Typically putting my thoughts on paper comes easily. This time, however, it seems nearly impossible. To know what I’ve learned, see what I’ve seen, and know it must be shared has become a burden. If this should get to the wrong people I will be just another statistic, but in the right hands wars could be stopped and the world as we know it would be changed forever. I wonder would our president be receptive or part of the cover-up? Could I go to the media? Would they tell the truth? Or has it gotten so deep that even small town newspapers have spies in their midst? For now, I will simply have to write it down; if for no other reason than to get it out of my head. I’ve seen so much that I already wonder if it’s real.

            For days, I’ve asked myself, “At what point did this start?” I realize that it began long before my great-grandparents were even proverbial twinkles in the eyes of their parents. So, I must start at the point when it became my story. The point furthest back in my memory that I could think of that all the pieces started being put together.

            It’s amazing how a seemingly ordinary everyday occurrence can change a life forever. Sometimes it’s the simple act of going to work like the folks on September 11, 2001 who never made it back home that day. Or the parents who dropped their children off at day care in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. Or the many parents who sent their children off to school only to have them shot by a distraught and troubled student. Or maybe it’s playing in the yard with your cousins on a warm summer day.

            It was August 16, 1977 and I was playing in the yard with my cousin Lisa picking clover flowers and weaving them into crowns when my mom rushed out of the house and called for us to get into the car. We tried asking why we were rushing off but she wouldn't answer us. We climbed into the back of her station wagon and took our positions in the rear facing seat. Within minutes we were at our grandmother's house where several other cousins were hanging out on the porch swing.

            "You girls stay out here with the others," Mom rushed into the house.

            "Did someone die?" I pulled a lawn chair over to face the swing.

            My cousin Tracy shrugged, "I'm not sure but they're all trying to comfort Aunt Ann."

            Amy watched our youngest cousin Lynn crawling around in a playpen and smiled. "I think Lynn needs to be changed. I'll take her in and see what I can find out."

            She picked up the baby and went into the house. The rest of us plastered ourselves to the front window to watch. At first the adults shooed her out of the room but then she held up Lynn and Aunt Ellen nodded and pointed to the diaper bag in the living room. Amy pretended to be changing her younger sister and cocked her head to listen to the adults. A few minutes later she returned to the porch.

            "Well?" her middle sister Tracy pushed her head forward as if it would somehow make her sister tell us sooner.

            "Apparently, Elvis Presley died," Amy seemed less than excited.

            "So, why are they all crying?" I flopped back into my chair.

            "Aunt Ann is a big fan," Lisa glanced back into the house. I imagine she was looking to see how Ann was.

            "I don't think that's a reason for a family meeting!" Joey kicked her feet off the floor to make the swing go higher.

            "Me either, but it's apparently important to them," Amy grabbed one of grandma's throw pillows and hugged it. 

            "Do you think we'll be like that someday?" I sighed.

            "I hope not!" Joey was trying to grab leaves off Grandpa's honeysuckle as she swung past them. "Hey, look! Someone is moving into the old Smith place."

            "Really?" Our attention spans as 7 to 12 year-olds was a lot like squirrels and we all ran to the end of the porch to look.

            Sure enough, there was an orange and silver U-haul truck backing into the old Smith house. For as long as I could remember the house had been empty. It was a sad looking house with faded white paint and many of it's shutters looking droopy. The bright orange of the U-haul was a great contrast. We watched as the truck parked and a single man got out and walked to the house.

            "Doesn't look like there's any kids," Joey sighed.

            "He's got a lot of white hair, maybe he'll have grandkids that visit like we do?"  Lisa was always the optimist.

            Amy grinned again, "I think we all need to go for a walk."

            She ran into the house and politely asked permission for  us to walk to the cemetery. It was something we did often when visiting Grandma so of course they were very glad for us to go and have something to do other than bother them. We put Lynn in a wagon and began our trek along the bumpy sidewalk. The cemetery was on the far side of the old Smith house and gave us a great reason to venture past and inquire as to who the new tenant would be. We hurried past Mrs. Dodd's and Old Man Hendricks' but slowed when we got to the Smith home. Sadly, no one was in the yard. Very slowly we moved on to the cemetery and explored the ones closest to the Smith house. Still, no one came back out. When we felt we could not stall any longer we headed back to Grandma's. 

