"...When the clock is striking twelve When I'm fast asleep Down the chimney broad and black With your pack you'll creep..." ~Jolly Old St. Nicholas
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was 11:48 p.m. and roughly one month later when that same man who'd stood at Jack Simmons' window appeared again before the household. There was no storm now; only the twinkling stars and a wondrous full moon kept the man company. It was a clear night; a "midnight clear," if you will. A light blanket of snow covered the yard, an occasional frigid breeze sweeping some of it up here and there. The world was silent, seemingly holding its breath.
Perhaps it waiting for the strange visitor on the sidewalk to make his move.
The man obliged, inviting himself to scale the nearby tree he'd scouted out two weeks earlier and leap from there to the edge of the house's roof. He hit the edge of the roof with a thud and slipped, flailing as he felt his feet fly out from under him. His chin collided against the shingles with a sickening smack, and the man suppressed a cry of pain. His hand scrabbled for a hold on the roof, struggling to keep from crashing roughly 12 feet to the ground.
Dangling precariously from the rain gutter, the man somehow managed to kick his leg onto the shingles and use the leverage to hoist himself up. He rolled onto his back and gasped for breath. It was a miracle (though not by someone with good moral's standards) that he'd come this far, and things would only get more difficult from here.
With great stealth, the man crept over to the chimney and peeked down, rubbing his chin and grimacing. The shaft didn't appear to be too deep, but then again, looks can be deceiving. Our trespasser wasn't taking any chances.
He lay on his back on the glittering shingles, catching his breath for a fleeting moment. Then he rolled over and pulled off the backpack strapped to his shoulders, unzipped it, and brought out a coil of rope. He tied the rope as tight as possible around the base of the chimney, then tossed the remaining length of rope down the shaft. The cold air nipped his cheeks as the man grabbed his backpack and zipped it up, then climbed down the brick chasm, gripping the rope tightly as he went.
The rope burnt against his hands, and the man regretted not bringing gloves. But there was no going back now; he was breaking and entering.
He reached the bottom of the shaft at last and peered up. There was a metal cover directly over the chimney itself to keep rainfall from getting in through the shaft, but there had still been a wide enough gap for him to slip in through the side. The night sky and its shimmering stars peeking out at him. He smiled.
Everything was going according to plan.
A grate covered the fireplace, separating him from the world within, but he had expected this. He tried to open it manually first, not wanting to take any risks than he already had unless necessary. The grate didn't move. Just as well. Soundlessly, he crouched to the ground and got in position. Then, the man reared his right leg back and kicked the grate with all his might.
With a disturbingly loud clang, the grate fell to the floor. The man cringed, worried that the little boy living in the house had woken up and heard him; or even worse, his father.
Oddly enough, however, nothing happened. Luck was clearly not on the Simmons' family's side tonight. With a smile that could curdle most anyone's blood, the intruder crept stealthily through the house, heading for the singular hallway and exiting the living room.
Three doors down, Jack Simmons yawned and burrowed farther into his covers.
The intruder approached the first door. It was dark wood, with a golden knob and a rather dainty little sign that read Home Sweet Home. The man snorted softly. "Tacky," he whispered. It also happened to be the storage closet, and so he passed it without a second glance.
Two doors away, Jack continued to sleep peacefully.
The villain-to-be approached the second door. This one also had the same dark wood and golden knob as the first, but had no decorations on it. The man took one whiff of that place and scrunched his nose. Someone hadn't cleaned the bathroom in a while. He moved on.
The little boy one door down continued dreaming.
Finally, the man came to the final door at the end of the hallway; the door to Jack Simmons's bedroom. How did he know? Well, if the colorful drawings of dinosaurs and video game characters weren't enough evidence, the action figure he'd accidentally stepped on in the hallway definitely was.
Stifling another yell of pain, the intruder stumbled backwards, hands flying to clutch his foot. He hopped around in his black winter boots, silently screaming and trying to keep himself from waking up the boy on the other side of the door.
But it wasn't enough.
With pure horror, the man watched as the golden knob to Jack Simmons's bedroom slowly turned, the door swung back, and he was forced to meet the eyes of the child he had planned to kidnap that night.
