Prudhomme residence

Simsboro, Louisiana

October 4th, 1989

A key switched the lock and the door opened. Mary Prudhomme flicked a light switch up and entered the living room of the house. "We really should go camping more often."

"Yeah, but let's not get home so late next time," Dylan Prudhomme answered. He set his coat on the hook and closed the door behind them.

The house was a squat powder blue structure on the roadside in the woods. Inside, there was a television on a stand surrounded by a couple recliners and stacks of books.

"What do you want for dinner?" Mary asked as she continued across the living room and into the kitchen. Her husband considered his options as he listened to the sounds of cabinets and tin cans being moved around. Before he could answer, she called again, "Dylan? Come here."

"What?" he asked as he entered the kitchen. His wife was bent down, peering into the pantry. She straightened and stepped aside.


He squinted and stepped closer. Mary was pale and her eyes were wide. There were about four or five cans of green beans and yams in the pantry.

"I thought we had more than that," he mused.

"We did," she answered quietly.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Why would canned food disappear?"

"I don't know, but I stocked it the day before we went camping. There were at least two cans of yams, four of green beans, five of baked beans, three of peaches, three of pears, and one of diced tomatoes. But seriously, they were all there!"

She spun around again and peered into the pantry.

"Well," Dylan asked with perplexity, "is there anything else missing?"

"I don't know," Mary closed the pantry and started to dart about the house. Dylan wandered around as well, inspecting areas where he knew he had stored valuables in the past. After ten or fifteen minutes, they met again in the kitchen.

"Well?" Dylan asked.

"There is a package of toilet paper than was torn open and some rolls are gone. I bought that new with the canned foods. And there were some bottles of water in the refrigerator that are gone."

"So it sounds like someone needed basic living supplies," Dylan said. "But how would he get in?"

Mary paled. "I may have left the window in our room cracked open."

She rushed down the hall and returned about a minute later.

"I did," she confirmed. "It was cracked open, so someone could have easily slid it open and back."

"Well," Dylan sighed, "I suppose we ought to call the police."