Natalie was a creature of habit. She lived right next to a busy road. Naturally, in the evenings, once she turned the light on, she would drawer the drapes. People could see into the house once the light was on, and although she was never doing anything untoward, she didn’t want the passing world watching her read a book or looking at television.
However, when she was ready for bed she would pull the curtains open to let in the lights of streets and traffic. It was somehow comforting and interesting. Other people might find it annoying, but Natalie rather liked it.
Hers was a small place with just the one bedroom. The “front door” was at the back of the house and led straight into the kitchen. For some strange reason the lock on the door had broken. The locksmith was coming tomorrow. But Natalie, for just the one night, felt quite safe. She had jammed a carving knife between the bottom of the door and the kitchen linoleum. It almost acted like a lock. She prepared for bed. She opened the curtains.
There was a sign on a stake on her small front lawn next to the road. The sign read:
I’M IN YOUR KITCHEN.