            Mrs. Dodd had seen us walk by and was waiting on her porch when we came back.  "Everything okay at your grandma's?" 

            We explained that they were consoling Aunt Ann over her favorite singer's death and that we were all just fine. She asked if we had seen who went into the Smith house and Amy explained who we had seen but he hadn't come back out so we could introduce ourselves. Mrs. Dodd smiled and told us to wait just a moment. She shuffled into her house and came back out with a plate of cookies and asked us to take them to the new neighbor.  Tracy carefully balanced the plate and we turned around and went back to the house.

            My stomach churned and I shivered as we approached the house. It seemed weird to walk up to that door.

            Amy knocked and we all waited.

            There was no response so she knocked again.

            We all turned to look at Mrs. Dodd for advice. She shrugged and motioned for us to come on back to her house.

            "Why would he ignore us?" Lisa was offended that someone might not like her.

            Mrs. Dodd handed each of us a cookie and then took a seat on her top step. "He may just not be ready for visitors yet. He hasn't even begun to unload. Give it time and I'm sure you'll all be like his own grandchildren to him."

            We never became like his own grandchildren. We never even learned his name. If we went too close to his yard he would yell at us so we quickly learned to stay away. Sometimes we even crossed the street at Old Man Hendricks' and continued on the far side of the street until we were safe and then went back over. We kept our distance.

            But one day, things changed in our perspective of the mystery man. We were at Grandma's for Easter and busy searching the yard for the colorful hidden eggs when we noticed Uncle Henry walking toward the Smith house.

            "Where's your dad going?" Tracy glanced over at Laura.

            Laura dropped a plastic egg into her basket and looked up, "I don't know."

            The egg hunt was forgotten for a few minutes as we watched Uncle Henry walk up and knock on the front door. An old man answered but remained firmly in the doorway making it clear that Uncle Henry was not welcome to enter. We couldn't hear their conversation but it was clear from their body language that Uncle Henry was upsetting the man. When Uncle Henry turned to leave we quickly scattered around the yard and went back to our hunt. It would be many years before I would learn what had happened between the two men.

            Uncle Henry was the 'cool' uncle. He spoiled all of us. Not just his own kids. Every time there was a family event he was there and he always had a pocket full of dimes. One for each of us. I can't remember how many times he loaded all of us into the back of his old Ford pick-up and took us to the local Tastee Creme. We only had a choice of chocolate or vanilla soft serve, but we didn't care. It was great to all be together.

        As we got older he started taking us to the mall. I think I was about ten and it was about the time video arcades were all the rage. Uncle Henry would hand each of us a dollar and point to the change machine. A dollar's worth of quarters kept us busy for at least an hour, especially when we played two player games. 

            On one occasion he dropped us off and we had to wait in a very long line to get our quarters. As I stood at the end of the line waiting I noticed Uncle Henry talking to a man a few stores down. Something about the way he was gesturing reminded me of the day he stood on the front porch of the Smith house. I couldn't see who he was talking to but noticed Uncle Henry glancing around as if he was nervous about their conversation. 

            Since there was no one behind me in line I moved closer and pretended to be reading the mall map. Uncle Henry and the other man couldn't see me but I was able to hear everything.

            "I'm warning you Henry," the man growled, "you're on borrowed time! If you so much as whisper any of this to anyone you'll regret it for the rest of your life! Look at me! I can't even see my own family!"

            "But we can't sit around waiting any longer!" Uncle Henry sounded like he might cry. "We've been waiting for over ten years."

            "We have to wait! Now stop calling me and do not come to my home!" The man must have left as I could hear footsteps and there was no more talking. I ran back to the change line and prayed that I hadn't been seen. What was Uncle Henry doing that he was using us as his excuse to meet people at the Mall?

            I never told my cousins but wonder now if I should have. I guess ten year old me wasn't knowledgeable enough to put the pieces together. Maybe if I had asked the right questions or told someone else our cousin Timmy would still be alive. I had witnessed the event but wouldn't know for years what had really happened.

