Lily didn't think her new doorbell and little dog would save her life, but both did. Lily was a lovely little Latina, 21 years old. Her little mutt had been named Foxy, due to her fox coloring. Lily's new doorbell frightened Foxy so much that she ran and hid under the bed or kitchen table whenever the bell ding-donged. Lily had to coax Foxy out with treats each time.
"Some watchdog you are." Lily scolded Foxy.
Foxy yapped back as though arguing her side of the story.
Later that morning the doorbell ding-donged. Foxy fled under the table. Lily frowned disapprovingly at Foxy before peering through her door peep. There was a tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, rough-looking man at the door. She felt suspicious about him.
"Hello, there. How can I help you?" Lily called through her locked door.
"My car went in the ditch and I don't have a cellphone on me. Could I use your phone to call for a tow truck and call my wife?" the man's deep voice thrummed through the door. His tone further alarmed Lily.
"Give me the phone number for your wife. I'll call her for you." Lily responded carefully.
"Can't you just hand me the phone through the door?" he craftily replied.
Lily glimpsed a man's silhouette across the side of her house to grab her sliding glass porch door there. Lily opened her cupboard and pulled out the small, snub nosed, 38 caliber revolver she kept for home defense.
"I'm calling 911." she loudly announced as the silhouette on her deck rattled the locked door trying to open it.
The dude at her front door delivered a destructive snap kick that shattered the door jam and lock, knocking the door wide open. The door flung and banged Lily on her butt, bowling her over and sending the pistol spinning from her fist. The man that scrambled inside was named Del. He was an escaped prisoner. He made a pernicious pounce, grabbing Lily's arm and twisting it as he jerked her up.
"Don't give me any grief, or I'll have to kill you!" he shouted as he brutally wrenched her arm and guided her to the side door, unlocking it for his partner in crime, named Randy. Randy was a short, stocky, dark-haired, mean-looking man. In a panic, Lily struggled and screamed as Del cruelly twisted her arm to the breaking point.
Despite hiding frightened, Foxy spotted her owner being hurt and she acted. Foxy surprised Del in a blur of fur and flashing fangs biting his ass cheek. He screamed and jumped up as the dog’s teeth needles nipped deep. Del lost his grip on Lily's arm. Lily dashed in a flash down the short hall to her bedroom before either man could nab her.
Randy's hand hammered a clout that almost knocked Foxy out. The blow made Foxy roll, fangs still carrying part of Del's pants, exposing his ass bleeding from her teeth. Foxy followed her mom, hurtling down the hall into the bedroom. In the kitchen, Del was hurt and cursing. Randy recovered first, grabbing Lily's pistol on her floor rug beneath his feet. He charged after Foxy with his pilfered pistol. He kicked the door open easily and barged into the bedroom. He got quite a surprise.
Lily's husband Bob was a hunter. He kept his 12 gauge shotgun beneath the bed. Lily dropped to her knees and grabbed the gun. Knowingly she pumped the gun, sliding a shell in the chamber and braced the barrel over the bed spread beside her. Randy darted through the doorway with the pistol. He had a split second to see Lily huddled behind the bed with the barrel bristling at him. Lily flinched, but fired. Her shotgun bellowed out birdshot in a plate sized pattern that percussed the perp. His chest was dredged into a mess of mangled meat. The birdshot basted him back into the bedroom. Lily shucked her spent shell and acted on instinct, unleashing another flock of birdshot that flagellated the felon, it thumped in the thug's gut. The lead lacerated his liver, ending his existence. He fell, dying fast as he tried to breathe through sieved lungs flooding with blood.
Randy was able to grab the pistol Del dropped without exposing himself to her fire. He pointed the barrel around the door corner to blindly broadcast bullets in the bedroom, hoping to hit her. Lily pointed at the wall where she believed his body to be.
She fired and the fusillade fustigated through the drywall and plywood like paper. Her birdshot scoured into his stomach, slashing him open, almost eviscerating him. Functioning on automatic pilot, Lily pumped the gun, sliding a new round in the chamber and firing again. The birdshot bastinade burst through the wall and lapidated his leg with a few BB bits of lead. He fired a couple shots through the bedroom wall while stumbling back down the hall and out of the house, hobbling on his lambasted and lead-lined lacerated leg.
Foxy huddled against Lily, trembling with terror. They exchanged scared stares.
"It'll be OK." Lily told Foxy comfortingly. Foxy didn't look convinced.
Eventually Foxy and Lily exited the bedroom to retrieve her phone. She dialed 911 and tried not to look at Del's surprised, wide eyes. When cops arrived they captured Randy outside where he'd passed out from blood loss. He survived. Del died. Both men were doing life for major crimes. They'd managed to use their prison maintenance jobs to file through a supply room's window bars and slid three stories down on extension cords. They'd taken a car with some clothes inside, but slid off the icy road. Lily's country house was the nearest residence the robbers could reach.
Foxy and Lily were hailed as heroes and the mayor wanted to award them both medals in a public ceremony. Unfortunately, Foxy was too frightened by the marching band's noise and ran away, forcing all the assembled folks to try finding the hiding dog. By the time she was found hiding under a parade float, most of the folks had gone home.
"So much for fame." Lily sighed to Foxy. "Let's go home."
Foxy yapped in agreement and they went home.
Lily disconnected the doorbell. Foxy was relieved.
End
Bio:
Tom Kropp’s work has appeared in Chiron Review, Short-Story Me, Churches, Children and Daddies, Down in the Dirt, The Horror Zine, Dark Harbor, Freedom Fiction Journal, Flash Phantoms, Blood Moon Rising, Lowlife Lit, The Listening Eye, J Journal, Evening Street Review, Conceit, Spotlight on Recovery, Muscle and Fitness, Outdoor Life and many other magazines. His play Jailhouse Confessions was performed at the Kennedy center in Washington, DC in 2019. You can find more of his writings at tomkropp.wordpress.com. He has many audiobooks and eBooks available free at Google Play Books.
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