So it’s 11:30 at night. Dad had already left for work and it was just me and mom in the house packing. I’d found my old tap shoes and was performing a lovely rendition of “I Never Really Learned How To Dance In These Things, I Just Make Believe It Sounds Like I Did” in my underwear as is apt to happen on a Saturday night.
I was in the middle of some combination of toe and heel maneuvers when suddenly the giant pipe rumbles to life with a flush of the upstairs toilet. We pause.
I’m standing in my undies and tap shoes. Mom had just put her jeans in the washer. Neither one of us is two floors up flushing a toilet.
"Who the fuck flushed the toilet?!" mom asked in a whispered tone.
"I. Have. No. Idea." I reply as countless scenarios of dead relatives coming back from the grave run through my brain.
We creep around to the stairs and its at this point that I realized there are greater concerns than the astral plane. Mom reaches for a yard stick. Intruder. Why didn’t I think intruder?
I listen carefully at the stairs.
There’s a distinct lack of dog. There was no barking. No growling. No “Halt! Who goes there?!” that is a certainty with three dogs on patrol.
Mom returned from around the corner.
"Stay down here." she hissed, cautiously climbing the stairs, still no pants, but with her newly acquired hammer.
I listen as she makes a military sweep of the main floor and heads for the upstairs.
"Shit. She needs backup." I mutter. "I’ll be backup. Yeah." I grab the yardstick.
I start to creep up the stairs when suddenly yelling erupts.
I rush down the hall to the landing as words start to come together.
"… uckin tell us you’re here! We were in the basement!"
"I was wondering why you were creeping up on me with a hammer."
The second voice is of course that of my father. And it only takes a wafting moment in the stairwell to realize what he’s doing home.
"Did you crap your pants!?" I yell up.
"YES HE DID." replies mom, still waving the hammer.
"HAHA! It was fate man! FATE! I called you this afternoon and told you to call off! Fate just bit you in the shitty ass!"
"Wait, did they send you home?"
"No! I haven’t been to work yet! I nearly got there and I had to turn back! I just farted and suddenly realized that was the wrong consistency!"
Only my father can attempt to describe the consistency of farting.
He trots down the stairs and out the door as mom releases an aerosol assault on his stench cloud.
"Wait. Did he leave his pants up there?!"
"Well he locked his door!"
The man must has ESP or in his case, it’s more likely ESPN. Only moments later, he came running back up the stairs.
"Did you leave your pants in there?"
"Well, I’m not now. But I did. I gotta go to work."
And poopy pants in hand, he vanished into the night.
The case of the mysterious flusher solved once and for all.