The Day the Robbers Came

A story from the family archive

Last week, I shared a note that went a bit viral, and suddenly there a lot of new readers here—welcome!

If you are new to my work, I use this Substack to shares stories from my life and give an inside look at the writing process for the memoir I’m working on—which details the romantic and emotional chaos that ensues when you get divorced at 27.

My writing often revolves around the complexity of identity and memory, and explores themes like love, grief, and self-devotion. If that is your thing, I hope you will stick around! If it’s not, well maybe give it a try :)

For my last story of 2024, I wanted to share a memory from the ‘family archive.’ My mom is a wonderful storyteller, and she would always recount her and her siblings adventures to my sister and I growing up. The following story is one that we requested often.

Enjoy and Happy New Year!

Winter, 1970:

“There’s a robber upstairs, Dara,” Declan said.

He and Dara had been playing downstairs in the basement one evening. Their mom and older sister, Donna, were out at Brownies. Their dad was working in his shop, around the corner from where they were playing.

It was winter, dark early, rain sloshing at the windows. Which was why they were down in the cozy basement, a golden, incandescent lightbulb swinging above their heads.

“Whatever, Dec,” Dara replied, more interested in the potholder she was trying to weave on her little metal loom than playing whatever game of make believe Declan was cooking up.

“Come on, Dar! I can hear him prowling around up there. He’s an ugly old thug, just off a bank robbery, looking for somewhere to stash his loot!”

“Then why would he be in our living room?”

But Declan kept at it, painting the picture, until Dara warmed to the idea.

“If we’re going to go up there and confront him,” Declan plotted. “We will have to arm ourselves.”

They rummaged around in the dress-up bin until they found one of their mother’s old pumps with a spiky heel. Declan grabbed the bright yellow plastic whiffle ball bat lying beside the bin.

“Ready?”

Together, Declan and Dara climbed the stairs up from the old basement. The stairs let out into the kitchen, which stretched like a galley down the side of the house. Beyond the kitchen was a short landing that dropped down into the den. Sheer white curtains, which hung in front of the big bay window, wafted in the breeze of the heater vent.

“Ok you dirty thug!” called Declan, as he and Dara inched their way down the long kitchen, straining to catch a glimpse of the intruder lurking in the den.

“You better not try anything,” Dara shouted. “We have a spike!” She waved and jabbed with her mother’s old pump.

“Yeah,” Declan continued,“we’ve got a baseball bat! And it’s not plastic!”

The curtains shifted again in the draft from the vent. Declan and Dara crept a little further down the kitchen, hurling the occasional threat.

“We’ll teach you to break into our house!”

Was that just the draft from the vent? Or was something moving down there in the shadows?

Just as they reached the end of the kitchen, they heard a voice, deep, gravelly—pure evil.

“Oh, yeah?” was all it said, the sound floating out from the darkness of the den.

And then, there he was. A grimy red handkerchief around his neck, a day’s worth of stubble on his chin, a face carved with years of hard living.

All of the blood drained from Declan’s face, Dara immobilized in fear beside him. In slow motion, they turned, grappling at the air to propel themselves towards the basement stairs as fast as possible. Their feet spun, cartoon like, the kitchen rug zipping up in a pile beneath them.

Declan was faster, he made it to the stairs first. Dara was urging him on from behind, certain she would feel the hot breath of the intruder on her neck at any second, a meaty hand closing around her wrist.

“Robber!” Declan was screaming at the top of lungs as he careened down the stairs. “Robber upstairs!!”

Their dad was there at the bottom of the stairs, caught Declan in mid-air as he flew towards him, still screaming.

But their dad was shouting something too. Dara couldn’t quite make it out of the sound of Declan hollering about the robber. Finally the words he was saying began to sink in.

“It was me! IT. WAS. ME.”

Dara collapsed on the couch at the foot of the stairs, trying to slow her racing heart. Declan, still hysterical, was looking at her with wild eyes—why are you so calm??

“Declan, it was me!” their dad said again. “Through the vent!”

Their dad had heard them scheming up their game from his workshop and once they had stalked up the stairs and began challenging the robber, he couldn’t resist joining in the fun.

He had walked to the far end of the basement, just beneath the vent in the den. And when the moment was right, in his deepest, scariest voice, he had called out:

Oh, yeah?

Reminder for 2025: I will be slowing down posting for a few months in the new year while I work on editing my book! You will still hear from me about once a month.

I also have some exciting writing news that I will be sharing soon, so stay tuned!