This morning, I decided to come in early. Sometimes it really helps on a Sunday, to arrive a couple of hours before everyone else - it means I can get my head on in quiet, before the action starts.
So I came about 7 this morning. It was still dark. Due to our renovations, which are almost (but not quite) finished, there is no light switch inside the door. In fact, you have to unlock the door, go inside, turn off the alarm, walk upstairs, around a corner, through a fire door, and then grope around for the wall switch to turn on a light.
Have I mentioned that we haven't been in this space long enough for me to know the sounds? Or for my hand to automatically know where light switches are?
When I drove into the parking lot, I noticed a light was on in one of the offices, but no other cars in the lot. A bit odd, but no big deal. Went inside, punched in the code for the alarm, turned to go up the dark stairs ... and heard a distinct rustling sound.
Instantly I remembered the light in the office. Someone's in there! Is someone working in there? Or is someone robbing us blind? No doubt they've heard me by now ... do I walk up those stairs blindly, stupidly? Do I instead head down into the dark basement - no, that's definitely not a smart move.
Then I remembered the alarm. I remembered that I was the one who was involved in getting that alarm installed, and I know where the motion detectors are. Mentally reviewed that information, and came to the conclusion that there's no way anyone is in the offices - they would have set the alarm off.
So what was that rustling sound? And then terror gripped my heart. For I knew what it was.
Let me backtrack.
Several weeks ago, the alarm went off in the middle of the night. Upon inspection, a banana peel was found halfway down a flight of stairs. Either a bat flew through and dropped it, setting off the motion detectors. Or a really big mouse.
And then, one of our hardworking volunteers reported that he had seen a timbit in a bag being pulled down a hole in the kitchen. His opinion was that a little mouse couldn't pull a timbit in a bag. But a larger rodent could.
Thus my terror. There's no one in the offices. But there WAS a rustling sound. And it can only be one thing. A big, mean, disease-ridden, beady-eyed, people-eating rodent, waiting for me in the dark on those stairs. And of course, it knows I'm here. And it may run away. Or it may, in the darkness and panic, mistake my leg for something to be climbed, and if that happens, baby - well, you can forget your Sunday services, because it will be at least Tuesday before my hysteria subsides.
I went back outside. Took a deep breath. Realized there's nothing to do, but to go in. So I went back inside. Glanced again at the alarm panel. Turned once more to go up the stairs - and heard the very same, distinct rustling sound.
And that, my friends, is when I discovered that it was not a rodent.
Not a robber.
No.
It was my pant leg brushing against the wall.
