Something crashed in my dream, and I shot upright in bed, suddenly awake. Sweating and my heart pounding in my ears, I lay back down, trying to get back to sleep.

Another crash, and it sounded like it was downstairs. I wasn’t quite awake, but I was sure it wasn’t a dream again. I got out of bed to take a look.

As I started down the stairs, I could hear someone mumbling. I had not been expecting company, so whoever was there was not welcome. I turned around, and reached into the closet at the top of the stairs, looking for some sort of weapon. I grabbed the first thing I laid my hands on, a scabbard from a replica sword I had bought a few years ago. Not much of a weapon, but it was firm, maybe I could take an eye out with it.

Walking slowly down the stairs, I tried my hardest to not make any sound that would betray my presence. The intruded continued to rummage through my cabinets, continued to mumble. I guess he was looking for something of value, and unfortunately for him he was wasting his time.

I walked slowly through the living room, approaching the intruder from behind. I tapped him on his shoulder, giving him a chance to surrender, or to give me something to aim for. With a gasp of surprise, he turned around.

And in his left hand was a gun. My heart seemed to stop for a second. In that second I asked myself why I had grabbed

“You’ve made a mistake,” I said, trying to regain my calm. It barely worked, but I could not take my eyes off of his gun. “No,” he replied with a sneer, “you made the mistake, and made this easier for me. Who else is here?”

“No one,” I replied, still relatively calm. Of course in my mind I was far from calm, thinking of ways I could get out of this. Things were not looking that good. I started taking a few steps back. The doorway was right behind me, at least I could get there, although what I would do, I had no clue.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, as I stepped back a few more. My heart nearly stopped as I saw him raise the gun.

I turned.

I started running.

I heard the report of the pistol, and my right hand felt like it was on fire. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced, and it took all I had to keep going. My other hand still clutching the scabbard, I ran to the stairs. I had only gotten up one step when I tripped, falling on my side. I heard another report, and right in the middle of my chest I felt a sharp pain and everything went black.

I awoke in the hospital. My first thought was one of amazement: I was still alive. Last I remember was the pain in my chest, and blacking out, and in that short moment I had thought I was dead.

Yet, here I was, obviously alive.

I looked at my left hand to find it covered in a bandage, yet otherwise clean.

Next I checked under my hospital gown. The hospital had not bothered to wrap my chest where I had been shot, yet there was no blood either. Right in the middle of my ribs was a large scar, but I could find no evidence I had been shot. I looked up to see a nurse had walked in, “You’re very lucky,” she said bluntly.

“What happened?” I asked her.

“You’d been shot,” she said, “One of your neighbors had called that they heard shots, and when the EMTs showed, you were on the floor. The police found a gun that had been fired, but no burgler. They found two gunshot wounds, but by the time you arrived here, they were nothing more than scars.” At this, she shrugged her shoulders, unable to explain further. She must have noticed the look on my face, and shrugged again. She left and I was alone with my thoughts.

A few minutes later she returned, and placed a long black object at the end of my bed, “They found this in your hands. I don’t know what it is, but figured you may want it back.” The long object was the scabbard I had been holding.

And then it hit me. I remember reading a story in which a scabbard was supposed to have mystical powers. I shook my head in disbelief, knowing well there is no such thing as magic. A few days later when I was released, I went home and immediately to my bookshelf. It took a while to find it, but eventually I found the passage I was looking for:

“Sir,” said Merlin, “look ye keep well the scabbard of Excalibur, for ye shall lose no blood while ye have the scabbard upon you, though ye have as many wounds upon you as ye may have.”