In the Small Town of Cedar Wood

Tom Myers is just an average man in a small town. Until the unexpected happens...

         
         
Hannah Free                                                                       Approx. 6,000 words
(903)-216-3651
4057 County Road 21
Tyler, TX. 75707
[e-mail]








                             

IN THE SMALL TOWN OF CEDAR WOOD

by

                                                  Hannah Free


































                              IN THE SMALL TOWN OF CEDAR WOOD


          "In the small town of Cedar Wood, a man named Tom Myers lived a simple life. He worked for an oil well company, was married to Lindsay, and had two kids, Bobby and Jenny. Tom was a friendly, down-to-earth guy, and he would never have imagined something so bizarre could happen to him."


         It all started on a cold, cloudy day in Cedar Wood, following a heavy rain the night before. Tom said goodbye to Lindsay and the kids, then left for work in his big truck, just like always. He drove carefully down the streets, which were slick and scattered with small tree limbs.                              As he traveled down an old road beside a small pond, he noticed that the heavy rain had caused the pond to overflow onto the road. Before he could turn around, Tom's truck got stuck in the rising water.
          He attempted to drive out, but his tires were firmly trapped in the mud and water. Taking his wallet out of his pocket to keep it dry, he climbed out of the truck to assess the situation. Wading through the calf-deep water, he realized that if he kept trying to drive, he might eventually free the truck.                                                                                                                                  On his way back to the front of the truck, Tom tripped over a stick and fell into the water. Soaking wet, he stood up and shook his head.
          "This just isn't my day," he muttered. A little later, despite the wet and muddy truck, he managed to escape the flooded road and sighed in relief.
          Tom knew he was a bit late, but his boss, Robert Porter, had told him the day before not to stop at the office first. Instead, he was to head over to some old oil wells that a new customer wanted to get running again. Robert had also mentioned that he would send one of the other men to assist him
          So, Tom drove his truck to the oil wells, navigating down a gravel lane that passed some mobile homes before arriving at a small clearing bordered by woods. The oil wells stood quietly to the side. Tom stepped out of his truck and climbed the metal stairs to the top of the wells. After working for a while, he realized he needed another hand to help him.
          At that moment, Tom heard the crunch of tires on the gravel road, a sound that jolted him from his thoughts. He was aware that this isolated path rarely welcomed visitors. He recognized the rumbling of Matt Willis' truck.
          Thank goodness Robert sent Matt; he's just the right person for this task, Tom thought, feeling a flicker of relief. Robert had always insisted on a casual approach, preferring to be called by his first name rather than "Mr. Porter," a detail everyone respected.
          Matt parked the truck and climbed out, his boots sounding loud on the stairs as he ascended.
          "Hey, Matt," Tom greeted. "I'm glad you're here; I'm having trouble with this gauge."
          Matt paused mid-step, scanning the area as if searching for something elusive. His gaze landed on Tom, yet it felt as though he was looking right through him, as if Tom were nothing more than the wind that was blowing.
          Matt rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion, then shrugged it off and continued his ascent to the top platform, the old wood creaking under his weight.
          "Matt, is everything okay?" Tom asked, his voice laced with concern.
          Again, Matt's eyes darted around, searching the empty space. "Who's there?!?" he called out, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.
          "It's just me," Tom reassured him, stepping closer and placing a hand gently on Matt's shoulder.
          "Aah!" Matt shouted, spinning around, his expression a mix of fear and bewilderment. In that moment, it hit Tom with panic that if Matt couldn't see him, then perhaps he was invisible.
          Disbelief and confusion surged within him, intertwining with a strange sense of dread. How could this be possible? It felt unreal, yet the cold, damp fabric clinging to his skin reminded him he was very much awake, trapped in a nightmare that blurred the lines between reality and illusion.
