One summer evening back in junior high, Dad was deployed and Mom was away, and my buddy Mike was over at my house. We were up to our elbows fighting low-res, 8-bit dragons on my venerable OG Atari 2600 gaming console. The entire house was empty and dark except for us, lit by the glow of the TV screen. But I kept getting this prickly sensation on the back of my neck and a creepy feeling that we weren't alone.
I chalked it up to the game until I noticed Mike started looking over his shoulder at my open bedroom door. I elbowed him. Hard. "C'mon, man! You've gotta help keep a lookout for those dragons!"
Ignoring my irritated tone and elbow in his ribs, he kept looking over his shoulder. "Hey, Wayne, who else is here?"
My hand froze on the joystick and my on-screen player was summarily killed by Rhindle. Annoyed and unnerved at the same time, I asked, "Whadda ya mean?"
"I dunno, man. I just get this feeling we're not alone or someone is watching us."
I got hit by a massive wave of goosebumps. Trying to shrug off my growing feeling of unease and salvage some manliness, I took a derisive tone, "Pfft. Yeah, right. Whatever, loser." Then Mike, still staring at the open door, turned to look at me. I saw it in his eyes. He was really spooked.
"I think we need to get out of here." Another cascading wave of goosebumps.
"Yeah. Let's go." We both were instantly on our feet. I grabbed my yellow recurve bow off the wall and Mike snagged the nunchucks from my dresser. The house was still dark so we ran for the front door, flung it open, and dashed out the front gate. He and I sprinted the entire quarter-mile to his house, all the while muttering "Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap." in between ragged breaths.
We must have been a sight - two kids running full tilt, knees to chest. One was carrying an unstrung target bow (with no arrows) and another was flailing himself with an illegal weapon. We either had the most chill neighborhood or everyone was just so inured by our shenanigans, it was chalked up to, "Hmmph. Martha, the little punks are at it again."
We got to Mike's house, out of breath and visibly shaken, making Mike's mom a little panicked, "What happened?" She casually glanced out the window to see if our sudden arrival would be followed up with a visit from the Long Beach police department.
Mike and I both launched into spirited and simultaneous explanations that got louder and faster as we went on. Mike's mom stood with arms crossed and looked from one to the other of us, trying to suss out if this was legit or another practical joke at her expense. After eyeballing us for a bit, she made her decision and grabbed her car keys off the counter. "OK, boys. Let's go."
Mike's mom was cool. Rather than dismiss our story as the product of overactive juvenile imaginations, she bundled us into the car and drove us back to my house. When we arrived, she pushed the front door open. We'd apparently left it ajar during our abrupt evacuation. With us in tow, she walked the entire house, rosary in hand. All other doors were locked and windows were closed. Satisfied there was no physical danger, she sat both of us down on my bed.
"Wayne, do you want to stay with us until your mom gets home?" By this time, I'd shaken the willies and was starting to feel pretty sheepish about all the ruckus.
"No thanks, Mrs. Thurman. I think I'm OK now. Sorry about the fuss."
She just smiled and said she'd make me some pizza next time I was over. With that, she and Mike were gone. I still don't know what went down earlier, but I slept with all my bedroom lights on that night for the first time since I was a (much younger) kid.
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