The Indian in The Doorway

Though not as enchanting as the childhood favorite, "The Indian in the Cupboard,"

my story at least has the "creepy," factor you can't get anywhere else.

First, not to be derogative, but we're talking Dot not Feather.

Okay.

So, I was cooking in our kitchen {duh,} the other day, and had the sliding glass door open.

Ian had run out to get milk or something, so I was home alone.

Suddenly, I hear a knock and a "hello!" at our open sliding glass door.

I peep my head around the corner and see a large Indian man, turban and all, standing in my door.

{secretly grab large kitchen knife...try to think of where cell phone is. Thing "will my neighbors even care if I scream for help?}f

I go up to man and say hello, using my body presence to kind of push him back out of the door way and out onto the front porch.

He, through broken English, explains that he is looking for a new home and would like to tour ours.

Uh....

I explain our house is not for sale, and point to the Realtor signs just feet away and say those are for houses in the complex, but not for ours.

He doesn't really understand me and waits expectantly for his tour.

I say, "no tour, our home."

And close the sliding door.

And lock it.

And bolt it.

And pray for Ian to return.

(strange man hangs around for about 15 Mississippi's until he ambles off.)

See? Not as cool as the book, but definitely more creepy!

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The Indian in The Doorway