"Grant from Brooklyn, you’re on."
"I think the government gots a new ex-pair-mental lazer to keep our population down. We’re using up all da water ‘n stuff, ya know?"
The host responded, "Oh now that’s just beautiful. I guess the Norwegians were overpopulated, too. It’s not a death ray, Grant. I think it’s a bunch of green-skinned Martian-types snatching up specimens for their zoo. I’d even believe our last caller more than you, the one who thinks it’s judgment day and God is just taking his time."
Richard turned off the radio. He had heard nothing other than theories and conspiracies and biblical references since leaving Ashley’s couch.
Enough.
Instead of the radio, Richard selected the CD changer on the stereo. The soothing tone of Patsy Cline’s Walking After Midnight eased through the cabin and filled Richard with a hint of calm.
He listened to a series of her greatest hits, songs his mother and father had introduced to him years ago. Songs that had filled the cabin of their family car during long Thanksgiving trips to Granny’s house across state near Pittsburgh: five hours of Patsy Cline, young Elvis, and Buddy Holly.
What might sound an eclectic cross section of artists to some all held the same place in Richard’s mind. The music conjured more than simple images; it conjured feelings of affection and warmth. The songs served as a reminder of his connection to his family. A reminder of the memories and experiences they shared. He could nearly smell fresh-baked pumpkin pie drifting in the melody.
By the time Patsy finished Sweet Dreams, that monotonous blacktop weaving through those featureless forests arrived at his driveway.
Richard steered on to the partially hidden path cut through those thick forests. The tires of the sedan rumbled over the gravel drive as it ascended a soft slope until reaching the clearing surrounding his family’s cedar home.
A simple two-car garage sat perpendicular to the house. A solitary bulb hung between the bay doors and carved a globe of bright out of the otherwise dark lot. Another light joined the first when the motion of his car activated a security spotlight atop the front porch.
He guided the Malibu to a quiet stop at the foot of the steps behind the Blazer belonging to his dad.
His father’s career had changed from truck driver to well-paid mid-level manager five years ago. That had been ten years after founding a private trucking company. A larger conglomerate had bought the small-but-growing company. Dad’s reward had not only been a lump of cash but a desk job with good pay and hours to make a banker envious.
Mom worked part time at the Arthritis Foundation for charity, not income. She made it home by six every night No doubt her Miata rested safely inside the closed garage next to dad’s partially assembled classic Mustang.
Rich swung open the car door, stood, and shivered. The late June night had felt warm when leaving Ashley’s but out there-in the "boonies"-the thermometer read lower.
The heavy thud of the car door closing echoed across the night, possibly the first artificial sound in hours. He took two steps toward the wide, sweeping porch. The stone and dirt mix of the clearing crunched underfoot. Another shimmer of ‘heat lightning’ flickered through the heavens.
He heard a noise. Not quite the noise of thunder, but similar, and it came from the forest. Something out there moved, barely beyond the reach of the homestead’s lights.
Something big. Something gigantic.
Rich’s brain struggled to decode what he saw: a mass of black nearly as tall as the oldest Oak on their property and lurking behind the first rows of trees in the forest.
That slightly chilled June breeze blew through him like a sharp arctic gale. That familiar forest twisted into a strange, warped place.
Most of it remained hidden beyond the screen of trees. He glimpsed only a tiny fraction of the whole. What he saw made no sense: a black, scaly wall.
A feeling of insignificance fell over him with tremendous weight, so much so that his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Fear kept him in place, out-dueling an impulse to seek a hiding spot. He had become a puny ant in the shadow of a massive elephant, thankfully small enough not to warrant attention.
The intruder grunted a noise-maybe an exhale-low enough to tremble the ground, followed by a muffled crunch as unseen weight stomped on the forest floor. A vibrant crack told of a snapping tree limb. The wall of black faded away with not nearly enough noise to accommodate such mass.
When he finally drew breath again, fear grabbed him by the spine and sent a violent shake from the top of his head to the toes of his feet. Air gasped from his lungs as he vomited oxygen. His legs wobbled.
Richard stumbled backward, unable to pull his eyes from the forest. His feet struck the bottom steps and found footing. Up…up then across the landing. He fumbled the door open and staggered in, still walking backwards; still with his eyes locked on the spot where a living wall of black had touched his reality.
He closed the door, locked it tight, and turned.
Two low, bushy shadows raced into the living room.
Dick gasped in fright…then lowered his head in embarrassment.
The black and gray Norwegian Elkhounds hurried past their best friend and hopped onto the sofa under the bay windows. 'Tyr' and 'Odin' focused their attention on the same stretch of woodland that had served a sight of horrors to Richard.
Nothing outside moved.
After a few moments, Tyr fixed his eyes on his Master. The question in the dog’s expression came across so clear that Rich could have sworn the animal spoke.
What was it?
"I don’t know what it was," Richard replied then grinned to himself for answering an unvoiced question. "But tomorrow morning I’m going to tell myself it was the wind or it was a bear or my over active imagination. But it wasn’t any of those, was it? Because you two heard it and smelled it, didn’t you?"
A clear answer formed in the dog’s expression.
Yes.
– Rich woke early even though he did not need to be at work again until Saturday. Mr. Munroe would have to manage for a day by himself.
He swung his naked legs out from under the cozy comforter, covered his briefs with sweat pants and found a loose-fitting navy-blue T-shirt. He left his small room for the second floor hall then descended the rear stairs to the eat-in kitchen. There he found his father and mother acting out their morning routines.
"What are you doing up?"
The question came from his mother. She wore a big, comfy white robe that dragged across the linoleum floor as she ferried a coffeepot between the counter top and mugs on the table. The fragrance of that fresh-brewed java mixed with the lingering aroma of a toasted bagel to fill the room with a rich, welcoming scent.
His dad asked without pulling his attention from the newspaper, "Not workin' today?"
"No, no."
A yawn distorted Rich’s answer as he shuffled across the kitchen.
"Bagel?" Mom, who prepped her own with cream cheese, offered.
After politely waving her off, he sat across from his father and spied the headline on the newspaper in his dad’s hands: CLOSE TO HOME.
"Strange stuff, huh?"
"Uh-huh," dad mumbled.
"George, your son is trying to talk to you," mom said as she placed her bagel on the table.
"Oh, yes, sorry."
Dad closed the newspaper, scratched his curly brown hair-something he did when perplexed-and clasped his hands atop the table.
"So, how’s the planning coming? Is Miss Ashley’s perfect day coming along as perfectly as could possibly be planned?"
The smile he flashed assured the sarcasm was not mean spirited. Nonetheless, George earned a light slap on his shoulder from the misses.
"That’s not nice," Kelly Stone said. "It’s a big day."
"Oh yes, I know," George reached over, grabbed his wife’s arm, and playfully spun the slender women onto his lap with a laugh. "You were the biggest little princess of them all. The dresses, the centerpieces, even the way you wanted your bridesmaids to carry their flowers. You were absolutely obsessive."