Aug 11 2009
I’m crouched by the window, holding my breath, peering through the blinds. They’re back.
Five minutes ago I was in the cellar when a heard a muffled thump-thump-thump. “Probably the dog,” I thought as I clacked away on the computer.
When the thump-thump sounded again, I thought it might be UPS at the door. As I scaled the stairs, a third possibility dawned on me: it’s not UPS. It’s probably them, back again.
In army crawl, I slithered along the wood floor beneath the windowsill and flattened my back against the wall. Then I squinted through the corner of the window. At the door were two women in floral prairie skirts. Yup, it was them again, standing patiently, peering through our screen door.
“What the hell are you doing?” Martin walked in through the mudroom. It was lunch time.
“Shhh! It’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses. They’re back.” I motioned him back with my hand. “Get away from the hall. They’ll see you in the doorway!”
That’s the thing I’ve learned about the JW’s. Not only are they repeat they visitors, they sense when someone’s in the house. Sort of like the aliens in that Sigourney Weaver movie. They hone in on movement. Or body heat. Either way, they caught me a couple of weeks ago — back at their car they spotted me darting across the hallway.
It’s also possible that their support staff — sandwiched in the back seat — watches and reports any movement. “Someone walked by the window when you were at the door. Go back and knock again! Try the door knob!”
Martin refused to crouch down and hide. He gave me that “you’re crazy” look and dug around the fridge for sandwich supplies.
I crept upstairs and watched my target from our bedroom. The door knockers slowly retreated, glancing back a few times, before cramming themselves among 3 others in a car the size of a bread box. Then they watched the house for a while.
And I watched them.