In the midnight hour, a cabinet slams shut and Mrs. Snark sits abruptly upright in bed, her nightcap askew. There is a clatter and a clamor—sounds emerging from the kitchen of the otherwise peaceful house.
Panicked, Mrs. Snark reaches over and throttles Mr. Snark. "Honey, wake up! He's back!"
Mr. Snark awakens with a sleepy snort and mumbles, "Who?"
"The Midnight Snacker!"
For almost seven months, a burglar has been breaking into the Snark home in the middle of the night. The Midnight Snacker strikes only the kitchen, leaving a path of empty cardboard boxes and crumpled chip bags in his wake. Crumbs piled high on previously shining clean countertops. He siphons entire gallons of milk and leaves the empty plastic containers in the refrigerator on the shelf.
Mr. Snark yawned and rolled over. "It's probably Sam."
"Sam has no interest in food. I've known the boy his entire life and he only consumes enough to keep himself alive and not a calorie more."
True, these kitchen raids started sometime after Sam turned thirteen.
True also, The Boy is the only child with a bedroom on the ground floor. The other two as are snug as bugs in their beds—the creaky stairs would give them away.
"Besides, the boy hasn't been seen in about seven months. Ever since he turned thirteen," Mrs. Snark added.
"This might be your opportunity to finally see him then," Mr. Snark grumbled into his pillow.
"You want me to go check?!"
"There's a flashlight under the bed," Mr. Snark said. "Yes. You should go check it out."
Mrs. Snark scowled at Mr. Snark's back. "Exactly what male stereotype are you not familiar with?"
Mr. Snark snored in reply.
Once again, the Snark kitchen went undefended. This time the raider got an entire box of Cheez-its and four fruit snacks.
Oh, the humanity.