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I’m standing in our dining room, looking out of the picture window. Honestly, that’s not true. It should be our dining room. It’s actually our kids’ toy room.
I like to see what’s going on out there. Usually, the answer is “not much.” We live on a cul-de-sac, and now that it gets dark early and the cold is here, there’s rarely anything to see. But it’s either look out the window or watch Lizzie McGuire reruns with my eight-year-old—her nighttime show—so I opt for the empty street.
Here comes some action. A walker is approaching from the other side of the cul-de-sac. It’s hard to tell who it is with all of the winter wear. I generally recognize everyone in our subdivision, but we sometimes have strangers pass through. I notice this person is eyeballing my “Biden-Harris 2020” yard sign. Maybe a fellow fan?
The guy just tore my sign out and tossed it into the street!
“Brisa!” I yell as I head to the mudroom.
“What?” Brisa calls back from the TV room.
I pull on my heavy coat while saying, “When your mom gets out of the shower, tell her I’m going on a walk.”
“But it’s too cold, Daddy,” Brisa says.
After putting on my stocking cap, I next slide into my tennis shoes. I’m not going to let some Trump supporter get away with this!
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say while making my way to the front door.
“What are you doing, Daddy?”
I ignore Brisa’s question as I shut the door behind me.
Our neighborhood is beautiful in that it’s a series of sidewalks weaving through yard after yard. The covenants don’t allow privacy fences, so everything is wide open. I just catch sight of the walker at the far end of the sidewalk leading into the next cul-de-sac. I see him turn left, which means he’s heading towards the elementary school.
It’s only eight o’clock, but it might as well be midnight. There isn’t a soul out here except for the walker and me. As I trot after him, I feel the frigid air bite into my lungs. We could be in for some very serious trouble if it’s already this cold in late October. Like 2020 hasn’t been bad enough already. Between Covid-19 and Donald Trump … But better days can’t be too far off now, right?
I enter the adjacent cul-de-sac and see the guy at the end of it, crossing the street. He takes the sidewalk between two houses that leads to a trail around a big field that the neighborhood school uses. On such a clear night, I don’t think I could lose him once he reaches the field, but I increase my pace nonetheless.
What will I do when I catch the guy?
I have no idea.
I think I’ll start with just telling him that I saw what he did and that I didn’t like it.
I reach the edge of the field just as he’s made it almost halfway across. Our subdivision ends along the west side of the field, the side I’m entering. Houses line the entire length of it. A retirement community resides on the east side of the field, with the school on the south side.
The cold grass crunches under my feet as I try to catch up. I’m pretty sure the guy has no idea he’s being followed. Was he just walking around messing with Biden signs? How sad is that?
Without warning, the man stops. I mean, he’s frozen in place—mid-stride.
I mumble, “What the hell?”
Then, I scream.
A beam of light shoots out from the sky and surrounds the guy. Within seconds, I see his feet leave the ground.
Still screaming, I dive onto my belly.
I watch as the man goes up higher and higher towards the starting point of the light.
But there’s nothing there! What’s shining the light? There’s nothing there!
Other than my screaming, there isn’t a sound. The man doesn’t move—not a muscle. He still appears as if he’s about to take another step.
And then …
He’s just gone.
The light’s gone.
Everything is quiet again. The whole thing probably took five seconds.
What the hell did I just see?
I’ve got to get out of here!
I jump to my feet and start sprinting. Sidewalks be damned, I’m cutting between houses!
I cross the street and race through my neighbors’ yards. I’m looking up at the sky for any sign of the light, but all I see are the stars. It’s like nothing happened at all!
After bursting through yet another yard, I spill out onto my own street and run towards my driveway. I’m so close!
I step on the Biden sign and start to slide, but I manage to regain my balance.
My front door is just within reach when I freeze.
I can’t move; I can’t scream; I can’t do anything.
Light—the light—it’s surrounding me!
I feel the ground let go of my foot and I float upwards.
No! No! This can’t be happening!
I move my eyes downward and see the top of my daughter’s head far below.
She’s asking for me—calling out my name.
Thank God, she isn’t looking up.
Please, God, don’t let her look u—
Copyright © 2020 by Scott William Foley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews or articles.