A granny swings a bat right between the legs of a

I’d seen the old lady out in her yard, tending her flowers. A frail figure, hunched over, hands gnarled like old tree branches. Easy pickings, I thought. She’d probably crumple at the slightest threat. The place was silent as a tomb, just the way I liked it.

I’d heard tell of this house. A widow, they said, living alone. Rich too, from the looks of it. Big, rambling house, set back from the road, with a thick, high fence that made it look like a fortress. But I wasn’t deterred. My need was too great. My desperation too deep.

I’d cased the joint for days, finding the perfect entry point – a cracked window at the back, hidden by overgrown bushes.

It was a breeze. The lock gave way with a single kick, and I slipped inside. The air was thick with the smell of dust and mothballs, a scent of forgotten memories.

The house was dark, lit only by moonlight pouring through the dusty window. I felt my way through the hallway, careful not to make a sound. The silence was heavy, pressing down on me. I could feel the weight of her absence, a chilling reminder of the reason I was there.

I pushed open the door to what I imagined was the bedroom. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from a bedside lamp. In the middle of the room, a figure lay under the covers.

“Grandma? It’s me, Henry! Don’t you recognize your own grandson?” I croaked, my voice raspy with dust and anxiety.

The figure didn’t budge. It remained shrouded in the darkness, silent and still.

“Grandma? Come on, it’s Henry. Let me in.”

I was about to reach for the blanket when something small, hard, and heavy smacked into the side of my head. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull. The world went dark, the sound of my own whimper echoing in the silence.

When my vision cleared, I saw her sitting on the edge of the bed, her wrinkled face lit by the bedside lamp, her eyes hard and unyielding. In her hands, she held a baseball bat, the wood worn smooth by years of use.

“Henry?” She scoffed, her voice raspy with age, yet surprisingly strong. “Henry’s been dead for thirty years, sonny.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. It wasn’t Henry, then. Who was she talking to? And what was with that bat?

I tried to back away, but my feet were rooted to the spot. My mind was swimming, confused and scared.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “This is my house. My space. Get out.”

Fear coursed through my veins. This frail old woman, this harmless-looking granny, was holding a weapon.

“I… I just need some money,” I stammered, trying to regain my composure. “Just a little, to help me out.”

She snorted, a dry, brittle sound. “You think I’m stupid? I’ve seen your type before. You come here, with your stories, your promises, and you think you can just walk away with my hard-earned savings.”

She raised the bat, its weight shifting slightly in her hands. I felt a chill crawl up my spine, a primal fear that made my stomach clench.

“Get out,” she repeated, her voice colder than the winter wind. “And if I ever see you on my property again, I won’t hesitate to use this.”

She swung the bat, its trajectory a blur of wood and shadow. It landed with a thud on my shin, a sharp, searing pain that shot up my leg.

I screamed, a guttural sound that echoed through the room. I stumbled back, clutching at my injured leg. My head spun, my vision blurring.

“Don’t you dare come back,” she warned, her voice a low growl.

The bat swung again, this time connecting with my other shin. It was like being hit by a freight train. I fell to the ground, my legs useless, my body wracked with pain.

She stood over me, the bat still held aloft, her eyes burning with an unyielding fire.

“Do you understand?” she asked, her voice a cold, cruel whisper.

I could only nod, tears streaming down my face, pain twisting my features.

“Good,” she said, her voice softened with a hint of pity. “Now get out.”

I crawled away, my body trembling with pain and fear. I didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare meet her gaze. I just wanted to get out of that room, out of that house, out of that place.

I stumbled out of the bedroom, through the hallway, and into the night. My head was pounding, my legs were useless, and my body was throbbing with pain. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I knew she was watching me, her gaze a burning brand on my back.

As I stumbled away, I couldn’t help but think, with a shiver of fear and morbid fascination, about the frail old woman who had just beaten the living daylights out of me. She was a force of nature, a whirlwind of fury and resilience, a testament to the strength hidden within even the most seemingly fragile of beings.

She was a granny with a baseball bat, and she was not to be trifled with.