A Prowler At The Parsonage?
This story is true...
My daddy pastored a small little country church in Missouri. After we moved into the parsonage next door, we had all kinds of characters come up to our door. A drunk man once came and said his name was Angel, and kept singing "The Little Boy From The Carpenter Shop." Another time, a couple came and said they needed money for gas and gave a really sob story. Daddy never would just hand over money, but he was willing to help out. He told them that he would follow them to the gas station a few miles up the road and fill up their tank. They didn't like it, but they gave in. Daddy had to cram six bucks in. It just wouldn't hold anymore. Then, there was the time someone stole a bunch of roast beef from the Arby's in town and decided to hide out in the church parking lot. And I'll never forget the story when someone came up wondering if we were a "snake-handling" church. And another time...well, I'm sure you get the picture.
On one certain occasion, everyone was already in bed, and asleep. It was about 1:00 am.
All at once, it sounded like someone was trying to beat our front door down with a loud "BANG BANG BANG!"
Daddy went down the hall and demanded to know who it was. "Who is it?" No one answered. "Who is it. I said, who is it?" Daddy was much firmer in his tone this time. Still, silence. The banging ceased, so Daddy didn't try to investigate. Instead, he just went to his room and lay awake. Soon, the banging started again. This time, Daddy was clearly upset. "WHO IS IT? I SAID, WHO IS IT!? And just like before, there was total silence.
Daddy was a big man, and he wasn't at all afraid, but he didn't want to take any chances. One of the church members that filled many of the duties of a deacon, lived on the opposite side of the church that we did, so Daddy gave him a call. He told him that there was someone messing around our house and was trying to beat our door down. The "unofficial deacon" agreed to come and bring his gun. The neighbor across the street was also called and he came with his gun.
Soon the little posse of three went out searching the church grounds for our intruder. They were taking quite a while, and my mom was getting concerned, so she crept to the front door and peered out. All at once from behind her came the loud banging sound. She responded with a torrent of screams. My little sister, who had made her way to my room, dove into my closet and started covering herself up with clothes while I lay scared half to death. The three men charged into the house with guns in hand. It took a moment for them to realize that Mom's hysterical screaming had gave way to hysterical laughter. The prowler was caught - in the ceiling fan!
Our prowler was a mylar balloon that my sister had received for her birthday. It was beginning to lose helium, so it just kind of floated around. When it floated near the ceiling fan, it would make a loud banging noise against it until the fan pushed it out of the way again.
There stood Daddy totally and utterly humiliated. The neighbors went home and Daddy went to bed to try to get some rest before he had to face his congregation in a few hours. (It was Sunday morning). Mommy and me didn't let him off that easy. Mommy kept laughing so hard, that it would make the whole bed shake. Daddy was getting so mad, and would tell her that if she didn't stop laughing, that she could go into the other room. This just made it worse, and Mommy would laugh even harder.
Finally, it started to grow quiet again, and I was giggling inside at the whole ordeal. I spoke in a mean tone loud enough for Mommy and Daddy to hear, "Who is it? I said, who is it?" This just got Mommy laughing all over again.
We still tease Daddy about it to this day.