The case of the tiny things

Albert was mad. Someone was disrupting his morning routine, and he did not find it amusing. In fact, he was becoming rather furious. It is also worth mentioning that someone was stealing from him.

He really valued his start-of-the-day ritual. He followed a specific routine quite religiously. When he’d wake up, he would make himself a nice, steaming cup of coffee and a toast with a generous amount of butter on it. He would go out to his backyard, enjoy the weather, and feed the birds with whatever crumbs were left. He would then go back in, take a quick shower, and be ready for the day.

It was all unexpectedly disrupted three weeks ago. He woke up around 6 am, like he always did, and made his coffee (a little too watery for his taste) and his toast (he also burnt the toast- it was a clear sign that the day wasn’t going to go well). Still, he went out to his backyard, tried to enjoy his flavorless coffee and his slightly bitter bread, he fed the birds, as per usual, and when he wanted to go and take a shower, he found one tiny screw in front of the door of his house. He didn’t think much of it; it wasn’t a big deal. What became somewhat of a bigger deal is that he found another screw in the same place the day after. And another one the day after that.

By the fourth day, he was expecting it. He was anticipating it. He didn’t even make his coffee or his breakfast. He went straight outside. And there it was. Another screw.

Albert took the screws to his shed and threw them in the blue bucket he kept them in. It was a container full of random leftover screws he had saved from all the projects he had done around the house over the years. “I shouldn’t throw this away, maybe I will need it someday”, he’d say to himself. He never did need them. He paused. “Are these the same ones someone is leaving at my back door?” He counted them all- eighty-six screws.

The next day, he woke up earlier than usual, eager to see what he already knew was there. He rushed downstairs, took that little metal twist-in piece that was waiting for him, and went straight to his bucket. Eighty-five screws, plus the one from his hand, that’s eighty-six.

He started wrecking his brain trying to figure out what this could mean. He didn’t understand it. He was living in a safe place, a small village, there had never been any break-ins that he had heard of in his area. His shed didn’t even have a door. That was his fault, though; he wanted to paint it, so he took it off. That was a few months ago. But the time flies really fast when you’re dreading a task, and you keep finding ways to avoid it.

But he stumbled. Staring at the bucket, he wasn’t sure what to do. He went over all of his things in the shed, and his heart dropped. His toolbox was also missing! Someone stole from him! He checked the whole structure, he checked his house, even the attic. His toolbox was nowhere to be found. And he had had enough of it. For days, someone has been breaking into his backyard, his wooden shed, and messing with him. And even worse, with his morning routine. And now he finds out someone stole from him. He called his sons to come over. The oldest was 36, the youngest was 23. He wasn’t sure about the middle one right off the bat, but comparing him to the oldest, he guessed he was around 32.

The oldest and the middle child came on the same day.

“This is not an easy thing to ask..But, dad, are you getting dementia?”

“What? Who taught you to speak to the elderly like that? I called you to ask for help. Someone is toying with me and stealing from me!”

“Dad, come on,” said the middle one. “Someone leaving screws in front of your door? Really? You called us for that? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Not just that, someone also stole from me! And you’re right, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m being polite to everyone! I mean, sure, I don’t have a lot of friends, but I also don’t have any enemies.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you, dad. You developed some real arch-nemeses in this hellhole of a village. Be careful, or they might end up leaving some nails too”, grinned the oldest. The middle one couldn’t hold it in.

“Laugh all you want, but I know what I saw. I had to wake up at 4 am today just to have a look at my door. It's really getting to me, I didn’t even have my breakfast.”

“Are you just mad that you didn’t get to feed your little birdies?”

“Yea dad, come on, maybe the screws dropped out of your pocket or something. And maybe you lent your toolbox to your neighbors. Didn’t you say they had a broken chair, or something?”

“I didn’t, I didn’t! You kids don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m being targeted, and I don’t know why!”

“Come on, da..”

“No, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t know why I thought you’d be of any help. Useless as always. You can go now, I’ll figure this out on my own.”

“Great seeing you too dad”.

….