          Tom climbed down the stairs, leaving Matt still shaken by the presence of someone unseen. Determined to find answers, Tom headed to his boss, Robert, who was known for his level-headedness.                                                                                                                                            He sat in his truck for a moment, recalling the books he'd read about invisibility, which all said that invisible people couldn't see themselves. Yet, there he was, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
          The only explanation he could think of was that he must have become invisible after passing through the flooded pond. Strange, considering it was just a pond. The mystery of his condition left him puzzled.
          Frustrated, Tom decided to stop overthinking and drive to the office. He started the truck and pulled onto the road, aware of his invisibility as cars zoomed past him, barely missing him. Stopping in the middle of the road would surely lead to disaster. Now it was clear: the flooded pond had made him and his truck invisible, both soaked from the water.
          Shivering from the cold and dampness, Tom felt the cold beginning chill him. He longed for the warmth of the office.
          Upon arriving, he parked and stepped out, making his way to the door. As he slowly opened it, he knew Robert's secretary, Ellen Stevens, would be at her desk facing him.
          As Tom entered, a wave of warm air enveloped him, bringing a sigh of relief. He watched Ellen, who didn't seem to notice the door opening on its own. Moving quietly, he slipped past her and opened the door to Robert's office. Ellen Stevens glanced around, sensing a presence, but then shrugged and returned to her work.
          Robert was seated at his desk when Tom walked in, but he remained oblivious to Tom's presence. Robert was focused on his writing when he heard the door open. He looked up, surprised to find no one there, and resumed his work.
          Tom stepped closer, calling out, "Robert."
          Robert jumped up from his chair, startled. "Who's there? Where are you?" His face showed a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
          Tom shook his head. If Robert was supposed to be more sensible than Matt, he sure wasn't acting that way! At that moment, Tom chose to keep his invisibility a secret, at least for now. Though confused about how he'd become invisible, he realized how rare an experience like this was.
          "Over here," Tom whispered, suppressing a grin as he saw the panicked look on his boss's face. He approached Robert's desk quietly, picked up the paperweight, and placed it down with a light clink. Then, shifting a stack of papers from one side of the desk to the other, he stepped back to watch.
          "What on earth...?" Robert sank heavily into his chair, scanning the room with wide eyes. His gaze fell on the paperweight, and he rubbed his head, mumbling, "This is the strangest thing. Am I losing my mind?" Just then, the office door creaked open and shut on its own, leaving Robert staring, mouth agape.
          Tom moved back toward Miss Stevens' desk, still shivering from the cold. Miss Stevens had just poured herself a fresh mug of coffee, steam curling warmly from the cup as she read a paper on her desk. With a furrowed brow, she set down the cup, muttering, "That doesn't sound right at all." She scratched through sentences, her pen darting across the page.
          While she focused on her editing, Tom's attention drifted to the coffee. He couldn't resist its warmth, so he lifted the mug, took several gulps, and set it back down quietly.
          Miss Stevens didn't even notice. A few moments later, she absently lifted her coffee cup to her lips, surprised when she tasted nothing but air. She frowned, looking into the empty cup. "I thought I poured a full cup," she murmured, rubbing her forehead as if to shake off a lingering fog. "Maybe I drank it all... I must be getting forgetful." With a slight sigh, she refilled her cup.
          Afterward, Miss Stevens stepped into Robert's office to ask him a question about her work. While she was in there, Tom couldn't resist drinking coffee, savoring the warmth and enjoying the small act of mischief.
          When Miss Stevens returned, Tom overheard her mutter, "Robert's acting strange today... almost like he's going insane." She resumed her place at her desk, eyeing the coffee pot with suspicion. There was barely any coffee left. "I couldn't have drunk all that, could I?" Her brow furrowed as she glanced around, a hint of doubt in her gaze. "Am I going insane?"
          Meanwhile, Tom slipped out of the building as quietly as he could, biting back a grin. It seemed everyone was starting to feel a bit out of their mind.
