IS

“Hey Josh!” a voice called out in a discreet fashion that almost bordered on a whisper. When out of the darkness of Mike Stanton’s back yard, a large figure swiftly approached me. As it came over the berm and into the moon’s faint glow, I could now see that it was Scott Timmerson. I must have looked a bit surprised.

“Sorry buddy–-didn’t mean to scare you!” he announced. “Did you hear that loud bang?”

“Yeah. I think maybe it was some kids playing with fireworks, or something.”

“No fucking way. That was a gun if I’ve ever heard one.” And he would know. Scott placed first for marksmanship at his gun club six straight consecutive years in a row. He had grown up around guns all his life, and was always trying to get me to go hunting with him. I, on the other hand, never could find the attraction… until now, of course. He looked at me with a playful sneer on his face. “What’s with the golf club, brother? Either you’re nervous about something, or you’re working on your ground strokes.”

I was at a loss for a good answer. “I was actually… cleaning my clubs when I heard it too!” Dammit! I hated to lie. Scott was a good guy, and an even better friend. I had to think of something to distract him away from what I knew he wanted to do.

“We should go check it out!” he said, with an excited gleam in his eyes.

Dammit! “What?” I responded, feeling helpless and stupid.

“Come on–-let’s go!” he said. “Unless you’re scared or something?” he added, as he began to laugh.

I felt compelled to join in. Deep down inside, tottering on the cusp of absolute and undeniable fear, I alone withheld the secrets of everything he didn’t, and hopefully would never have to know… This had all the ingredients of being something very bad.

“Scott?” a voice called out; a voice that possibly had the clout to put an end to our adventure together. It was his wife, Dianne. This was the break I was hoping for.

“Shit!” he whispered, as his excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment.

“Yeah, Hon!” he yelled back in the direction of his wife, who was standing just inside his opened door wall two yards over.

“Where are you? I need your help.”

“Be right there, Hon. I was just talking to Josh,” he shouted back. He looked to me with a disgusted look on his face. “Seriously?” he snapped. “Talk about bad timing!”

“It probably wasn’t anything,” I stated, as he began to head back to his own yard.

“Yeah. I’m kind of in the middle of something anyways!” I shouted after him, in one final attempt to put the whole idea to rest.

Scott, without turning around, raised his hand to signify his farewell. At least I hadn’t lied about that. I was, in fact, in the middle of something. I just had no desire to bring him into it with me. Don’t get me wrong–-a large companion like Scott would definitely make me feel safer in the midst of the journey. I just wouldn’t want to feel responsible for anything happening to him in the end. I wouldn’t be able to live with that.

And how would I explain that to Dianne? “Oh, sorry Di, but an alien just killed your husband!” I glanced down at the golf club in my hand, and at best, wished I had one of Scott’s guns. Not to mention I hadn’t brought any means of light with me either. I shook my head and headed back to my house as well. This had become too much for one man to endure. My decision-making was beginning to slip; too many human errors.

Once inside my house, I impulsively turned on every light I could think of, and then the under cabinet stereo. Only this time, I would be selecting the music-–not that it really mattered. I wouldn’t be staying around long enough to enjoy it. I would be on another mission–-maybe my last. I thought it very strange that I could almost easily accept something like that; that I had come to a crossroad where the possibilities of life verses death were nothing more than a crap shoot.

I felt no presence in the house anywhere around me, as I set the large flashlight down on the counter, pushed ‘play’ on the shuffle mode of my iPod, and headed for my bedroom for one last piece of weaponry; something that would serve me well in close quarters.

I sat on the bed next to my nightstand and slid open the top drawer. There, still clad in the box, was my Christmas gift. At the time I received it, I, or I’m sure anyone else watching couldn’t have imagined in their wildest dreams that it would have someday soon become the perfect gift. At the time, it seemed so cool, but merely a nostalgic thing to show off. And now I was coming for it. It was going to be put to more than good use. It was going to possibly help me survive.

I opened the box and lifted it from its place of rest. From the kitchen, the song “Running with the Devil” by Van Halen had just started. I took a moment to admire the strong contours of its handle. I clicked open the four inches of serrated steel magnificence, and then closed it again.