Albert felt kind of bad that night about the comment he made, but there was no time to think about that now. He had bigger worries. He immediately put his shed door back, closed it, and locked it. He wasn’t about to let anyone mess with him anymore. Not only that, but he decided to stay awake the whole night by the window and wait for the intruder. He was prepared with a baseball bat and half a litter of coffee. It was throwing off his morning routine even more. He hated it. He wanted to catch the criminal. He wasn’t going to call the police. What can they do? Search for toolboxes around the neighborhood? They could patrol around for a couple of nights, but they weren’t going to spend their resources on that, he knew it. Look at how his own sons laughed at him.

No, he will catch the guy himself and then take him to the station with his own two hands if he has to. He was ready. He waited the whole night.

Nothing.

No one came.

He did the same the night after. Again, not a single soul.

The intruder somehow knew that he had put up the door. He must’ve seen it. He was being spied on.

“Ok, well, he saw I mean business. That should teach him. He better not come here again”, Albert thought to himself.

His days slowly came back to normal. He was still upset about his toolbox, but at least no one was touching his things anymore.

He started leaning back into his morning rituals again. He would wake up. Make a cup of coffee. Make a toast. He would go outside to enjoy the morning sunshine. He would feed the birds with some leftover crumbs. He’d take a long shower. He slowly started thinking about other things too. About how he was ready again to paint a certain door. He was content. Thought came to his mind- “Whoever took my toolbox, I hope they really needed it- much more than me.”

Two weeks passed by. Three weeks. Life was good.

Until.

It happened again.

Only this time it wasn’t screws, it was a cigarette bud. Someone smoked and threw it in front of his door. And the next day it was a rock. The next it was a bottle cap.

He was losing it. He wanted to scream. He felt the burning in his body, in his stomach, his heart, his lungs. He was breathing fire. He was seeing red. Who the hell was trespassing on his property every night and leaving random things at his doorstep just to torment him? Who wanted to hurt him? Who had the intention of driving him absolutely crazy?

……

“It was me”, said the voice of the youngest son through the phone

“You??”

“Sorry, dad, Nick and Jonah told me in what state of mind you were… You are. I’m kind of..seeing this new girl and her wash machine was broke down and I really wanted to impress her, so I told her I’d fix it. So I sort of…borrowed your toolbox for a bit..I honestly didn’t think you’d notice!”

“This whole time it was you? You’re the criminal?!”

“Whoa whoa, that’s a little bit too much.”

“You stole from me!”

“As I said, I didn’t steal… just borrowed. I was going to bring it back!”

“Why the hell didn’t you just ask me to give it to you?”

“Because you know how you are! You would start explaining things to me, and which tool is for what and how to use it, and blah blah, I didn’t want a course, I just wanted to look kind of manly to the girl, you know.”

Albert was livid.

“Son, if I could only reach you through the phone.. Why the hell are you leaving things in front of my door then?”

“What things?”

“Don’t play dumb with me now. Things! The screws, the rocks, the cigarette buds. Are you also smoking? What is going on with you? Why are you torturing me?”

“Ok, I don’t know what you're talking about. I’ve never left anything by your window.”

“Door!”

“Ok, door, whatever. Look, I’m sorry again for taking your toolbox without asking. Learned my lesson here. But I never left a rock, a bud, a screw, a flower, a can, a stick, or nothing at your door! I’m telling you the truth, that wasn’t me! Maybe Nick was right, and you do have some kind of dementia.”

Back to square one. Albert didn’t know what to think. He trusted his son; he could hear it in his voice that he was telling the truth. But was he right? “Am I maybe getting dementia? Is this how it goes?” Albert, unfortunately, started doubting himself. He actually started believing that he might be losing his mind.

But the next day, he woke up. He went downstairs to make himself a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. He went outside to enjoy the sun. But before he threw the crumbs on the floor, he got an unexpected visitor. A little bird. A crow. And he brought with him a tiny rock. He left it at Albert's back door, ate some toast crumbs, and flew away. And Albert just sat there and watched him fly. A small smile appeared on his face. He can peacefully get back to his normal morning routine.