          He headed to his truck, then he paused, uncertain of where to go or what to do. He figured he'd work out how to feel "normal" again if he even could.
                                                            #
         As Tom walked toward his truck, one of the company's heavy-duty 18-wheeler oil rigs pulled into the parking lot, its robust design standing out. These trucks were more fortified than the average semi, designed by a German engineer with an eye for resilience, and nothing could seem to dent them. Crafted from the hardest steel and a secret alloy, these rigs practically guaranteed safety for their drivers, even in an accident.                                                                                          Tom backed up instinctively as the semi approached, realizing with a jolt that he was invisible. Just then, the semi began reversing and collided right into his truck! Tom's truck, also invisible, shifted under the massive weight, nearly crushed as it was pushed off the lot and into the grass. The semi's driver, feeling the impact, stepped out to check, only to find...nothing. Satisfied, he parked and went about his work.                                                                                                    Tom watched in disbelief. His truck was a wreck, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss. He'd always liked that truck. The small town was close enough to walk around, though, so he figured he'd manage. But what about lunch? His stomach grumbled as he thought of home, deciding he'd try to sneak in without startling his family.
          First, though, he remembered Lindsay's request from that morning she'd asked him to pick up noodles for spaghetti that night. Luckily, his wallet was still safe and visible, sparing his money from disappearing like everything else that had gotten soaked.
          Tom walked to the store, pausing as two people exited. They passed right by him, oblivious. He watched them with a slight smirk, then stepped inside.                                                                      George Parker, the store owner and a friend of Tom's, was wiping down the counter when he heard the door jingle. He looked up no one was there. He scanned the aisles, but they were empty. Shaking his head, he returned to his work.
          Tom moved quietly down one aisle, grabbing a couple of noodle packages before heading to the counter.
          George glanced up, startled by the sight of two packages seemingly floating toward him. He rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself, "I must be tired from all those shoppers this week." Returning to his work, he looked up again and there were the noodles, lying on the counter. He felt a peculiar chill, as if someone else was nearby.
          "That'll be about $7.00," came a voice, clear and familiar, though he saw no one. George's eyes widened, the voice stirring a sense of dvu, yet he couldn't place it.
          The money appeared on the counter. George, bewildered, just stared, too stunned to recognize his friend's voice. Tom picked up the noodles and headed out the door, which opened and closed on its own. George collapsed onto a chair, rubbing his head. "I must be seeing things. Maybe I need a break."                                                                                                                        By then, Tom's hunger had only grown. Heading home with his noodles in hand, he barely noticed the few passersby who gawked at the sight of two floating packages, each one wondering if they were losing their minds.
          As Tom arrived in his neighborhood, he maneuvered around people strolling by. Nearing his house, he heard the distinct whir of a bicycle coming up fast behind him. He jumped aside just in time, but the bike grazed his boot, veering dangerously close to a light post before crashing near it with a loud clang.
          The boy stood up, visibly shaken. He had seen two small packages floating, just before he crashed. What had he hit? How strange, he thought. No one was there except him.
          Tom quickly recognized the young cyclist as Jimmy Dobson from next door, the ever-curious, mystery-loving ten-year-old paperboy. Jimmy was a good kid, though his tendency to see something odd in everything always amused Tom.
          Tom continued on, grateful to see both Jimmy and the bike seemed fine. He quickened his pace toward his driveway. But before he reached it, his other neighbor, Mrs. Belle Anders, emerged from her car. Mrs. Anders, elderly and always vocal about neighborhood matters, was impossible to avoid. To get to his front door, he'd have to pass her yard and her terrier, Presley.
          Tom tensed as he neared the small, feisty dog, who was already gearing up for his usual show. Without fail, Presley would bark, growl, and even snap at Tom's pant legs, only to transform into a little angel the moment Mrs. Anders looked his way. To her, Presley was a darling; to Tom, he was the fiercest thing on four legs.                                                                                                    As Tom briskly passed by, Presley yanked his leash from Mrs. Anders' grip, his nose quivering as he caught Tom's familiar scent. But where was he? Presley bounced, tail wagging frenetically, yapping in anticipation of Tom's presence.
