I woke up to a sound outside the bedroom: a door opening. I shook my husband awake and hissed in his ear, “There’s someone outside!”
He held his breath as we listened. Footsteps were moving through the hall toward our room.
“Do something!” I pleaded through gritted teeth, but he was just as paralyzed as I was.
The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom, and the doorknob rattled. “They’re coming in!” I squeaked, shaking my husband’s shoulder in an attempt to rouse him to action. He didn’t budge. The door opened.
It was my husband.
My heart stopped, and as I turned toward the thing in the covers next to me, it finally stirred.