In unison our heads turn to the source of the sound.

At some point it had finally gotten dark. No light seeps in through the windows.

It’s just a racoon, I tell myself as we head to the front door.

I step outside, stand on the steps. Pitch black nothing. I can’t even see the tree line. The moon is absent. The metroplex is too distant for its glow to light up the horizon. The only sources of light are what spills out from the living room, a small security light that sits on a pole near the far edge of the car port, and the impossibly bright stars that fill the sky.

Sound is mostly absent. There are no cars, no engines, no tires on asphalt. There are no shouts of children at play. No loud music. Only the obnoxious chirping of crickets.

It is then that Jerry points to the door that leads from the carport to the living room, or more specifically, the area beside it. The wheeled garbage can that had been sitting next to it is now over on its side. A racoon, I knew it.

I jog back into the kitchen, grabbing my rifle. I’m less interested in the weapon itself, and more so the powerful flashlight attached to it. The two of them are still standing there peering into the darkness when I return.

I stand in the doorway, sweeping the beam across the yard, wondering what critter it will illuminate. Nothing. I go down the steps, walking out toward the edge of the carport. My only fear is that it is a skunk.

“Be careful!” Jerry says in one of those hushed shouts.

“Ya, ya,” I say, reaching the edge and turning so that I can get a look at the front of the house.

There is nothing, just the thin tree that sits inside a circle of stones, positioned between the two windows. In the distance, the little shed sits there, a perfect hiding place for pesky critters.

I turn, start walking behind the vehicles. I get around to the other side of Jerry’s truck, slowly move the beam between it and Daniel’s van. Then I move the beam to his back bumper; I notice for the first time that it sports a sticker with a neon green alien head on it.

Movement. Something in the corner of my eye. A blur against the side of the house. The animal had been against the wall, so that a tool bench was concealing it from the others.

Pushing forward, I clear his van, check between it and my vehicle. Halting, I listen. The only thing I can hear is the almost deafening sound of crickets.

I come around the side of my truck and find myself face to face with the source of the noise.

It is just as he described it. A bulbus head, massive jet-black eyes. A slit mouth. And impossibly long claws. Strangest of all, a pair of antennas sit on the top of its dome-like head.

It stands there under the spotlight, like it is putting on a show.

I start to raise my gun, lining up the front sight post.

An eye blink and it has crouched down and sprung into the air. There is a loud bang as it lands on the carport. I look up, realize that the sights of my weapon have failed to follow my head. I track it has it runs across the top, the thin metal sheets making a racket as it makes its way onto the roof.

I stand there, dumbfounded, eyes glued upward.

“What the hell was that?” it’s the voice of my brother. The exclamation knocks me out of it. I sweep the yard again, nothing. Then I step out from under the carport and around the side of my truck so that I can check that side of the house, nothing. The whole time I keep frantically checking the roof, and again, nothing.

“What’s going on?” the investigator has come down the steps, walking in front of the vehicles, his eyes switching between me and the metal roof. His hand is near his gun. My brother is behind him, rifle in hand.

Reality slams its way past the fog of fear and confusion, “Get back inside!” I yell.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

To their credit, they don’t stop to ask questions. The two of them turn and jog back to the door. We clamber up the steps; I slam the door behind me.

“What happened?” Daniel askes.

“I saw it.”

“It?” Jerry says, eyes wide.

“Ya, it.”

“My god.” Daniel whispers, staring at the ceiling. We follow his gaze, then I realize how dumb that is and glance out the shitty peephole. There is a dull thump somewhere overhead.

“Don’t shoot, the layers of wood and crap will slow the bullet down too much. Daniel, watch the back door. Jerry, you watch the living room. I will go between the sides.”

Daniel runs into the kitchen, comes out with his shotgun in hand.

I reach the office. I can barely see out the window, the reflection just shows me myself, which makes me realize that I am not fully prepared. Unsure if I should feel dumb for believing what is going on or for not immediately grabbing the extra ammo, I dart into the kitchen.