I had wasted far too much time since the gunshot, if that was in fact what it was. The stranger could be in need of serious help. I slid the knife into my right front pocket and quickly moved for the kitchen. As I grabbed the flashlight with my left hand and swung the club over my right shoulder, the song was playing its thunderous chorus. This would be my anthem as I moved through the door wall, only partially closing it behind me. Maybe I felt too much of a connection with that particular song at that particular time to shut the door completely.

I had decided to take the long way around the school to avoid being seen by Scott, or anyone else, for that matter. I stepped off the deck, moved through the yard, and around the baseball diamond, making my way towards the front parking lot. As I came upon the stranger’s black Camaro sitting quietly and patiently under the light, I could still hear the faint, distant sound of my theme song resonating in the damp night air. Only, I wasn’t quite running with the Devil-–I had the distinct feeling I would be running to him.

The damp mist had infiltrated most of the grounds by now. I continued across the lot and around the back side of the school, feeling even more uneasy as I would be approaching the playground, and then the back woods, from an entirely different angle. It was an area I wasn’t really all that familiar with.

There was good reason for avoiding this side of the school, especially at night; it was damn scary, particularly with the low visibility of mist that now surrounded me. Houses were practically nonexistent. A tall row of boxwood hedges spanned that whole side, separating and blocking out that side of the subdivision from the school’s property; the quiet, lonely and dark property I was now traveling through. Somewhere, I knew there was a catwalk that joined the two together, only it was far too dark, and I hadn’t the time or interest to look for it.

The black windows probably would have mirrored my image as I passed by, if the security lights that usually surrounded the school weren’t broken and lightless. I clicked on my flashlight and the beam brought that side of the school to life again, bringing ominous shadows to life as well.

I clicked it off again as I had run out of school, slowly inching my way into the playground that proceeded me. Every few seconds I clicked it on to gather my position as I made my way through the large trees and equipment. I heard what I thought to be movement to my left, when I brought my beam on again to see a single swing swaying in the midst of its stationery twins.

“Let the games begin!” I whispered to myself, as a cold chill fell over me; a chill that was consumed by the realization that it was close by, and that I again had made a decision that put me smack in the middle of something very bad. “Hey, Mister?” I nervously called out, inching my way further into the playground, staying at high alert to any movement around me.

“Anyone out here?” Ten or fifteen yards past the tree line, slightly deeper into the woods, I could see a faint glow; a glow that was calling for my attention. A light I knew didn’t belong there.

“Hey--you all right?” I apprehensively spoke out, willing the sound of a human voice. I stepped past the tree line and into the tall weeds, slowly moving closer to it while fighting off the bloodthirsty insects that now hovered about my presence, joining me in my endeavor. I soon stumbled onto the bottom half of that dead deer carcass once more, instantaneously bringing back visions of the other night. I couldn’t decide what was worse, the putrid smell or the mosquitoes biting and feeding on me.

I frowned as I continued forward, frantically swatting them away from my face and neck. I was so immersed in the pesky annoyance of pain and agitation that I was ready to give up and retreat-–when I saw him.

Lying alongside of a dead, fallen tree, within reaching distance of his police-issue flashlight which only now began to falter to a dying amber glow-–it was Officer Daniels. I recognized his face almost immediately, even with his pale, dead stare.

Suddenly the monotonous biting didn’t seem so very bad. My mind and body had become numb once again. I moved in closer, and became sickened with the repulsiveness of his condition. His chest and abdomen were completely exposed to the night air and every insect that had come across his path. I moved the beam of light to his face again, just in time to see the movement of something burrow its way into the tear duct of his left eye. His blood and inner organs were sprayed amongst the green vegetation that surrounded his lifeless, human shell.

I had never before seen a real dead body, and was poised to be sick, when the sound of foot falls crunching the forest ground ahead of me put me into a deep, horrific freeze. I was bent over, terrified to lift my line of sight, and looking to my club that I had leaned against a tree, maybe five feet away. I knew it was watching me; waiting for me to look at it. At least for the moment, I was too scared to give it that satisfaction.