          This was his favorite moment of the day: when Tom got home from work. Presley had learned to create distractions just so Mrs. Anders would open the door, giving him the chance to bark and growl.
          Moments before, Mrs. Anders had returned from the vet, her worry lines deepening. Presley hadn't touched his dog food, and she feared something was wrong. Every little sign of his discomfort sent her rushing for an answer, but today's diagnosis was clear to Presley: he was simply fed up with chicken-and-turnip-flavored canned food.
          Mrs. Anders watched as Presley jumped and barked at the empty air, eyes wide and ears perked as though searching for someone she couldn't see. Concerned, she hurriedly retrieved his leash, guiding him back to the car with gentle insistence.
          "Oh, Presley," she muttered, brow furrowed as she closed the car door on his eager paws. "My poor, poor little dog... you must've gone mad. There's no one there!"
          Inside, Presley whined softly, pawing at the window, but the car pulled away before he could make another escape.
          From the walkway, Tom exhaled in relief as the car disappeared from sight. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his next priority: food. Silently, he approached his front door, slipping his key from his pocket, mindful not to alarm his family.                                                                      He eased the door open, stepping quietly into the living room where his seven-year-old daughter, Jenny, was absorbed in her toys. Down the hall, his son Bobby, eight, was likely in his room. Lost in her play, Jenny didn't notice as the door opened and closed, nor did she hear Tom's cautious steps as he entered.
          Lindsay was in the kitchen, finishing up a few sandwiches. It was just after lunch, and she and the kids had already eaten.
          She set the sandwiches aside. "These will be for Tom if he comes home for lunch." She didn't know that at that moment, Tom was watching her through the kitchen door.
          A moment later, Bobby called for Lindsay to see the model airplane he'd made. As she stepped out, Tom slipped in quietly, placing the boxes of noodles in the pantry where she'd find them later. Then, he picked up the plate of ham sandwiches and settled at the kitchen table to eat, savoring each delicious bite.
          But he'd only taken a few bites when he heard footsteps approaching. Jenny came into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water. As she drank, a prickling sensation made her glance around. She had the distinct feeling of being watched.
          Tom held still, his breath shallow, watching her.
          Jenny put her cup down, frowning as she noticed the sandwiches on the table. There were a few half-eaten ones on a plate, but no one was sitting there. Had her mom left them for her dad? It didn't make sense.
          She froze. Was someone breathing?
          Tom didn't move. Jenny shivered, her gaze darting around the empty room. No one was there. Then how could she hear someone? A chill crept down her spine as she hesitated, then turned and dashed back to the living room and her toys.
          Tom watched her leave. He had wanted to tell her it was just him but knew that would only frighten her more.
          He returned to his sandwich, taking another slow bite. But moments later, he heard Lindsay returning. He quickly set the sandwich back on the plate, making it look untouched.
          "Where are the sandwiches?" she wondered aloud, glancing at the countertop. "I'm sure I left them right here..."
          Her eyes fell on the kitchen table. The sandwiches sat there, as if they'd been waiting.
          "How did...?" she trailed off, rubbing her forehead. "I thought I put them on the counter... or did I?"
          Lindsay shook her head, chalking it up to forgetfulness. She didn't notice the small bites already taken out. Her mind felt foggy. She shrugged and turned to resume cleaning.
          Then, a sudden movement at the table made her stop cold. Her breath hitched. A sandwich was hovering, floating in the air right before her eyes!                                                                                Lindsay's jaw dropped as she watched the sandwich hover briefly, then dropped the plate in shock. Shards scattered across the floor, and she hurried to clean them up, her gaze darting back to the sandwiches on the table.
