The Aliens Return

I’m crouched by the window. Holding my breath, peering through the blinds. They’re back.

Five minutes ago I was holed up in the cellar when I heard a muffled thump-thump-thump. I dismissed it as the dog.

But when the thumping cued again, I realized it might be UPS. And as I scaled the stairs, a third possibility dawned on me: it’s not UPS, it’s 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 bottom windowpane. At the door were two women in floral prairie skirts. Yup, it was them, waiting and peering through layers of screen and glass.

“What the hell are you doing?” Martin came in the back door and into the kitchen for lunch.

“Shhh! It’s the Jehovah’s Witnesses.” 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 persistent but 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 — they were at their car when they spotted me.

It’s also possible that the disciples sandwiched in the backseat watch and report 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 food.

I crept upstairs and watched my target from our bedroom. Eventually the door knockers retreated, glancing back a few times, before cramming in a car the size of a bread box. Then they watched the house for a while.

And I watched them.

Finally the JWs gave up and left. I beat the aliens this time. But they’ll be back.