            Every summer the entire family went to our grandparents' cabin on the lake. Grandpa had built the cabin himself and it was actually bigger than their house. There was a dock that had room for three row boats and a small outboard. I don't remember exactly what we girls were doing that day but Grandpa was on the beach watching the boys fish. Timmy was in a row boat by himself while Gene and Alan were in the other. I just remember hearing a loud explosion and Uncle Henry going crazy in front of us. Grandpa calmly turned and went to the cabin to call for help while Dad and Uncle Al rushed into the water. Uncle Henry sat on the beach weeping and screaming. All I could think was how does a row boat explode?

            The death was more than Uncle Henry could take. After the funeral he wouldn't let Aunt Maggie or Laura leave the house without him. He stopped attending family functions and there were no more trips to the Mall or the Tastee Creme. It was so bad that he even demanded that Aunt Maggie home school Laura. Home schooling wasn't very common in the 80s so she became something of a recluse herself. We weren't allowed to call them either for fear of what he would do. For years I would beg my mom to find a way to go visit. After a long period of time, I simply gave up. 

            When we all entered high school we hoped he would change his mind and let Laura return but that didn't happen. Uncle Henry had gone from being the cool uncle to the crazy one. Friends didn't believe us when we'd tell them stories. It seemed silly to not be able to share in my everyday happenings with her, but I had never known anyone who had gone crazy before either.

            Apparently Uncle Henry had even quit going to work. The rest of us would hear our parents whisper and learned that things were getting tough. He had inherited his house so there weren't any house payments but there were still bills to be paid. Strangely enough he did agree to sell some of the property and a lady and her son bought the acreage and built a small house. This gave us a new distraction.

            The son was Eric Kommersmith and he was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. The cousins knew I was smitten before I even knew it. They made it a point to invite him to sit with us at lunch and made sure I was always the one sitting right beside him. It didn't take long for him to start inviting me to things and everyone else to consider us a couple. We 'dated', if you can call it that since neither of us could drive and we only saw each other at school, for several months and I was quite happy until the day before Valentine's Day. 

            I got out of class early and decided to surprise Eric by waiting outside of his class. I was the one who got the surprise. There in the middle of the hallway was Eric with his lips firmly planted against Jennifer Davis'. My heart was so distraught and I ran to the nearest restroom. Lisa found me first and did her best to cheer me up. As soon as Joey heard she began plotting revenge. The cousins assured me they would make sure he knew he was scum and after helping me wash away the tear stains we entered the cafeteria. He approached as if nothing was wrong and before he could say anything Tracy pointed at his knees and giggled.

            "What?" he looked down and tried to figure out what she was giggling at.

            She whispered to Lisa and then to me, "Pretend there is something on his knee and just laugh."

            We all giggled and Eric squirmed a little, "What? Would someone please tell me what is on my knee that is so funny?"

            Laura made herself laugh so hard she snorted. That made the rest of us laugh harder.

            "Is there something on my face?" Eric rubbed frantically at his cheeks.

            Again we couldn't control our laughter. A few other people in the room came over to see what the commotion was about and when we whispered to them what we were up to they also began to laugh.

            It wasn't long before a fairly large crowd was standing around laughing at Eric. He ran from the cafeteria and never spoke to any of us again. I felt a little guilty for causing such a scene over nothing, but what he had done to me seemed to make it justifiable. It's amazing what you can trick the mind into believing.

            Years went by and life went on as usual. Nothing exciting. And then the call came. Uncle Henry had passed away. My first thought was, "she's finally free."

             We gathered at a small graveside service in the old cemetery that sits between the old Smith place and the church. I was surprised there were still empty spaces. Mom explained to me that Uncle Henry’s parents had purchased the plot expecting to have a large family. Instead, Uncle Henry had been an only child. So, there we placed Uncle Henry, next to his parents and his only son, Timmy.

            As I stood at the graveside with the cousins I got an eerie feeling that I was being watched. I know that sounds crazy since I was standing in a crowd, but you know that feeling you get when someone’s eyes are specifically on you? I was trying carefully to look around and see if I could catch the person in the act when Lisa nudged my shoulder.

