There was a bat. In my house.
I screamed and called mom. “THERE IS A BAT IN THE HOUSE! IT’S IN THE HOUSE!!” She heard me loud over the phone, but she couldn’t tell what I was saying, so she thought someone might have broken in. I told her it was a bat and she told me to call dad. Some nights she works until late; she’s a magazine editor for Cooking Light. I ran to my room and slammed the door. “Dad. There is a bat in the house.” My voice shook, but I forced myself to sound calm. “I locked myself in my room.”
“That’s alright sweetie, grandpa and I will be home in under an hour. Just stay where you are.” He hung up. He didn’t seem at all disturbed that there was a bat in our house, the week before Halloween.
While I was in my room I kept hearing a thumping noise. Like the bat was flying around, ramming into things. I could also hear its high pitched screeching noise… like the wailing of a flying demon submarine. I waited 20 minutes and opened my door slowly, peering through the crack. No bat. I walked into the hall, grasping an umbrella, and still no bat. I walked down the stairs, where I’d seen it, flying through the living room. Then I spotted a black ball of fur, hanging on the window curtains. I threw the umbrella at it and ran back upstairs, slamming the door even harder. It seemed like forever until dad and grandpa got home. I called them when I heard the garage door open and told them where to find the little demon. I heard them beating it to a pulp and came downstairs. They dumped its remains in the trash bin. I’m so glad the trash gets picked up tomorrow morning. Why in October, right before Halloween? How long had it been in my house?