          When she finally finished, she stared in disbelief that a whole sandwich had vanished. Lindsay decided to sit down with a book, hoping a little rest would steady her nerves. With Jenny and Bobby outside, she curled into the living room chair. But even as she tried to focus on the words, her mind kept racing. What had she really seen? Had she imagined it?
                                                            #
          Jimmy Dobson had always been drawn to mysteries. He loved reading about them and had just finished a book on invisibility. When his bike had collided with something he couldn't see, and he'd spotted a package floating just above the ground, his mind raced. To Jimmy, with his vivid imagination, there was only one explanation; someone had to be invisible.
          The mysterious figure had been heading toward Tom Myers' house. Jimmy liked Mr. Myers and didn't want to jump to conclusions, but his curiosity wouldn't let him ignore it. At the very least, he could knock on the door and ask a few questions.                                                                      He crossed his yard and marched up to the Myers' front porch, taking a deep breath before knocking firmly. The door opened, and Mrs. Myers appeared, her eyes bright with surprise.
          "Oh, hello, Jimmy. Can I help you with something?"
          "Hi, Mrs. Myers," he replied, glancing around as though the invisible culprit might still be lurking nearby. "Is Mr. Myers home?"
          She hesitated, looking a bit puzzled. "No, he isn't. I thought he might stop by for lunch, but he hasn't. Why?"
          "Just wondering." He shifted, trying to appear casual. "Has anything...unusual happened around here lately?"
          Mrs. Myers's brows knitted together, and she studied him closely. "Why do you ask?" Her voice was just a bit hushed now.
          Jimmy's heart pounded with excitement. "Just wondering," he repeated, unable to hide his growing curiosity.
          She lingered in silence before leaning forward, eyes darting as if to check for any eavesdroppers. "Have you seen something, too?"
          Jimmy's eyes widened. "You mean something really did happen?"
          Mrs. Myers glanced back into the house and then motioned him inside. "Come in, Jimmy. There's something I've been wanting to share with someone who'd understand."
          Once inside, she motioned for him to sit down. At that moment, they heard the side door click shut.
          "What was that?" Jimmy glanced in that direction; his eyes wide.
          "I don't know, but something strange is happening," Mrs. Myers replied, her voice laced with concern. She then told him what she had seen.
          Jimmy listened intently, still wide-eyed. "This is almost exactly like the book I read about invisibility."
          "It is?" Mrs. Myers shook her head, a puzzled expression crossing her face. "I don't know what to make of it. Who could the invisible person be, anyway?"
          Jimmy shook his head slowly, a frown creasing his brow. "It could only be one person: Mr. Myers." He recounted what had happened on the street, his voice low and steady.
          Mrs. Myers looked surprised, her eyebrows knitting together. "How can it be Tom? Surely not..."
          "It makes sense, though," Jimmy urged, trying to help her understand. "He didn't come home for lunch, and then you saw the sandwiches disappearing in the kitchen. Mr. Myers did come home; he was just invisible. And that door we heard a moment ago? I bet that was Mr. Myers."
          Lindsay Myers felt a wave of disbelief wash over her. Then, realization struck: Tom had likely dramatized the whole thing to scare her out of her wits. "That Tom," she muttered, shaking her head. "You're right, Jimmy. It must have been him. I'll bet he was laughing at me, too."
          Jimmy glanced around the room, a hint of unease creeping into his voice. "He could even be in here right now, unless he was leaving."
          "Well, no matter what, don't tell anyone about this." Mrs. Myers stood, her expression a mix of relief and disbelief. "Thank you, Jimmy. Now I know I wasn't crazy."
          As Jimmy approached the front door, curiosity flickered in his eyes. "I wonder how Mr. Myers became invisible."
          "I'm sure I don't know," she replied, her voice heavy with uncertainty. "And we probably never will."
          Stepping outside, Jimmy turned to her, a sense of wonder in his tone. "I never knew anyone could become invisible."
          Lindsay Myers nodded slowly, her mind racing. "This is the strangest thing that has ever happened."
