Beating Stick

Katie informs me that our roommate won't be home tonight, "So anyone who comes in to the apartment, beat them with your beating stick!"

I realize I haven't seen my beating stick in a while, so I look around the room from my prone position on the bed, only to find it leaning against the wall, within arms reach, behind my bedside table.

It's a thick, old tree branch, sawed off at an angle on each end, about two-and-a-half inches in diameter and a little longer than a yard long - lightweight, easy to swing, and perfect for cracking skulls.

I lift it up, feeling its balance and heft in my hand with satisfaction, then put it carefully back in its place.