Optional Assign. for Cache Lesson 2

1st person POV

I pull up into the driveway at almost midnight. I love driving Rod’s truck, especially in the winter time. I could go through a foot of snow and not blink. I pull up next to my snow-drifted car and smile down on it. A wicked wind whips at my bare cheeks and hands as I swing the door open and jump down from the driver’s seat. I pull the hood of my Packers jacket up over my head. I’m grateful for the illumination of the headlights, but then realize they blind me past a certain point. My mind is full of coyotes and other animals in the woods. I know I smell like a French fry after working at the restaurant all night. The wind blows again and seems to take with it the thought of myself being dinner for a wild critter. I cross in front of the truck and grab the extension cord from where it hangs on the pillar of the deck to plug in the block heater on the truck. The headlights of the truck go out. The world is completely black. I realize the outside light went out at exactly the same time. I freeze in my tracks. I am sure there is a serial killer in my house. I must make a choice. Be killed by coyotes, or go into the house and lose my life to the serial killer who has, certainly, cut the power to my basement upon my arrival.

Beckie, you have to stop reading horror novels I run the few steps to the house and inch open the door. Maybe Rod is still up and just playing a game with me.

“What’s going on?” my voice is almost too weak to be heard over the wind. I get no response. This is not just a joke. I flail at the light switch. You know it was on when you drove in. Now it’s off. It’s not the switch’s fault. My heart seems to be blocking the breath from going in and out of my lungs. I move slowly to the washing machine and try the light switch there, desperate for any light at all. Nothing.

I whisper to my dog, “Opie? Are you up there?” Surely, if he’s okay, then the serial killer has not gotten to Rod yet, either. Opie runs down the stairs to happily greet me. I realize then that all of the lights are on upstairs. Is it so the serial killer can get a good shot at me with his bowie knife when I walk up the stairs? I don’t know. I sneak up the stairs. With the noise Opie is making, do you really think you’re sneaking up on anyone. There’s no serial killer in your house…. Or is there?

I get to the top of the landing and realize that Rod told me the extension cord had a frayed and he was going to replace it tomorrow before it blew a breaker or caused some other problem. But then I see it. My Wheat Chex® box has fallen off the shelf and is laying on its side on the floor. It’s true! There was a cereal killer in my house. Luckily, Rod never woke up to see how ridiculous I was being.

(This story is entirely true, even down to the Wheat Chex® box. In an odd series of events, the delay of the headlights just happened to coincide with the frayed extension cord blowing a breaker that controls the lights in the basement and outside – when I saw the box of Chex ® on the floor, I thought it was a perfect end to a perfect day. We still laugh about the cereal killer.)

2nd Person POV

Feeling safe and secure in the big Ford truck, you pull into the driveway. Nothing can hurt you in this truck. Your small car sits in the driveway, covered in the six inches of snow that has fallen over the course of the night. Before you turn off the truck, you look at the time. It’s midnight. The truck shows the temperature outside as 14 degrees, but as you swing open the door, the wind hits you with such force that it feels much colder. You turn the key and jump down from the driver’s seat. You smell the faint aroma of French fries from working in the restaurant all night. You can’t see past the beam of the headlights, to where the coyotes play at night. You hurry to grab the extension cord to plug in the block heater for the truck. Just as you grab the cord, the world goes dark. The headlights of the truck go out just as the outside basement light goes dark. You have a choice to make. Stay and fight the coyotes, or go into the house where there is obviously a serial killer waiting to rip you apart.

You second-guess yourself and think that maybe your boyfriend is still awake and is playing some mean trick on you. You drop the extension cord and run to door and open it slightly. You call into the house to see if he’s hiding in the shadows somewhere. You get no response, so you enter the house further. The next light switch is just as dead as the first. You call your dog. He’s small, but he would still alert you to the presence of an intruder before you would see him. You then realize that the lights upstairs are still on. Sure that the serial killer is lurking somewhere to ambush you, you make your best attempt to sneak up the creaky wooden staircase. Your dog bounds up the stairs ahead of you. You soon realize that your boyfriend told you earlier in the day that the extension cord you just grabbed had a frayed end and he intended to replace it the next day – before it blew a breaker. Your fears subside about the murderer in your home… until you see it. The box of Wheat Chex ® laying on the floor. Surely it was a victim of the cereal killer who invaded your home and killed your downstairs lighting.

3rd Person POV

Mary pulled up to the house in her boyfriend’s truck. She loved driving that truck in the winter time and the blizzard that dropped several inches of snow on the area before midnight tonight made travel hazardous, even in the truck. She pulled in the driveway, relieved to be home, and smiled down smugly at her small car. She turned off the truck and jumped down from her warm perch in the driver’s seat. The cold wind hit her square in the face. With a wind-chill well below zero, she knew the truck would not start in the morning without the block heater being plugged in. Pulling the hood of her Packer jacket up, she bowed her head against the wind and grabbed the extension cord from its place on the deck pillar. She thought of the coyotes and the fact that she smelled like a French fry from working in the restaurant all night. She suddenly felt vulnerable.

Quickly, Mary grabbed the cord and was plunged into darkness. The headlights of the truck went out on their timed-delay. She froze for a moment before realizing the outside light was killed at the same time the headlights on the truck went out. She knew she had a choice to make. Stay outside with omnivorous wild animals, or go inside where she was sure a serial killer was waiting to make her his next victim. After thinking she might be better off with the animals, she cursed herself for reading too many horror novels. She made up her mind that it was her boyfriend playing a mean trick on her. She tried to stay calm as she gently pushed open the basement door just an inch or two.

“What are you doing?” she squeaked to an empty room. Frantically, she checked the light switch, flicking it up and down several times. She slid quietly to the next switch in the basement, knowing she’d get the same result, but just hoping for light. The next switch proved useless as well.

“Opie?” Mary called quietly to her Rat Terrier. “Are you up there?” She wasn’t sure how he could possibly protect her, but she didn’t want to be down there alone with a serial killer upstairs. Something in her mind reasoned that if her dog was still alive, the murderer hadn’t gotten to her boyfriend yet, either. She heard no struggle from upstairs, only the dog jump from the couch to the floor, down the first flight of stairs to the landing and then… she realized the lights were still on upstairs. Opie flew down to greet her with his normal, excited licking and jumping. Her rational mind wanted to tell her everything was fine, but she had no explanation for what just happened.

Mary approached the stairway with caution. She walked with her feet to the very outside edges of the wooden steps, just as she had as a teen at home when she was coming or going and didn’t want to wake her parents. The stairs still gave her away. The thought flashed through her mind that the murderer was waiting upstairs for her but didn’t cut the lights up there so that he would have an easy target.

As she reached the top of the staircase Mary realized her boyfriend had told her earlier that day that he suspected the extension cord outside would blow a breaker some day because the end was fraying. Just as she set her mind at ease with this thought, she saw the victim. Somehow, her box of Wheat Chex® had fallen from its shelf and was laying on the floor on its side, its contents spilling onto the floor. She chided herself about her fear of the “cereal killer” and proceeded to go about her after-work ritual. But she didn’t go back outside. If the truck didn’t start in the morning, that was okay with her. It had been a long enough night.