The Wrong House

Today's Prompt: It was the wrong house. Use this as your opening line and start writing.
(Reprinted by permission all rights reserved (c) C.M. Mayo "Giant Golden Buddha and 364 More 5 Minute Writing Exercises"  www.cmmayo.com/d5mwe.html)

It was the wrong house.

We figured that out as soon as Abbie tripped over something in the grass and a siren blared to life and the outside lights of the house lit up so bright you'd swear it was a military base. We all crouched behind the Lexus in the driveway (a Lexus? Cassie doesn't drive a Lexus. Neither do her parents. That should have been our first clue), covering our ears, trying to stuff the remaining toilet-paper under our shirts.

That's when we heard the front door open. Or we thought we did. It was hard to tell over the siren. So I peered underneath the Lexus and saw the boots--well-worn, snake-skin cowboy boots--approaching down the sidewalk. Abbie wanted to run but the rest of us were frozen in fear. Before the boots found us, I caught the reflection of flashing red and blue lights in the glossy paint of the Lexus. A cop car pulled up at the end of the drive, blocking us in.

We gave ourselves up, emerging one by one from our hiding place, sheepish in our shirts stuffed full of toilet-paper. White ribbons of toilet paper waved from the trees and fluttered on the roof of the house. In a burst of creativity, I'd even wrapped the stone dogs flanking the door so they looked like mummies.

No words were needed. We were guilty as charged.

PS, this is purely fictional,
The Brown-Eyed Girl