Lightning Bugs

You just went downstairs to switch the clothes to the dryer. As you turn off the light, you see the flash of lightning bugs in the back yard. Deciding to close the door to the laundry room to create total darkness, you move to the window, like some Peeping Tom, to enjoy the flickering of their mating dances. They fill the sky and trees with a wonderfully calming light. Strangely, their light slowly begins to fade, with only the faint glow from the kitchen window above now casting pale shadows across the yard.

And then you see it. The form of a man, hooded and all in black, blending with the near darkness before you, almost gliding across the back tree line. You freeze, hairs on your arms beginning to raise, a chill running down your spine. He stops in front of you, slowly turning your way. You’re unable to make out a face, but know he’s looking at the window, the window you are standing at. Does he see you? Motionless, you fear to even blink, not daring to move even the slightest. And now you’re stuck in a frozen dance, with this figure of the darkness, where even time has seemed to stop. If you move to open the door and run, the light will give you away, and he’ll know for sure that you’re there. Are the doors locked? The windows?

It makes the first move, and the race is on!