Doorstep Encounter

How safe are you when in the suburbs at night?

It was shaping up to be a quiet night after a hectic day. The local park bench had been commandeered by the family and bedecked with banners and bunting to celebrate a first birthday.  We enjoyed fizzy drinks, crisps, and chocolate cake with the adults scattered about on rugs while the grandchildren ran around like mad things, climbing trees, collecting conkers, and taking our dog for walks. We’d thoroughly enjoyed the event but we were now at home and beginning to flag. Television had become the norm for such evenings and my wife slipped off to bed at about ten, leaving just me and the dog to watch Match of the Day, a football program I’d watched since I was a nipper.

Next door, Peter my neighbor was also watching television when he became aware of raised voices coming from the street. He listened because he had no choice not to.

“Hey man c’mon let’s split,” said one guy.

“No, no stay here Damo man, I got a good feeling about it. ……..Come over here stay a bit longer.”

And so it went for the next thirty minutes. The too-ing and frow-ing of youthful male indecision ie. talking crap to each other.  Peter reached forward and turned the volume up on his television, tuning them out.

At about eleven p.m.I found my eyes closing. At the third time of asking I gave in and decided to go to bed. I rose from the couch and walked over to the television, reaching behind to switch it off at the socket. Then I switched the room lights off and pulled the door closed behind me. I was now in the hallway and was walking towards the foot of the staircase when I saw a figure through the stained glass window of the front door. There, right there, just a few feet away from me stood a guy! He, for it, was definitely a male, was standing on my porch and rocking back and forth, from heel to toe, as if to some inaudible musical beat. Maybe he was wearing headphones. All I could see was that he had his hood up.

I could hear the garbled scraps of a conversation he was having with someone. So I approached the door warily and stopped just opposite him. We stood just inches apart separated by the width of a door for maybe twenty or more seconds. He seemed completely unaware of my presence. He continued to stand there like a robot set in neutral gear, waiting for instructions to move off. It was a clear warm evening and with a bright Harvest moon, it allowed me to see that he was wearing a pair of dark shorts and runners. He had short-cropped hair and was definitely speaking with a Dublin accent. Dublin but not inner city Dublin, if you follow me. 

I felt compelled to do something so I flipped open the metal letterbox and leaning down spoke into it.

“Excuse me – What are you doing?”  I asked.

Well, he spun around 360 degrees, pirouetting with surprising nimbleness.

“Kindly move away from my door” I ordered before I straightened back up.

Startled he glanced down to where the voice came from and then his eyes travelled slowly up the door until he came to my face, visible though distorted, through the frosted glass.  At first, I thought he’d go away but unfortunately, my intervention seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

“Damo, I’ve got someone!” he turned to look over his shoulder and shouted enthusiastically. “Someone is here!” “C’mon over man!”

“Bugger!” I thought.  Fortunately, for his own reasons, Damo, whoever he was, didn’t come over.

Next, my swaying door stepper suddenly reached for the door handle and gave it a yank, trying to open it. Watching his movement, I became more convinced than ever that he was drugged or in a drunken stupor. He never uttered a word to me and he seemed sluggish in his movements. Getting no joy he let the door handle go, stepped back, and then ran as fast as he could at my door!

 Horrified I stood my ground. Whatever happened I made myself a promise that he would not enter this house. I stood on the other side of the door with my arms outstretched supporting the door and its frame. I  braced myself for the blow and when it came it sent vibrations around the whole building. The house shuddered with the impact and upstairs my wife in bed, watching a program on her phone, felt the house vibrate, not once, not twice but three times. Each time  I pushed back with all my might.  Now he dismounted the doorstep and stood on the driveway.  I braced myself for his next move.

I had a moment to think and I did then, what I should have done earlier. I dialed 999 on my mobile phone.

“What service do you want?” Ambulance, fire or Garda (police)?” came an anonymous clipped voice.

“Garda (police) please” I answered. I was put through in seconds.

“Hello? This is the Garda station in Dundrum, can I help you?”

“Guard, a man has been standing on my doorstep this past half hour and he’s just attempted to force his way in. He standing less than a foot away from me, on the other side of the door. Can you help?”

“He’s still there?”

“Yes”

“I’m dispatching a car right away.”

I rang off and looked at my would-be intruder. Again I leaned down and used the letterbox.  “I have rung the Guards and they are on their way,” I said.

The news didn’t seem to make any visible impression on him. Perhaps he was too far gone to understand what I’d said.  I heard a noise from behind me and turned to see that it was my wife who had come down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” she asked innocently, looking past me and at the shadowy figure still on our doorstep. I brought her up to speed and she decided to return upstairs and survey the street from the upstairs bedroom window. I watched her go and checked my watch. Three minutes had passed since I’d rung the guards. How long will it be before they get here?

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked again at my doorstep. I was just in time to see his back disappear around the boot of my car.

“Can you see them?” I shouted up to my wife.

“No, not now” she answered. “Just as I reached the window and pulled up the blinds I saw a figure walking away from our house. I think he’s gone and I never saw the other guy.”

She joined me in the hallway and three minutes later a garda car with flashing lights pulled into our cul-de-sac and came to a stop outside our house.  Two burley guards in full combat uniforms listened to my story. I gave them a good description of the lad but he’d left on a footpath that led to another estate with multiple exits. The police cars would have to take a more circuitous route.

It took a while to get off to sleep that night, I can tell you. It’s now been more than a year since the door stepper made his appearance and it appears that this incident was a one-off.