The Culprit

By Audrey W.




John Gage rubbed his eyes with fisted hands and yawned as he glanced at the watch on his left wrist.


Seven sixteen. . .


Considering he had plans for a day of hiking and photography ahead of him, the off-duty paramedic decided it was time to get up, eat and be on his way. At least with no one or nothing else there, he wouldn't run into any delays. He hoped not, anyway.


Clad in grey sweat pants and a white t-shirt, he flung back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He ran a hand through his already mussed up hair, then grinned at his rustic surroundings as he got to his feet.


It wasn’t his usual place to wake up and start the day. John had gotten a fire fighter friend to let him stay at a cabin  in Santa Rosa that was owned by the family. The location was a community in northern California that was right in the midst of  mountains. It was a refreshing change of scenery from Carson and Los Angeles County.


There were only three rooms in the wooded structure; a large bedroom, even larger living area with a kitchen, and a full bathroom. The two main rooms each had a couple of windows, which allowed for natural light once the sun was up and shades were open, though the cabin did have electricity in it. The bathroom had a small window that could be opened for ventilation if needed.


After opening the bedroom shades and taking a look at the great outdoors, John  made his way through the cabin to the bathroom to relieve his bladder. He then continued on to the kitchen area to throw together a quick but solid meal after opening the shades in that room as well. As he pulled a cast iron skillet out of a cupboard, the dark-haired man paused when he heard what sounded like scratching on metal. After a few seconds of quiet, there was the sound again.


John turned to face the front door across the room. Once again he heard the sound, only this time even louder. It clearly was coming from the other side of the rustic door, where a screen one with a metal frame was in place.  


It seemed as if someone. . .or something. . .was trying to open the screen door in a very unconventional way. He doubted it was a person. They'd likely try the handle first and find it wasn't locked.


With the cast iron skillet absently in his right hand, John walked over to the wooden door. There he pushed back the black metal locking mechanism, grabbed the handle and quickly flung the door open, the element of surprise on his side.


The culprit immediately jumped back, and suddenly was laying spread eagle on the cement and flag stone porch, just the still-closed screen between he and John, knowing full well he'd been busted. 





*Click on the door to see what John saw.




My sister sent me the picture and I got an idea...just had to have some fun and try something different.   :o) 


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