                                                            #                    
          At that moment, Tom strolled down his familiar neighborhood street. As a boy, he had often imagined what it would be like to be invisible, and now he truly was. A chuckle escaped him as he thought of how Matt Willis, Robert, Miss Stevens, George Parker, and even Lindsay thought they were losing their minds.
          He knew they would never believe the truth that he was invisible if he ever returned to normal to tell them. Tom kicked a basketball that lay forgotten on the side of the street, watching as Mrs. Anders' car pulled into her driveway. She must have just returned from yet another trip to the vet. He leaned against a nearby tree, eyes fixed on her as she stepped out, holding Presley, the little terrier.                                                                                                                                            "Come on, Presley boy. I'm sure you're hungry," she cooed, as she headed inside.
          Tom began to dribble the ball, enjoying the rhythm. Suddenly, he noticed Mrs. Anders turn at the sound, her face draining of color as she almost dropped Presley.                                                            He glanced down at the basketball, bouncing beneath his fingertips. To her, it must have seemed like it was moving on its own. He couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing in the stillness around him.
          Mrs. Anders scanned the area, her confusion palpable. Her eyes widened as she searched for the source of the laughter, but all she found was silence. Then, her terror spilled over as she shrieked and hurriedly slammed her front door shut.
          Tom dropped the ball and ambled to the window, curious. He watched as Mrs. Anders fumbled with her phone, her hands shaking.
          "Police?" she said, her voice shaky. "I need you to send an officer over here! I just saw a basketball bouncing by itself, and I heard someone laughing! But there's no one here! Please, send a policeman right away!"
          Tom grinned to himself. The police! They would never believe her.
          Mrs. Anders hung up, glancing nervously out the window. Tom almost ducked but then remembered: he was invisible; she couldn't see him.
          "The ball is still there, Presley. But it's on the ground now." Presley barked, likely catching Tom's scent.
         A few minutes later, a policeman knocked on Mrs. Anders' door. In their small town, the police had to investigate every odd report even a basketball bouncing by itself. Whether or not they believed the stories. Besides, some things turned out to be true.
          "Yes?" Mrs. Anders cracked the door open, her voice trembling slightly.
          "Police Department. I'm Officer White." He displayed his badge, trying to keep a straight face. "Are you the lady who called about a basketball bouncing by itself and laughing?" He stifled a chuckle.
          "Yes. But it wasn't the ball laughing. Someone else was. Though no one was there!" She pointed to the basketball resting in the yard, her eyes wide with concern.
          The officer picked up the ball, turning it over in his hands. "It's just an ordinary ball. Maybe you were imagining things. Or perhaps it was just a kid's prank."
          Mrs. Anders shook her head, her fingers brushing through her thinning gray hair. "I wasn't imagining anything. I'm as sane as you are, and it wasn't a kid's prank."
          Tom, feeling a flicker of mischief, decided to play along. As Officer White dropped the ball, it began to roll down the driveway, but Tom quickly stopped it with his boot. The officer stared, his mouth agape.
          "That ball just stopped rolling on the driveway and isn't moving!"                                                            Mrs. Anders shared his astonishment, her eyes wide. "Something strange is happening here!"          When Officer White approached the ball, it inexplicably started rolling again. He bent down, picked it up, and shook it. "What is happening?"                                                                                Mrs. Anders' face had turned a ghostly shade. From inside, Presley barked, the sound echoing off the walls. Then, as if on cue, the ball began dribbling again.
          "That's exactly what it was doing before!" Mrs. Anders exclaimed, urgency tinging her voice. "Officer, do something!"
          He snatched the ball from mid-air, a rush of shock coursing through him as it felt like it was being held by someone.
          Startled, he began to sweat, glancing around with a nervous energy as he headed for his car. "Uh...Thank you for calling the police, and don't worry, ma'am. We'll handle everything."
          Climbing into the police car, Officer White muttered to himself, "Maybe I'm losing my mind, but I saw and felt that. What did Jane put in the coffee she sent me?"