I get up close to one of the windows, find that I am having the same problem. Despite the fact that it is almost useless, I face the window that is across from the table as I put the LBV on. The weight of the mags is comforting, as the weight of any weapon is. That is until it crosses the line into being a burden. The image of that thing comes back, and I realize that the vest won’t feel heavy for a while yet.

Debating if it is the right idea, I switch the lights off and go back to the window. The above ground pool is about the only thing that I can see. I can just make out the surface of the water, which is still.

I walk over to the sink, find that this window is less than adequate, notice that the paranormal investigator has put a little camera up so that it faces outward. I close the thin yellow curtains, hoping it will deny the thing a way of seeing in.

I head out into the hall, seeing Daniel posted up by the backdoor. I ask him how much he can see.

“Not much,” he reports.

“Go into the girl’s room or the parent’s, if you need to.”

I start to head toward the living room to check up on Jerry. Then I wonder if the utility room door is locked. First things first. A jog to the entrance to the hallway, “How’s it doing?”

“I have too many windows to watch,” he complains.

“Sorry, nothing that I can do about it. Shut off the lights so that you can see outside better.”

I leave before he can object that he will trip or something. I enter the utility room, find that the door is locked, let out a sigh of relief. Before heading to the office, I try to lock the inner door, but it has none. I guess that it is meant to be more for muffling the sound of the washer and dryer.

I step into the office, eyes drawn to the window. The horror of having to see that thing again, only kept at bay by the absolute need to keep it from getting in the house. I kill the light, quickly realize that the boxes are still in the way. I flip the switch back, my rifle hangs from the D-ring on my vest as I move the pile of crap out of the way. Then I realize how heavy the old footlocker is and I get an idea.

“What are you doing?” Daniel calls out as he moves from the parent’s room to the girl’s room.

The chest makes an agonizing sound as I drag it out of the office, “Setting up a barrier,” I declare as I move it into position in front of the laundry room. The only problem is that it is kind of in the way when someone needs to enter or exit the office, but this is a minor concern.

I kill the lights again, cautiously move toward the window. The light on the pole provides some illumination on this side. I can just make out the old tractor.

The shock is starting to fade; I find myself questioning if I had even really seen it. Then what had run across the top of the carport? That had definitely happened, as the others had reacted to it. And it had certainly weighed more than a racoon or possum as it stomped its way over the thin metal sheets.

I head back into the hall, almost running straight into Daniel. We awkwardly do that thing where two people try to pass each other but keep stepping to the same side. In any other situation it would be funny, maybe a bit annoying. Now it is downright terrifying.

I poke my head into the living room, “Anything?”

He is looking out the front window, turns to me for a second, “I thought that I saw something hiding behind the shed.”

I carefully step around the coffee table, peer out the big side window. The shed reflects a bit of light, is little more than a pale shape in the darkness. I move to the other edge of the glass, trying to see if I can get a good view of that side of the house from here. Nothing. I can’t even see the pool.

“Don’t get tunnel vision,” I order, before heading down the hall again.

I hit the office again, suspiciously studying the old tractor, or more like what could be hiding behind its rusted frame. Then, I head back into the kitchen, seeing Daniel look out the backdoor on the way. He follows me.

“You think it’s gone?” I ask.

“Haven’t heard it in a while. Didn’t hear it jump down, either.”

“Is that a maybe?”

“It is a maybe,” he confirms, “I don’t like the way that those claws were described. But my main concern is paralyzation.”

“What?”

“The thing that makes the abduction phenomenon scary isn’t really the aliens. Sure, the greys are creepy. But you could just beat the shit out of the skinny little guys if you really needed to. The thing that makes it scary is the fact that they can paralyze you. Nothing is worse than being helpless and at the mercy of something sinister.”

“Why don’t you think that they have used it on us?”

“Could be that they have to do something to us first. Maybe they have to sneak in while we are asleep and implant something. Maybe that is why they are so interested in us; maybe we are in some way resistant. Who knows?”

In the window behind him, the face of that thing.