A prisoner in my own home

The last few days, I've felt like a prisoner at home. At Sheriff Hansen's suggestion, the doors and windows are bolted shut at night. There's even a cross hanging on the door, courtesy of Lisa (more on that later). Also at the sheriff's request, neither Lisa nor I go out after we come home from work -- I had no plans to go out anyway, but it's the principle of the thing. Lisa is also now in the habit of announcing where she's going all the time, even inside the house, so that I know where she is.

The precautions are all Lisa's idea, of course. I couldn't care less what happens to me. However, Lisa is a believer in the end-of-the-world theory. I asked her if that was the case, what use would locking the door be? She then reminded me of the Passover story and hung a cross on the door. She thinks that if the angel of death, or whoever has taken the missing people, approaches our door, then the cross will ward it off.

I don't know if I buy that logic, but there's nothing to gain from debating the point either.