          Mrs. Anders shuddered and hurried inside. Tom was surprised the policeman had been affected. Then again, how would he feel in the same situation? Probably no better.
          He was enjoying being invisible. People sure got scared easily. As Tom walked past his house, he wished he could tell Lindsay, but there was no way she'd believe him. She would just be as frightened as anyone; she had been before when he was there.
          By now, it was late afternoon. Nancy Dobson, Jimmy's mother, was crouched near the mailbox in her yard, next to the Myers' house, digging and planting the flowers she had just bought. Mrs. Dobson was talking to herself, and Tom walked closer to listen.
          "Mrs. Wyatt just won't help anyone who needs it. She'll assist the elderly, but not the folks from the fire." Mrs. Dobson wiped her brow with a gloved hand, her face pinched with frustration.
          "I think she should help them anyway, even if she dislikes them." Her words gained conviction as she spoke. "Maybe I should go over and talk to her myself. Perhaps she'll listen to reason."
          With a determined nod, she removed her gloves and began to stand. "Enough talk. I'm going over there right now."
          Tom stepped closer, his voice a raw whisper. "Don't go."
          Mrs. Dobson recoiled, her face paling, her hand frozen mid-air. She spun around, eyes darting. Was that a voice?
          She scanned the empty yard, shaking her head. "Goodness. I must be imagining things." She let out a tense laugh, picking up her tools. "I'm just going to see Mrs. Wyatt."
          "No, don't go," Tom's voice came again, quiet but firm.
          Nancy's eyes widened, her fingers trembling around the tools. "Oh my," she muttered, her voice a fragile whisper. Quickly, she gathered her things and hurried inside, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to follow.
          When Ron Dobson returned home, he found Nancy at the stove, absently stirring something in a pot. He sensed the tension lingering in her posture.                                                                      "Maybe you should talk to Mrs. Wyatt," he suggested. "It isn't right that she won't help the people from the fire just because she thinks they should manage on their own. She gave all that money to the elderly, but they didn't even really need it."
          Nancy's face turned pale again. "I... I think it's better if I stay out of other people's business."
          Ron's brow creased. Since when did Nancy shy away from a confrontation?
          "Jimmy was wondering when you'd be back," she added, her voice unsteady. "He's in his room and might need help with his math. He has a test tomorrow."
         

Ron nodded, studying her a moment before heading down the hall. Nancy shuddered as she recalled the voice in the yard. Had it been real? Or was she hearing things?                               #

         Now, Tom was a little worried. Would he have to stay invisible forever? How could he ever be normal again?
         It had been a long day, so he returned home. Tom opened the front door quietly when he arrived. He saw that his family had just finished dinner. Tom was feeling lonely; he couldn't live with staying invisible forever.
         The kids were talking with Lindsay.
         "Where's Daddy?" Bobby asked.
         "Uhh," Lindsay wasn't sure what to say. "He's probably headed home."
         Jenny looked outside. "It's getting dark, Daddy should be home."
         "He will be," her mother answered, though she felt unconfident.
         "He is going to take us to the park tomorrow, isn't he?" Bobby wondered. "He promised."
         Tom had forgotten about the park tomorrow! What was he going to do? He had promised Bobby and Jenny and couldn't let them down. Tom had to become visible again, but how?
         After the kids left the room, a knock on the door sounded. Lindsay opened it and let in Jimmy Dobson.
          "Hello, Mrs. Myers."
          "Has anything else strange happened?" She asked him.
          "I don't know. I read something in my book and wanted to tell you. It has something to do with Mr. Myers."
          What are they talking about? Tom wondered.
          Jimmy glanced around. "Has he been back?"
          Lindsay shook her head. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen or heard anything unusual. The kids asked where he was, and I didn't know what to say. Tom can't take them to the park tomorrow if he's invisible."
          Tom was so startled he nearly stepped back into the tall lamp in the corner. Lindsay knew? He caught his breath and breathed slowly as he listened.
