Unexpected Guest
There was an assessment, an uncommon assumption by the visitor, regarding the Tiffany lamp light occupying the top of the cherry wood desk in the den. He figured it must be broken. One light bulb was missing from its socket. God knows what became of it. The other bulb was dark so it was presumed to be off or perhaps indicating that something might be wrong with the fixture. An index finger from the right hand of a man in his late thirties had found its way inside the empty socket of the lamp. We know this because loud screams could be heard coming from the quiet room, echoing through the chambers and halls of the residence where the man and lamp were situated.
The stranger was and is unknown to the actual owners of the property. The Mr. and Mrs. of the mansion were at the moment fast asleep, safe and secure in the cocoon of their upstairs chamber at the time. That happy moment came to an abrupt end punctuated by the horrific sounds emanating from somewhere below as the ugly incident unfolded. Was the man a burglar? Why was he skulking about in a place that was not his own and without an invitation or permission at this insane hour of 10:00 am?
What could have prompted such a person to place his finger inside an open light socket in the first place? In any event, what is done is done. He felt a warm tingling sensation that shot up his right arm with a great magnetic force like spider web filaments wrapping, intertwining their threads of fire snake like through the muscularity of his flesh and bones. The electricity seemed to be pulling him into the lamp with its invisible strength. The weight and mass of his helpless body finally caused him to pull away from this heathen power as he fell limp-less, perhaps lifeless to the floor. His body began to convulse and twitch. The agonizing screams and tremors stopped. He could not speak or move after that. Was he dead?
Moments later, Mr. and Mrs. Fields, still dressed in their silly looking pink pajamas, scrambled down the winding staircase to find the mystery intruder stretched out motionless on the Persian rug. Their eyes and mouths opened wide cartoon style. They were shocked but not as shocked as the man on the floor. They were so confused as to what they should do next. They simultaneously wanted to call the police and their doctor friend who lives next door. It was obvious the poor fellow was in distress and needed help. The doctor would most certainly be home today being it is a Sunday. Their cell phones were upstairs way out of reach. Mr. Fields jumped into action and ran to the kitchen where he called his neighbor on the land line. “Dr. Fromm!” “Please come over!” “We have someone in need of help!” “Please!” “Hurry!”
The good doctor arrived with his little black bag full of magic and tricks of his trade almost instantly. His house slippers still on his feet, drenched from the lawn dew grass, as the sun had not had a chance to dry the landscape properly at this hour. He pulled out a small blue bottle and began. The smelling salts worked. The uninvited guest was not dead. His young age and general good health probably saved him. The stranger sat up slowly, breathing heavily, favoring his right arm still tingling with pain as he looked inquisitively at the people around him with some tepid trepidation, verging on amazement. Dr. Fromm instructed the man not to speak and asked the couple to bring some water. It appears that water is a common cure for many medical conditions so there was no reason not to comply.
After a while things calmed down. The interrogation began. By this time the Fields had dressed in normal clothes and were holding their cell phones in hand like loaded guns, ready to dial 911 at a moments notice if things went south.
It was going to get awkward so they allowed the doctor to begin the questioning. Mr. Fields signaled with a gentlemanly smile and nod of the head to proceed.
The stranger looks dazed and confused. Perhaps he is a hobo. It is hard to tell these days because everyone seems to be dressing like bums. This guy seems to be not too bright and he smells funny. There must be a reasonable explanation for all this drama. Hidden somewhere between those close set shady eyes, lurking in the dark recesses of that thickish skull lies the truth. Dr. Fromm kept things very simple. “Are you all right young man?” The stranger asked for more water. There must be something about water. Is it just a drink? Will it actually help him to think or is it simply a distraction to buy more time for the predicament he is in?
Mr. Fields became less gentile. His patience ran thin. Actually it had run out. He demanded answers. “Enough with the water already!” “What are you doing in my house?” “What were you doing with my Tiffany?” “The man became more confused and in a squint he said. “I don’t know no Tiffany.” It was true. The man is an idiot.
Mrs. Fields; friends called her Penny, had on her equestrian boots. She put them to good use by marching up to the stranger and kicking him soundly in the shins. He screamed out in pain. “Why did you do that?!” She responded, “How does your arm feel?” He cried out, “My arm don’t feel nothing!” “It’s my leg!” “My leg!” Mrs. fields replied, “Consider it a distraction.” and sarcastically added, “Your welcome.”
The uninvited guest began a long vibrant string of brutal profanities directed at the wife, delivered in a high pitched voice with plenty of venom but he was stooped by Mr. Fields in mid stream. “I would advise you to keep your mouth shut mister!” “That is my wife you are speaking to.” “She is a lady!” “You had better show some respect if you know what is good for you!”
At that the man became filled with fear. He stood up and ran to a near by window. It was more like a limp as he made his way over to it. He crashed right through the glass in his panic to escape, causing cuts to his face and arms. He staggered about like a mad man outside and rolled down the hill over the deep wet grass.
The stranger could hear the dim voice of Mr. Fields fading in the distance as he was heard screaming, “Release the hounds!” “Call the authorities!”
The visitor was never heard from again. No one knows if the police simply gave up and failed or if the dogs had an early Sunday lunch.
Tiffany remains safe and sound on the cherry wood desk. The rest is history.
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