The second most scariest day of my life

It was Oct 30, 1987. I had just turned thirteen. I was having a birthday party/sleepover with ten of my good friends.

We started out the evening hanging outside in the front yard, standing around talking, because that is what 13 year olds do. A guy friend who lived up the street was also having a guy sleepover at his house (yeah, that wasn't planned at all) and so they were hanging out with us as well.

They eventually left. By this time it was getting dark. We continued our exciting game of standing around doing nothing. Soon after, we heard a group of guys walking down the street. We assumed it was our friends and started to taunt them, secretly hoping they would come over.

Well, come over they did. Only it wasn't our friends. Nope, it was our drunk teenage neighbor and his equally intoxicated friends. They rushed the yard, screaming and yelling, scaring the shabowwows out of us. One of the guys actually had a large knife and held it to my friends throat.

Eventually, they ran off and we were able to make it indoors without dying. I am not quite sure why my mother wasn't alarmed with amount of screaming from the front yard...but then again, we were a bunch of 13 year old girls. What's a little screaming? Once inside, we told the whole story to my mom She figured the boys had had their fun and as long as we stayed inside we would be fine.

Right?

Well, my mom had to pick up my sister from a Halloween party she was attending. My dad was still chaperoning the high school Halloween carnival, along with my older siblings. She simply told us to lock the doors and play some games and everything would be alright.

Right?

Well, we decided it was time to cut the cake which was actually a huge chocolate chip cookie. As we were standing around the table, my friend looks right behind us out the sliding glass door, and sees someone in a skeleton costume with a butcher knife in his hand, scratching it on the glass.

She starts screaming. We all look around. We all start screaming. Running and screaming.

It wasn't just the skeleton. There were about five drunk terrorists running around the house, pounding on windows, kicking at the doors, messing with the door handles, each of these actions caused much screaming, wailing, and an amazing amount of tears. (Remember, ten teenage girls.) A few of us were brave and decided to close all the window blinds and curtains. Some of us were too scared to do anything but hide behind the couch.

And still, one of us kept screaming, "We are going to die!! I want to go home! We are going to die!" No, it wasn't me. I think that someone slapped her, but I couldn't tell, being behind the couch and all.

One brave friend ventured back into the kitchen and got the phone. She called 911 and got the cops on the way. But not before the guys outside had kicked in our screen door.

"The police are on their way!" my friend yelled. Immediately we hear footsteps running away from the house. Girls start to emerge from behind couches and chairs. Immediately a line forms with girls calling their parents to come get them. 

Once the police get there, we each have to tell him what had happened. Things were really tense. We were all nervous. Some were sniffling. I mean, it was probably the most traumatic thing any of us had experienced up to that point in out lives.

My friend lost control. In the middle of all this tension, she cut one. Totally tooted. And it wasn't small. And then we all lost it..

There is just something about gas that can really lighten a mood.