Cynthia put the grocery bag down quickly as she entered. She spun around and slid the first bolt. She sighed. That first bolt was always the one that really did it for her. The sound of it clunking into place was music to her ears. The second was almost as good. It was a lot bigger. It too went home with a satisfying thud. Finally, now perspiring with the effort, she smacked the fifth and last bolt home.
The first floor lock was the tricky one, a thick steel rod that slid down through brackets into a metal keep in the floor. She had to get it just right. It was heavy and a very snug fit. She paused for a moment or two to catch her breath. The second was a lot easier, it fell silently several inches into the floor with a click.
She could relax now. She picked up her bag and went through to the kitchen to put shopping away and make a well-earned cup of tea.
What was she thinking? She hadn’t put the bar up.
She went back to the door.
Now this was the final lock; the latest one. Although, in fact, it had been several years since her dear Harold had created it for her. He said at the time that he didn’t think it was really necessary, but then Cynthia had said that it was always better to be safe than sorry. So, wonderful man that he was, he went down to the local scrap yard and found a metal bar that would do the job. When he had finished he told her, somewhat forcefully she thought, that she really wouldn’t be needing any more locks.
She smiled at the thought of how loving and patient her late husband was as she hefted the bar. It was all she could do to lift it and it was always a struggle getting it into the steel brackets mounted on either side of the door.
Suddenly, her wrist twisted and went weak and the bar turned diagonally. She found herself stepping back, with the bar coming after her. As she hit the floor she felt and heard something crack.
It was her hip, badly crushed. She couldn’t move. She didn’t have the strength to lift the bar that now pinned her to the floor. The excruciating pain that had started in her hip was now washing through her entire body. Her head had bounced heavily on the floor and she was losing consciousness.
The phone was a long way away. If she could reach it she could call for an ambulance. With extreme effort, she raised her head enough to look at the door. To get in, anybody would have to knock a hole in the wall!
Cynthia suddenly realised, she wouldn’t be needing any more locks.