Unlocked

"A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man
knows himself to be a fool."

- William Shakespeare

Being a lone adult in the house can be strangely comforting and unnerving at the same time. Once I'm ready to turn in for the night, I make one last patrol of my fortress. Turning off lights, closing cupboards and locking the doors. Both locks on the front and back ones. I lock the door to the garage, too. I don't know why I do. The garage is locked, no one can get in. Just the van sitting there, shedding icy slush from it's wheel wells on the to cement.

I open the door and flick on the light, just to check on things, make sure everything is in order. You never know, I've found the odd light in the car, left on by five year old fiddling fingers. Once the light is off, I rush to close the door. Like some imaginary troll is waiting for the safety of the dark to rush upon my ankles and drag me back to his sanctuary under the stairs. Bolting it tight, an internal debate volleys in my head. "Just the doorknob lock or the deadbolt, too? Against what? Imaginary beasties? Ok, just the doorknob. Alright, and the deadbolt. Why not?" I rest easy at night, knowing my home is locked up.

I don't know what I'm expecting to see in the morning when I unlock the door. Rotate the lock clockwise *click*, it's unlocked. Talking only to myself in my head, I taunt the unseen, "Come on back, monsters! The sun is shining and I'm not afraid anymore!!" Who am I, or better yet, how old am I? Ten? What do I expect to find? An unrecognizable creature smashed against the door? Crumpled in a pitiful heap, defeated in his efforts to breach the threshold? There is a small sliver of curiosity mixed with the incredulity of my suppositions. But I'm still hoping to be wrong when I am alone and unlocking the doors.