Hmmmmm. Sounds a little like a Stephen King novel, doesn’t it. Nice story - would make a great movie...
Here's my story:
I was about 12 years old - very similar situation, except there was a porch on the back of our split level house, so the fellow just walked right up and started jimmying my bedroom window at about 2 a.m.
I managed to slip out of bed and ease towards the door in my best Marine belly crawl - until I got to the top of the stairs and my nerve broke - I ran the rest of the way yelling "Daddy! Daddy! there's a man on the back porch!"
Daddy snatched up his old Parker double barrel and ran out the side door in time to see Mr. Burglar take a flying leap from the high end of the porch. He got him with the choke barrel in mid-air and the scatter barrel when he hit the ground. He screamed so loud you could have heard him in DeKalb County and went running off into the dark and rainy night.
Dad got to thinking he might bleed out or break his neck falling off one of the old farm terraces in the side yard . . . so he went out looking for him. Never found him, but did find a horse running loose . . . but that's another story.
Atlanta's finest did show up after about 45 minutes (after my mom's panicked call of "shots fired - man down" . . . hey, he was down very temporarily . . . ) All he could offer was to take a report and volunteer that Mr. Burglar would tell all his friends and we probably wouldn't need to worry about any future visits from anybody . . . we never did . . .
My first memory is my (unsuccessful) attempt to run away from home at around age 2. My second is missing my 3rd birthday party because I had the chicken pox . . . :-(