            “Do you see the old man from the Smith house  watching us?”

            I breathed a sigh of relief and glanced toward the dilapidated house.  “I thought I sensed someone watching! Is the old man really still alive?”   

           “I'm surprised he's not yelling at all of us for making too much noise,” Joey whispered between us.

            Tracy chuckled and tried to stifle it.

            I turned so I was able to see the house without being obvious and sure enough the old man was sitting in an upstairs window just watching us.

            “That’s creepy,” Lisa shivered.

            “Maybe he’s just curious?” I tried to avert my eyes back to the minister and Uncle Henry’s coffin, but something about the old man kept my gaze.

            “And so we return to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Amen,” the minister pronounced the end of the service.

            I turned my eyes away from the house for a second and when I looked back the old man was gone.

            “What are you girls so caught up in that you were whispering through a prayer?” Aunt Kay scolded.

            “The old man watching us from that upstairs window,” I pointed to the house and reluctantly walked with the family back to the church.

            “In that house?” Kay was incredulous.

            Lisa nodded, “He was there. I saw him too.”

            “That house has been empty for years,” Kay held the door for us. “It must have been a reflection or something.”

            We both shrugged. I sighed, “I guess, but it sure looked like an old man watching us.”

            “Mr. Garon still owns that house,” Aunt Maggie explained. “Maybe he was watching.”

            “Garon’s been dead for years!” Kay snapped.

            “I don’t think so,” Maggie wrinkled her brow in thought.

            "I thought he died a few years ago of a stroke or something," Mom was trying to remember for sure.

            "See!" Aunt Kay tapped Maggie with her cane.

            Lisa and I simply walked away and left them to discuss it.

            The next morning I was still thinking about the old man. He had always been a mystery to us. I decided it was time to find out who the mystery man was.  A trip to the local courthouse did not provide much information. The property was listed as being owned by the Smith family trust. Talk about vague. I pondered my other options and decided to just go to the house and find out.

            I parked my car at the church and walked through the cemetery. It seemed less conspicuous that way. The ground was still damp from the morning dew. Every step closer made me very nervous. Every bird that chirped and tree branch that squeaked made my heart race. Would he be as rude to me as an adult as he had been when I was a child?

            “Where you headed?” A male voice caused me to let out a slight scream.

            I spun around and found Eric Kommersmith, in a police uniform, leaning on the wrought iron fence that surrounded the cemetery.

            “What are you doing here?” I snapped.

            “Got a report that someone was calling for help at the old Smith place,” he walked with me along the fence row. "Then I saw you sneaking through the cemetery so I thought I'd investigate."

            "I am not sneaking!"

            "You were awfully jumpy for someone who wasn't."

            “It's a cemetery. I wasn't expecting voices! And I was lost in thought thinking about old man who still lives there?” I pointed to the old Victorian house. It truly resembled something from an old Halloween story. You know, like, if you kick the ball into the yard, the crazy old man that lives there will eat you when you go after it. The white paint was barely visible now and the shutters even in more disarray than they were in 1977. It was hard to believe someone was really living in that house.

            Eric nodded, “Yep. Neighbors said they couldn’t find anyone around, but can hear a man calling for help. I came to check it out. I didn’t hear anything or see anything. Visiting your uncle’s grave?”

            “Maybe,” I answered. It wasn’t a complete lie. I was in the cemetery and going to pass the grave.

            Then we both heard it. A quiet and muffled cry, but a cry nonetheless.

            We looked at each other and then ran to the porch of the old house.

            “Was that inside or out?” Eric whispered.

            I shrugged.

            We listened, straining our ears to hear it again.

            Nothing.

            “Should we go in?” I whispered.

            Eric was reaching to knock when the door flew open and a lanky old man growled, “It's about time you got here!”

            I screamed and Eric stepped backward.

            Before we could compose ourselves we were being yanked into the house. He was strong for a lanky old man.

            Once we composed ourselves Eric introduced himself. “I had a call from some of your neighbors that they heard screams for help coming from your house.”

