The Alarm

It was a warm spring day. I was home alone, and my Dad and my brother Josh were at a basketball tournament. My Mom was at a business trip in New Jersey. I had slept in my basement and I had been watching ESPN all morning.

Suddenly, the telephone started to ring. As I got up to get the phone, my house’s burglar alarm went off. I tentatively picked up the receiver.

“Hey, I am on my way home from New Jersey,” announced my Mom.

“Okay, I think Josh and Dad just got home because the alarm went off.”

“They aren't going to be home for a while, that is not them.”

“Then who is it?” I stammered, my heart instinctively beating faster.

“I don't know...but get out of the house,” my Mom replied with absolute terror.

“Where do I go?” I whispered in panic.

“I don't know. Just run.” I grabbed my iPad and I was gone. In my pajamas. With no shoes. I burst out my basement door. Sprinting as fast as my feet could carry me, I raced into the woods. My bare feet scraping along the ground.

At least a mile later, I made it to a friend's house. Feet bloodied and out of breath, I told my friend Max’s parents that my house was being robbed. They let me stay at their house until they were reassured by a phone call from my Mom that it was safe for me to go home.

Max’s parents explained to me that the security network alarm picked up motion in the basement. The only motion in the basement was when I rose from the couch to answer the phone.

To this day, I still blame my Mom for traumatizing me with the simple act of not pressing motion off.

~ Justin F.