For the longest time, I just stayed there, unmoving, hearing the buzz of tiny wings around my head, feeling the piercing sting of their tiny straws sucking and feasting on my ears, neck, and face. I was sick, scared, and angry. I knew that if I waited there too long, it would eventually do hideous things to me. I knew of its disgusting power. The visions weren’t clear to me anymore, but the pain-–dear God, I remember the excruciating pain.

It made me angry that it could do this to me. The anger was beginning to build inside of me. It had to. I had to feel enough anger to make myself move again, move away-–run away. The anger would be enough to make me escape from this place of fear and death. I began to shake, not only from fear, but even more so with an undeniable rage. A rage that made me scream for my life, scream for my existence, and how nothing was going to take that from me-–ever!

“No!” I shouted long and hard, with a feeling of primal fury that lifted my face in its direction. My anger was soon blanketed by terror once again, as I cast the beam of light into its evil white, smiling face. I couldn’t help but feel it was amused by my human emotion; not only intrigued, but entertained by what it saw. It nodded slightly, and the bulb of my flashlight exploded.

“What do you want?” I screamed, hysterically.

It pointed the long, boney white appendages of its right hand in my direction, nodding to me, still wearing its evil grin.

“You fucking can’t have me!” I yelled. “Fuck you, Smiley!” I turned to run, when I noticed it bring its arms up and straight out from each side of its body, and then drop its head forward; an act I hadn’t seen since this all began that night of the storm.

I was running, not wanting to let my curiosity take control any further. I looked back seconds later and saw him throw his arms and hands forward in my direction. A painful force lifted me from my feet and hurled me through the air, sending me into the chain link backstop of a baseball diamond, maybe forty feet away; jarring my face and body with an incredibly painful force, while crushing the air from my lungs.

Just before my body hit the steel mesh, my frantic mind was already planning my escape. That soon became only wishful thought for another time, as I tried to get to my feet and was soon violently pushed back into the fence again. I could feel the rigidness of a post grinding into my left shoulder blade, when I looked up to see it slowly approaching; a white upright beast stalking its prey… me.

I tasted my own blood and spit it outright as I spoke to my capturer. “Fuck you… you can’t kill me, and you fuck-–” I started to cough as a burning sensation built in my chest. I continued to cough more, spraying blood from my scorching lungs and throat, painting its pallid face with color as it drew closer—now only inches from me. I gasped through the red human syrup of my inner being, desperately searching for the air I knew was there, somewhere.

It reached forward and grabbed my chin with its left hand, scooping the blood from my open mouth with its right, smearing the lot over its pale lips and down its dark tongue. It then smiled, tipped its head sideways, and placed a finger at the center of my forehead.

I felt a dizzying and yet heated sensation growing in my brain; as if my head was starting to boil from the inside. I closed my eyes, feeling as if this would be my end, the slowly faltering light at the end of the tunnel. Vaguely, my conscience began to accept the distant and faint sound of a voice yelling from somewhere. I wasn’t sure if it were a death dream of the unconscious realm, or if it could possibly be the sweet sign of my ongoing existence. I felt my body release and fall limp to the cool dirt and stone.

A human voice—a familiar voice, grew louder and then began to fade. I faded along with it.

When my mind finally came awake, reinstating itself with the reality that I had left, I could hear the recognizable chatter of Dianne and Scott’s voices as they nervously argued back and forth over my condition, and what they should do. I could also identify the scent of it being their home. Funny how every home has a particular smell to it; a signature scent that sets it apart from everyone else’s home, good, or bad.

“But you have to know what you saw!” Dianne spoke. I sensed questionable anger in her voice.

“I don’t know! It was too dark, I told you,” Scott answered, lobbying for the unexplainable response he had chosen to stand by.

As I lay there, even before the time would come for me to decisively open my eyes and meet with their panicked faces, I knew he was hiding something; something he was possibly battling within his conscience… something he did in fact see.

“Oh my God… look at his face!” Dianne squealed.

Even within the tranquil state of dreaming, I became somewhat alarmed by her last remark. Just how bad was my face? It was within that timeframe during which I wasn’t all that clear as to what had really happened to me. I couldn’t place time, and just where I belonged in it. Memory was a delicacy for the blessed of knowing, and the virgin, human lives of everyone spaced a world away from what they didn’t know and would never have to understand.

“Well, I think maybe we should call the police!”

