The worst visitors

It was in April, some years ago. My sister and I had gone to spend the weekend with my wealthy grandmother who lived alone in a mansion in a secluded neighborhood. An interesting game of cards followed a delicious dinner. We tidied up the living area and just got ready to retire when suddenly we heard a rap on the door. It had just gone past midnight. A frown crept up my granny’s face but she motioned to my sister to see who it was. Perhaps a neighbor who lost his/her keys; but the next neighbor was 5 miles away.

My sister unbolted the door and opened it. In an instant four masked men muscled their way into the house. They forced us to the floor in one corner of the room while one of the men who dangled a gun stood over us.

For what seemed like an eternity, they ransacked the house for every valuable they could lay their hands on. They slashed the phone lines, smashed the dining chairs, barricaded the front door with the broken legs of the chairs and even helped themselves to granny’s leftover casserole in the kitchen.

As they made their way out through the backdoor, my granny coughed and one of the men swung round and pointed a gun at her. I heard the click of the gun; panic rose in my throat and my legs buckled under me. It must have been an eternity of deathlike silence when the man stashed his gun away, turned around and left; that the breathe stuck in my throat finally exited through every orifice in my body