*Or, you know, imaginative.
Anyway, aside from the occasional stupidity which causes me to stand on my front porch yelling profanities, not much happens in my quiet corner of the world. So I don't have much cause to ever be suspicious.
... Until one night a few weeks ago. *cue creepy music*
Curtis had gone out for poker night at a friend's house, so I waited up for him.
Kind of like this, except I don't have a cool hat that resembles an acorn.
He got home around one-thirty in the morning. We sat around chatting for a few. Since we were up, the dogs decided they needed to go outside to pee - so around two o'clock, I leashed them up and took them.
I have a huge side yard with a creek running along the edge of it. Everything was eerily quiet, as things tend to be in the middle of the night, as I stood in the darkness and let the dogs do their thing.
Suddenly I noticed a car coming up the street. This wouldn't have been too unusual, except this car pulled to a stop beside the creek in our yard. Obviously they didn't expect or notice me (or the dogs) in the shadow of the house. The window of the car was rolled down, and the driver was facing me, so I heard him unmistakably clearly as he said, in a cold, serious tone: "Push him in this creek."
As soon as he said the words, my lab Josie barked her big bark - which must have startled the driver, because he mashed on the gas. The car sped away and turned off our street at the first available turn.
I literally felt sick and shaky inside. Because like ... that was freaking creepy. First of all, nobody puts something into a random creek in the middle of the night unless they don't want anybody to see them doing it. Second of all, the way he phrased it: push him in this creek. If it was trash or something, he wouldn't have called it him. And if it were something small? It would have been throw it in this creek, toss it in this creek, chuck it in this creek ... but not push. Push is reserved for something big. Something you can't move easily. LIKE A BODY.
And the way he drove away the second he realized someone was nearby. Fast. Frantic.
And the way he said the words. Solemnly. Without even the vaguest hint of humor or teasing in his voice. It wasn't like, "Ha ha ha, our friend is so drunk, let's push him in this creek."
I went in the house and told Curtis, "I think I need to call the police." And I did. They took me seriously, sending two cops out to canvass the neighborhood and get a report from me.
Nothing ever came of it, except me freaking out every single night for a week thinking that they would come back to retaliate, mob-style, because I knew too much. But here I am, still alive and blogging and stuff.
Still, I can't help but wonder if I stumbled upon something very sinister.
They're lucky I didn't somersault across my yard and ninja-kick their car door open and yank the driver out by his creepy suspicious hair and beat him until he confessed to whatever he was doing there.*
* ... or something.
Curtis makes fun of me. He says I'm overly paranoid (of course, this is the guy who calls me a "doomsday prepper" because I want to make a small emergency supply kit to keep in our basement).
What do you think?
PS - I've got a new giveaway up! Click HERE or on the "Giveaways and Reviews" tab to check it out ... you've got one week to enter!