Mistaken Identity: When Someone Scares the Poo Out of You in the Middle of the Night

Over ten years ago when my husband was in construction, I was visiting my mom with our toddler son when I got a phone call.  My husband said he injured his back at work while using a sawzall. He had been holding it above his head when it kicked back and the pain was so bad, his arms were kind of stuck in the air.  His boss drove him to the ER where he was prescribed strong pain pills and muscle relaxers.  They said he would have to be closely monitored to make sure he kept breathing.  He told me, “I already took them, so will you come home?”

I have always been a light sleeper and was expecting to be even more so that night as I worried about him possibly dying.  That night of all nights, I fell into a rare, wonderful, deep sleep.  Not even our son was waking me up!  Then about 2am, my husband started shaking me.

Him:  There’s someone at the door.

Me:  Yeah, whatever.  (I’m thinking, “You’re on drugs and you’re imagining it.”)

Him:  No, there really is!  They’ve been knocking for a long time.

Me:  Uh huh.

That’s when I heard the knocking.  Oh no.  Who knocks at 2am except for a serial killer?  I moved cautiously towards the door, replaying various horror movies in my head as I was determined not to be the character who makes the worst move humanly possible like running up the stairs instead of out of the house for help.

I quietly started inching towards the phone as if the serial killer wouldn’t come in and kill me as long as I was very quiet.  Isn’t this the part where the man was supposed to get up and check on things while the wife and child remained safe?  Oh that’s right. He couldn’t move.  This would end badly.

Again I heard a knock and this time a man yelling, “OPEN THE DOOR!!!!”  Oh no.  The serial killer was angry we wouldn’t let him in to off us all!  “Oh nooooooooooo ……” my voice trembled as I tried to remember the number to 911.


The police?  Maybe I should have called 911 anyway to verify that it wasn’t a serial killer claiming to be a cop, but I walked in front of the door in a scared, but still very disoriented state.  “What’s going on?”


I decided since he was no longer using individual words, I should open the door.

Actual cop (who wasn’t a serial killer):  Ma’am, we got a call that there was a domestic disturbance here.

Me:  Huh? ……………. Are you sure you have the right apartment?

Cop:  Yes, we’re sure.

Me:  *staring in confusion*

Cop: Where’s your husband, ma’am?

Me:  Asleep ……

Cop:  Can we have a look around?

Me:  Uh huh …….

The cop entered part of our apartment and briefly shined his flashlight around.  I thought he was going to go into our bedroom and maybe determine I had put my husband in his disabled condition, but thankfully not.

Cop:  I guess we have the wrong place.

Me:  Yep.

I’m still dying to know, did our neighbor hate us and make a false call?  We were in A201.  Did the dispatcher hear it wrong on the phone?  K201?  J201?

I think it took me about three hours to fall back to sleep after that.



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