“And tell them what?” Scott responded.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that someone just beat the shit out of your best friend?” Dianne yelled back, fighting to take positive action against whoever had done this to me.

“Why would anyone do this to Josh?” Scott swallowed hard before continuing. “This doesn’t make any sense. Not at all,” he said, then turned to the glass door wall and gazed out into the dark abyss that was the school yard.

“Well, I’m not going to just stand here and try to figure out why! Why doesn’t matter, Scott! What matters is that Josh is lying here beat to hell, and there’s someone out there responsible for it… I’m calling the police!”

I heard her feet thump across the wooden floor, when I moaned and then started to cough, doing my best to clear a viable passage for fresh air. I moved my tongue, exploring the cut and bruised areas of my mouth, tasting the familiar flavor of blood once again as the epically horrifying events started flooding my abused mind with memory. I opened my eyes in time to see Dianne move over me, postponing her phone call for the time being.

“Josh. Can you see okay? Do you think anything’s broken?”

I coughed again, this time spewing blood-laden saliva from the corner of my mouth.

She frantically moved to get a cloth, or something to clean my face. “Scott–-stay with him!” she blurted, as she moved into the kitchen. I heard the sound of cupboard doors slamming and the faucet running. Yes Dianne, I could see. I could see my best friend standing close by with a gentle and comforting hand placed on my shoulder, but with his attention elsewhere.

I knew his physical intentions were good. And it would certainly be misleading to think he wasn’t worried for me, I mean for God’s sake, he was my best friend! But, even as he stood there, worried and concerned, I could sense the change in the air; I could smell it. Scott had, at least in some small degree, entered my world. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from the door wall.

I called his name, and he looked at me. It was the first time I had seen his face since earlier that evening-–and it had already changed. It wasn’t a look of concern, but rather the face of fear; as if he had seen a ghost, or maybe at least something as unpleasant and white.

I did my best to clear my throat, swallowed, and spoke only three simple words to him. “You saw it,” I said, as I pushed a comforting smile his way.

Dianne moved in between us, carefully blotting and wiping my face, as I looked past her and met with his blank stare. Seconds later, he broke from it and moved away from me, playing his card of denial. I couldn’t blame him. After all, I remembered the first time I saw it. The inconceivability you feel as a human outweighs any true or normal reaction you should have. Your mind won’t let you come to terms with what is standing right there in front of you; at least not at first. I, on the other hand, had moved past that stage of what you do or don’t choose to understand. There was no choosing for me anymore. I had become, over the past few days, a true veteran in the game.

“Josh,” Dianne spoke, trying to get my attention. She was unsuccessful and had to speak again. “Josh!”

I finally mumbled a response, feeling somewhat embarrassed for letting my mind drift in the midst of everything that had and was still happening.

“We should go to the hospital at least… we need to get you checked out!” she insisted. “All that blood you’re coughing up… you might have some internal bleeding!” Then, as quick as I had first sensed her anger, I then felt a sudden and compassionate change take her over. She looked as though she were about to cry. “I don’t understand who would do this to you,” she whined, sniffing to keep her nose from running. Her nose was uncomfortably red and her eyes began to well up. “Do you know who did this?” she cried, placing a palm over her mouth in one final attempt to keep the overwhelming emotions at bay.

I didn’t say a thing. I only shook my head in a negative response and turned to Scott, who had since returned his nervous look my way again.

“You know, you could also have a concussion and not even know it.”

“So I’ve heard,” I quietly mumbled.

“So–-hospital?” she asked, looking for takers.

I shook my head, while Scott turned away.

“You two are idiots… I’m going to check on the kids!” Dianne snapped, leaving the room, and us two idiots to our thoughts. I began to think about my own kids, and how badly I missed them. I thought it strange how a series of mind-altering events, spread out over time, could lessen the clarity of a loved one’s missing face. Where there’s a missing peg, not really lost or forgotten; only temporarily replaced until begotten.

Now that Scott and I were alone, we had every chance to talk about it–-the incident. We didn’t, though. We just sat there, maybe six feet between us, both staring out into the blackness which somehow had now become so much darker. It remained quiet for some time, before the one who had been hiding behind a sheet of denial finally spoke three very simple, and yet, very difficult words…

“I saw it.”