hide when abruptly a figure fled pass us in a scurried attempt to flee the scene. "We have to catch him!" I cried! "Run for it!" 

We chased the figure from the house. The man ran around the barn trying to escape and make his way to the street, but Sam tripped him with the rake before he made it out of the backyard. The burglar fell forward and caught himself with his hands. Sam jumped onto his back, but my eyes were drawn curiously back to the hands, the hands that looked all too familiar. I saw the old scars. I saw the more recent scars. Then I saw the fresh scars, scars freshly stained with blood, blood from the broken glass from the door window. In shock and disbelief, I came around in front of the man to get a look at his face, hoping that the dark caused me to deceive myself. "Mr. Jenkins?" I squeaked. He looked me breathlessly in the face and, recognizing me, hung his head in shame. "You know this creeper?" Sam asked. "Yes, he's the … the … the town librarian." Sam dismounted from his large, wide body and he sat up attempting to catch his breath. Still in shock, I stared in awe at this large, middle-aged man that I thought so highly of, this kind, soft spoken man who has been the avenue for children to enter worlds unknown through the readings of their favorite books. Maybe now I'd finally hear the story behind his rugged, scarred hands. "You have some explaining to do," I said with a puzzled look of confusion, still in disbelief. "Yes, I do," he said. "I do." "So it was you all along!" cried Sam. "Why, why, why!" he shrieked. Slowly he positioned himself to tell us the long, untold story of his life. 

He told about how he grew up in this neighborhood. He told us about his years in war, his close friends dying, and returning back home to nothing and no one. He told us about the houses he had broken into and how he got the scars on his hands from the broken glass. Mr. Thompson, Mr. Cant, Mr. Meadow, and Kelley Pierce were all close friends of his in high school. They did a petty crime together, but Kelley Pierce, his girlfriend at the time, persuaded the other three to blame him, so she could have his share of the stolen goods. As a result, he ended up serving the time alone. Afterwards, they all shunned him. He explained how he had taken something dear from all of them, since they all had taken something dear from him. 

The holidays depressed him even more because everyone else had gone on happily with their lives and were enjoying themselves. "Such a depressing life story," I thought to myself. One that very few mystery novels can be compared to. Sam and I were so ready to catch a 'bad' guy. "But what about Mrs. Lamb?" I asked curiously. "Well, she was the prosecutor." I asked him did he know my dad. "Yes," he replied with a smile. "He was always nice to me." I gave him a smile in return. Soon after, I could hear the sirens shrilling and shrieking in the distance in the midst of the dark, moonlit night. We ran on home at his command as the sirens blazed. "It just seemed so unfair," I thought as we went on our way. We sat across the way in Sam's grandparents' living room and watched them take him away. "Just so unfair."