            The old man chuckled. “Guess I should turn down the television.”

            We looked at each other. That answered my question. Not only was he still alive and living in the house he was doing something that seemed fairly normal; watching television.  I wondered if running electricity in the old place was safe. Then I truly looked around. The house was certainly not the same inside as it was out. Instead of leaking ceilings and broken windows, the house was immaculate with hard wood floors, oriental rugs, antique furniture and elaborate light fixtures. The only thing that reminded us he might possibly be a crazy old man was the newspaper clippings that were taped to everything.

            "Why do I feel like we just stepped into an episode of Hoarders meets Criminal Minds?" I whispered to Eric.

            “How long have you lived here?” Eric ignored me and asked in his official police voice.

            “Too long,” the old man snarled.

            “Are you Mr Smith?” I was noticing that hiding behind the clippings were framed photos and more clippings in frames.

            He scoffed, “No. That was my mother’s name. I inherited this house from her.”

            “Then what shall we call you?” Eric was ignoring my attempts to get his attention.

            “Mr. G.”

            He led us down a hallway and into the kitchen where he motioned to the table. We each took a seat and he grabbed a couple of coffee mugs from a rack. Without even asking if we wanted any, he placed the cups in front of us and began filling them with coffee. I was about to ask about the news clippings and frames on the walls when a blood curdling scream came from the living room.

            “Oh, I forgot about the T.V.,” and he shuffled off.

            “I know you were ignoring me back there!” I snapped at Eric. “What is up with this place?”

            “What do you mean?” Eric nonchalantly sipped his coffee.

            I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on! The house is a complete dump outside, but tidier and nicer than my own inside! Well, except for the newspaper clippings. What’s up with that?”

            “I have a strange obsession,” Mr. G. was suddenly back at the table. My heart was once again racing. How could an old man be so stealth? He reminded me of John Turturro’s character in “Mr Deeds”. Sneaky, very sneaky. 

            Eric straightened himself in the chair and said in his authoritative voice that was beginning to grate on my nerves, “So, Mr. G, would you like to tell us about this obsession?”

            He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat across from us. Then he smiled. “You two don’t even know that it was predestined for you to be here, do you?”

            My head was beginning to hurt and I wasn’t certain if I wanted answers or to just be out of there.

            “Please explain,” Eric checked the radio on his shoulder.

            “Nineteen seventy-seven,” Mr. G. offered a plate of donuts and I nearly choked at the cliché.

            “Excuse me?” Eric shook his head no to the donuts.

            “You asked me earlier how long I’ve lived here,” He sat the plate of donuts in the middle of the table. “I’ve been living here since the fall of nineteen seventy-seven.”

            I could have told him that! Where was Eric going with all of this? The old man was alive, it was just his TV so let's go! I was trying to say to Eric with my eyes.

            Eric scratched his head, “Okay. So that answers that question. But what did you mean by your earlier statement?”

            “I always intended to finish the outside once I got the inside the way I wanted it. Guess I never got around to it. It’s a shame since it’s a grand old house.”

            “Mr. G,” Eric was quickly losing his patience. “What about your comment that we were predestined to be here?”

            He sipped his coffee and thought. I leaned over to Eric and whispered. “This is getting us nowhere. He’s apparently just a senile, lonely, old  man.”

            “I AM NOT senile,” Mr. G sat his cup down with force.

            Eric stood and motioned for Mr. G to calm down. “Okay, Mr. G, there is no need to get angry. We’re simply trying to make sure you are not a threat to yourself, or anyone else.”

            “And I’m simply trying to make sure you two are ready to handle the truth!”

            “This is getting way out of hand.” I stood and pushed my chair in. “I’m so sorry we bothered you. We’ll be going now.”

           Mr. G. shook his head and fought to catch his breath.

            "Should I call an ambulance?" Eric was reaching for his radio.

           Again, Mr. G. shook his head no. "Give me a second." He took several deep breaths and then seemed to be okay.  "Do you two have any idea what you've gotten yourselves into by coming here?"

            "Obviously not," I blurted.

            He chuckled, "I have been trying for years to protect you and keep you away but I suppose in light of upcoming events it's time."