Facing Your Fears

[Warning: Some violent content. Reader discretion advised.]

    So my wife and I were watching TV rather late one evening when a bat startled the hang out of us, circling the family room where we were ensconced in our recliners. Bats have invaded our home before but after our chimneys were patched up last year, we were told, “No more bats.”

    Obviously, this fellow didn't get the memo.

    He flew out of view as quickly as he'd come in and I figured he had gone upstairs. Our bedrooms are upstairs and there was no way we would sleep until this creature was neutralized. I went out to the garage to grab a couple tennis rackets—I've not played tennis in ages but I figured my Jimmy Connors vintage wooden racket would come in handy in this instance.

    Meanwhile, my wife was Googling on her Kindle ways of getting rid of an unwanted bat in the house. Hmmmm, I think “unwanted” bat is being redundant. However, Wendy said the YouTube videos she was reading strongly advised against using a tennis racket, saying instead to live capture the bat with a bucket and releasing it out of doors.

    What??!! So he can come back inside and maybe bring friends? “Hey guys, follow me. I found this neat old home.”

    Nope. This bat must be dispatched for good and now. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I climbed up the stairs one by one. Could I be too old to be doing this? My son lives just across town. Maybe I should just give him a call. But I recalled an incident over 20 years ago when we were similarly buzzed by a bat in our home. My son and I ascended the stairs together to confront the bat but when he flew into the upstairs hallway, my son ducked into the bathroom and quickly slammed the door. Maybe in 20 years he's added more courage. Then again, maybe not.

    When I climbed the last step, the hallway was empty and quiet. My idea was to trap him in one of the bedrooms or try to swat him if he flew by me. I opened the door to the first bedroom, not really expecting to see him since the door was nearly closed. But there he was. And here he came. I flailed my racket like I was trying to swat a fly, but the bat escaped into another of the upstairs bedrooms. I closed the door, trapping him inside.

    But now what to do? I waited till the rustling inside the bedroom had subsided. I'd rather not have him confronting me Dracula-style when I opened the door. So when all was quiet, I slowly opened the bedroom door to have a peek.

    There he was, clinging to a window curtain. That posed another problem. To get a good lick at him with my tennis racket where he was, I could easily break the window. So I added another step to the process. That was to hit him with a broom first, then the tennis racket. Finding a broom, I returned back upstairs and into the bedroom, my heart pounding even harder.

    I approached him cautiously, then with a burst of adrenaline-fueled terror whacked him with the broom. But where was he? He wasn't lying on the floor as I expected. I prodded the curtain with the broom and saw him lying on the window sill, I used the broom to brush him to the floor.

    Then my bat hunt took a rather nightmarish turn. Have you ever seen a live bat walk? It's a grotesque shamble that makes it appear that he's walking with stumps for legs with wings held above his head as if he were the devil. I don't even think I've seen anything like it in any horror movie . . . and I've seen lots of them though in times like these I wished I hadn't.

    Now it was racket time. Jimmy Connors and I took down the creature with a few heavy blows before he found another hiding place. I could finally breathe a nervous sigh of relief.

    One of my grandsons told me this week that he wants to go trick-or-treating dressed as Batman this Halloween. I think I might try to talk him out of it. Might bring back too many bad memories.