The curtains were ethereal as a gentle breeze drifted past the open window.

“I don’t remember leaving that open,” I thought.

Looking at the floor beneath, I noticed what looked like mud in three distinctly smaller blotches leading towards my den. A light snapped on, my desk lamp. Murmurs and grunts undercut the sounds of books falling to the floor.

“Why didn’t I buy a gun?” I thought as I searched for a weapon. I’d been living in Washington State long enough to notice that most of my neighbors owned guns; now I knew why. Slowly, I pulled a butcher knife from the block beside the stove.

I heard a squish, a snap, a thud in quick succession. Another light came on, my reading light.

Deliberately, I slid my head around the arch that led to the den. The knife clanged as it hit the floor.

In my favorite chair, his big feet on my ottoman, Bigfoot sat reading “The Audacity of Hope”, a disbelieving smile upon his face.