(c)Linda Goodman July 30, 2017
In the
spring of 2013 I went grocery shopping and returned home with a car full of
bright blue, plastic Food Lion grocery bags. My husband, Phil, and I had just
moved to Waxhaw, North Carolina a few months earlier, and we were enjoying our
peaceful home in the woods. We lived on a one-half mile long street that
had only ten houses on it. All our neighbors worked for businesses in Charlotte
or Monroe, so they were not home during the day. My husband, however, was
retired; and I worked my storytelling business from home. Sometimes the dead
silence felt creepy. As I got my groceries out of the car I thought to myself,
if a wild animal (coyote, bear) were to attack me, no matter how loud I
screamed, no one would hear me.
Carrying
several bags of groceries, I walked up the sidewalk on my way to the front
door, when I glanced at one of our garage windows and noticed a man dressed in
black, wearing a wide brimmed black hat, walking across the garage. It took a
minute for my internal bells to sound the alarm. SOMEONE WAS IN MY
GARAGE!
I looked
again, but saw no one. Was my garage door locked? I couldn't remember.
That man could be in my house at this very minute, I realized. He could
be waiting in a closet or behind a door to rob me, or worse!
Take it easy, I
told myself; don't let your imagination run away with you. THINK! My husband
was fishing with our son-in-law that day. Neither of them would be of any help
to me. My cell phone was in the house. As usual, I had forgotten to put it in
my purse before I left for the grocery store.
I
considered that I could get back in my car, drive to the convenience store down
the road, and call the police. That was probably the smartest thing to do; but
I did not act smart. I panicked. I took my key out of my purse and opened the
door.
"Phil,
honey," I yelled, "I think there is someone in the house. Get your
gun out of the car."
I was
hoping that this would scare the man into running out the back door, but
nothing happened.
"Whoever is in here, you better leave," I shouted. "We
have a gun and we know how to use it. My husband has a sharp-shooter medal from
the Marines!"
Nothing
happened.
I lowered
the register of my voice and did a fair impression of my angry husband, "We
are going to leave and come back in 10 minutes. If you are still here when we
get back, I'm going to blow your head off!"
I deposited
my grocery bags on the front porch and went back to the car. I drove to the
convenience store and got myself a half-and-half ice tea. After hearing my
story, the store clerk convinced me that I should call the police.
Ten minutes
later, I stood on my front porch waiting for the police to arrive. When they
got there, I unlocked my front door. As they searched my house I mourned the
ice cream bars that had surely melted by that time. This was not turning out to
be a very good day. No one had ever invaded my home before. I would never feel
safe in this house again.
The two
policemen took their time and did a thorough search. They found no one.
"He
must have run off while I went to the convenience store," I advised them.
"He was probably scared of my husband's invisible gun."
"Ma'am, there was no one in your house," the younger of the two
policemen insisted. "There was no sign of forced entry, either. Did you
leave one of the doors unlocked?"
"Impossible," I said. "I am adamant about locking my
doors. I check them over and over again before I go anywhere."
"Where
did you say you saw this man?" the policeman asked.
"He
was walking past the garage windows," I replied.
The
policeman's brow furrowed. "Was he walking on air?"
"What
do you mean, was he walking on air?" I asked.
"Well,
Ma'am," the policeman explained, "while we were searching the garage,
I noticed that the garage windows were seven feet off the ground. The man would
have had to have been very tall for you to have seen him walking past those
windows."
That had
not occurred to me, but I had to admit that the young policeman was right.
The older
policeman decided to add his two cents, "It was probably old Sully,"
he said. "Old Sully had a fit when he found out that homes were going to
be built on this land. It was land that was taken from him to pay back taxes.
He took to wearing black after the building started. He was in mourning for his
land."
"Well
that proves that I saw someone," I concluded. "The man I saw was
wearing black. Are you going to arrest this Sully person?"
The older
policeman shook his head. "We can't arrest Old Sully, Ma'am. He died about
three weeks after the construction of these homes began. You're not the first
person on this street to get a visit from him. Reckon he is still mad about his
land."
After the
police left and I had put my groceries away, I went through everything in the
house to make sure that nothing was missing. Early that evening, while I was
reading on my back deck, I saw a black flash streak through the woods behind
our house. "Bye, Old Sully," I called out. "Don't come back.
It's my house now."
I never saw Old Sully again.
