Stranger Danger
A few years ago, while we were in the process of selling our house and downsizing, we decided to sell some of our framed prints. I was new to the world of selling items online, and while I never considered myself paranoid, I was a bit nervous about the exchange of money and goods with total strangers that I met online. I was not convinced that this would end well. In time, I put my reservations aside, posted my print on a popular classified advertising site and a woman expressed interest right away. I was almost giddy.
The potential buyer asked me to call to arrange an opportunity to view the item. When I did so, she seemed very sweet and told me she couldn’t come that day because her husband was sick. This instantly endeared me to her, as did her name, “Betty-Ann”. How could someone with such an old-fashioned name possibly be anything but genuine? She asked if I would hold the print for a day, allowing her husband to recover, so they could both come over.
I agreed and two days passed before she called again. My husband had just left for work that evening and I was alone in the house when Betty-Ann called, asked where I lived and asked for directions. I could tell she was writing them down. This was the second thing that made me think she was harmless. I hadn’t had to give detailed directions to anyone in years, let alone wait for them to be written down. Why was it that I equated lack of technology savvy to lack of criminal tendencies?
At the end of my instructions, I was expecting that we would discuss a convenient time to meet. Instead she told me they would be at my house in about 10 minutes and then ended the call. All the clues that led me to conclude she was harmless, turned on their end, and became evidence that she wasn’t. Perhaps Betty-Ann was not her name. Maybe the sick husband was just a ruse to earn my trust, as was the whole quaint asking for directions thing. And I was home alone. I had to think fast.
The first thing I did was text my husband at work in case he was never to hear from me again. The next thing I did was google “app that makes it sound like you aren’t home alone.” I was pretty proud of myself for thinking of this as it led me to something called “Burglar Deterrent”. We had recently started using a smart speaker device and were getting quite good at it. I enabled this great invention which was called a “skill” in the language of our particular device. Much to my delight, there were people chatting, glasses clinking, pop cans opening, the occasional dog barking and some laughter scattered throughout. This would do very nicely! I was no longer alone.
I experimented with the volume so that it was loud enough to be credible but not so loud that it sounded fake. I was very proud of myself and couldn’t wait to brag to all my friends and in particular to my adult children, about how, in 10 short minutes, I had researched and implemented a technology solution to fend off a potential axe murderer. And with no time to spare.
Their car pulled into the driveway moments later and the driver emerged, quite an ordinary looking older gentleman who didn’t look a bit sick to me. Then he went around to the passenger side to retrieve Betty-Ann. He had to help her get out of the car, walk and navigate the two steps up to my front door. She was even shorter than my five-foot frame, and moved very slowly.
It was at this point, upon recounting this story to my daughter-in-law, and telling her that I was starting to feel a bit less skeptical, that she said “Because you figured you could have taken them both?” Fair question, and while my resolve that these people were there to murder me and steal my $100 print was weakening, I was still reassured by the presence of my new friends clinking their glasses and opening their pop cans. Because you really never know.
Well, I likely should have known. Betty-Ann and her husband were very sweet and when we ended up chatting a bit she asked about the For Sale sign on our front lawn. She was so sorry to hear that we were moving out of town as soon as our house sold and she commented that this was happening quite a lot in our small city. I almost felt the need to apologize on behalf of all the deserters. All the while, people were clinking glasses, laughing and opening pop cans, and the dogs occasionally barked. I was petrified that she would ask if I had company. Then I would have had to lie to her.
After they left, without purchasing the print because it was smaller than she imagined, I directed our smart speaker to cease deterring but she seemed to need different words. I was sure she was exacting revenge on Betty-Ann’s behalf. After about 20 minutes of googling, while the people were clinking glasses, laughing (at me) and continuing to party and after many more verbal commands, including disabling the “skill” and then discovering that it had to be enabled in order to respond before it could be stopped, I succeeded. Then there I was, alone in a very quiet house with the print still sitting in my entranceway, with my limbs attached and my heart still beating, feeling like a complete and paranoid idiot for having suspected poor Betty-Ann and her husband of having sinister motives.
Part of me still wonders though. Were they as innocent as they looked and would I be alive today if they hadn’t heard the people chatting, glasses clinking, pop cans opening, the occasional dog barking and some laughter scattered throughout? I will never truly know.
Originally published in Bacopa Literary Review 2023 Issue
