One evening, when I was in the seventh grade, I got a ride home after a volleyball game. Not long after walking in the door the phone rang and on the other end a low, menacing voice said, “What are you doing in my house?”
I freaked out. It was dark outside. I lived on a ranch and had no next door neighbors, just fields. I hung up the phone and called our across the road neighbor, Diane. With binoculars she could see what was happening at our house. She told me to turn on all the lights and to stand by the front window so she could make sure I was safe while she called my grandpa to drive down from the other end of the ranch and check on things. Nothing happened, and all was well, but I was freaked out. FREAKED OUT!
For years I told this as my scariest experience in life. It still gave me chills to think about being 13, at home alone, and getting that call. About a decade later I was sharing this story with my new sister-in-law when my dad started chuckling. “What’s so funny?” I demanded, “It scared me!”
“That was me,” he said. “I was at work, and when you picked up the phone I thought I’d play a trick on you, but you hung up before I could tell you it was me, and then when I called back it was busy.” (We never had call waiting.) I was immediately both relieved that a creeper hadn’t called me and incredibly put-out that he took away my scariest story. Dads.