CRP and others related their "bump in the night" stories in another recent thread. I had a somewhat similar experience about 23 years ago, though mine did not take place at home and it raises some ancillary issues that might be of interest to others.
At the time I lived in Stockton, People's Republic of California, and my folks in Mojave about 300 miles distant. My father was suffering from cancer and was quickly nearing the end of his life, as we all knew. As a result, my wife and I traveled to Mojave every weekend at least to be with him as much as possible before the end. On one occasion we were heading home down Highway 99 in the Central Valley about just at dusk. My wife was driving and I was dozing in the passenger seat. This stretch of the highway, just north of Madera, was virtually deserted at that time of night because most of the traffic ran on Interstate 5. That was the reason we had chosen that road. Suddenly my wife shouted, "Rich, get the gun." She knew that I always carried my .45 1911 with a full mag hidden under clothes in the suite case in the back seat, and the idiot laws of the People's Republic be damned! Anyway, a beat up old Chevy was behind us, full of what appeared to be drunks (hell, they were throwing beer cans out the window!) and they were purposely trying to run my wife off the road. Fortunately, she's a good driver, but what was about to happen was pretty clear. I grabbed the .45, and as the Chevy pulled up next to us, I could see the occupants of the other car clearly. There were four of them. As they started to edge over, I brought up the .45 so they
could see it
, then quite purposefully, jacked a round up the spout (I was loaded with 230 grain hardball). I told my wife, "if those SOBs move one inch closer, they're dead meat." Fortunately, that didn't happen. I don't believe I've ever seen someone express such fright on his face, or turn as white, as the idiot who was sitting in the front passenger seat!
He said something to the driver that I'll just leave to your imagination. In any event, they sped up like you would not believe (probably burning every valve in that old Chevy) and took off like the proverbial "bat out of hell." We stopped in the next town and called the Highway Patrol and described the incident (forgetfully leaving out the part about the .45, I might add
), but I never heard anything more concerning the report I made.
The point to all this, I think, is that no matter where you happen to be, however safe and comfortable you might feel, there can always be potential danger lurking. Be prepared. You're not likely to get a second chance.