The Doorbell Killer

(Special thanks goes out to co-author and star of this blog, Heidi.)

In our first hostel in Italy, each shower had its own cord hanging from some sort of button.  Because the lights were on a timer, I assumed the button was just another light switch since they looked about the same.  My sister once asked me about it and told me she had thought it was to turn on a fan.  We thought it wouldn’t matter so we never bothered to find out what it was for.  Unfortunately, our ignorance would prove to be problematic for us later on…

In the second town, my sister and I had the luxury of staying in a private apartment. After taking the first shower, Heidi noted that the bathroom had been unusually steamy and suggested that I try turning on the “fan.”

“That’s a great idea!  I’ll try pulling it once to see if the bathroom is just as steamy,” I planned out with my sister.

Just a few minutes into my shower, I decide it’s time to put our hypothesis to the test and I give the cord a swift tug.  Nothing happens.

Meanwhile, Heidi is enjoying Italian television and tending to her sunburned feet when, all of a sudden, the doorbell rings. 

Thankfully, our mother had spent the past three weeks forwarding emails about the dangers of Italy.  Answering doors in foreign countries?  Definitely not a good idea.

Being the intelligent woman that she is, Heidi freezes in her bed and hopes the Doorbell Killer will think nobody is home.

Meanwhile, back in the shower, I realize the steam is really starting to build up so I do the only thing I can: I pull on the cord two quick times.  Nothing happens.

Back in the room, just as Heidi has regained use of her limbs, the Doorbell Killer rings again.  Twice.

Back in the bathroom, thinking I had pulled the chord too quickly the other times, I give it one long yank.  Nothing happens. 

Heidi hears the Doorbell Killer ring again, this time demanding his admittance into our loft.

Now at the end of my shower, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the dreaded post-shower mirror fog, I tug on the cord in a morse-code pattern, hoping to unlock the secret fan password.  Nothing happens.

Heidi, realizing the danger she is in, panics as the Doorbell Killer feverishly pushes the buzzer.

“Kate.  Katie.  Kate, “ I hear being whispered after I turn off the shower.

“WHAT?” I call back with a tone reserved only for my sisters.

“Someone keeps ringing the doorbell.  It happened four times while you were in the shower,” Heidi tells me.

“Ok, well I’m gonna go ahead and dry off now,” I answer, nonchalant about our impending murders.

“Hurry up,” Heidi begs me in a whisper.  Little did she know my company would not shield her from the mysterious Doorbell Killer but rather would bring her face-to-face with the murderer herself.

At this point, you might be asking yourself any number of these questions:

Who would be visiting you in Italy?

What made you think a visitor must be a murderer?

When would a killer ever ring a doorbell?

Where did you get the idea that fans were so hard to turn on?

Why is the doorbell in your shower?

The answer to all of these is simply that I don’t know.  At the time, it made sense.  In fact, it wasn’t until the next night when I took my shower and the Doorbell Killer returned that Heidi and I realized I was the Doorbell Killer.