          "Well," Jimmy started, "in my book, there's a guy who turns invisible after walking through a mysterious doorway. Somehow, it made him invisible. To be visible again, he just had to go back through." He shrugged. "So, if Mr. Myers wants to be seen again, maybe he just needs to repeat whatever he did."
          Tom thought that was a great idea. He'd have to go back to the flooded pond.
          "Hmm," Lindsay said thoughtfully, "I wish there was some way to tell Tom that."
          Jimmy nodded. "He's smart, Mrs. Myers. He'll probably figure it out on his own."
          "You're right," Lindsay agreed. "He probably will."
          Tom felt foolish. He should have thought of that himself. He slipped out through the side door, careful to make sure they wouldn't notice the door opening or closing.
          Once outside, Tom felt the chill in the air. The sky had darkened, and the clouds made it feel even gloomier than usual. A light mist was falling as Tom hurried along.
          Several times, people nearly walked right into him, forcing him to dodge out of the way. He crossed the street cautiously, knowing drivers wouldn't see him.
          Doubt crept in. What if this doesn't work? If it didn't, he supposed he'd have to talk to Lindsay about it.
          He followed the dirt road; the same one he'd driven down that morning. It felt quieter now, with the night settling around him. At last, he reached the pond, which was still mostly flooded but smaller than before. He stared at the water, took a deep breath, and stepped into the icy pond. The shock of the cold made him gasp, but he kept going, soaking himself from head to toe. Shivering, Tom climbed out, dripping and numb. He couldn't tell if it had worked. As he walked back along the road, his mind raced.
          A large truck roared down the road behind him, nearly clipping him as it passed. Tom's spirits sank; the driver hadn't seen him. I must still be invisible.
          Head down, he trudged along his neighborhood street. Then he heard a sound behind him, a bell ringing on a bike.
          "Watch out, Mr. Myers!" Jimmy swerved just in time, avoiding him and coasting into his driveway. "Sorry!"
          Tom turned slowly. If Jimmy saw him, that meant he was visible again!
          Relief surged through him, and he leapt into the air, warmth flooding back into his limbs. He was back to normal!
          "Hello, Jimmy!" he called, running past Mrs. Anders' house. She had just let her dog, Presley, out for a quick run before nighttime. Presley bounded over to him, barking loudly.
          Tom knelt down to pat him on the head. Presley wagged his tail in surprise, then stood still, watching as Tom walked away.
          "Presley, come inside!" Mrs. Anders called.
          Presley hesitated, then followed, glancing back at Tom in shock. He had never pet him nicely on the head before.
          Tom returned home, feeling elated but trying to keep his emotions in check. Lindsay had known he'd been invisible, but he didn't want her to realize he knew she did.
          He told the kids it had been a long day at work, which was why he was late. When he reminded them he'd take them to the park tomorrow, they cheered with excitement.
          Lindsay's gaze lingered on him. "Tom, where's the truck?"
          Tom hesitated, uncertain of what to say. He replied, "The truck? Oh, it's...around." Lindsay left it at that, sensing she didn't really want to know. Something about Tom's answer made her think it was tied to his strange invisibility.
          The crushed truck still lingered near the parking lot of the oil well company. In fact, it's probably still there to this day. In the first year, a man walked straight into it, getting bruised and wondering if he was losing his mind. He told himself it must have been nothing, an odd mishap.
          People kept stumbling into the invisible truck from time to time, questioning their sanity. What had they hit? No one could explain it, yet the bruises said otherwise. Only Tom knew the truth.                                                                                                                                                      The flooded pond never turned anyone else invisible; Tom even tried it himself once, though he couldn't replicate the experience. He never told a soul about what happened that day, about his brief taste of invisibility. Tom never understood how he became invisible, it remained a mystery.
          Everyone who encountered Tom that day thought they had just been seeing things, and they never mentioned it to anyone.                                                                                                              Lindsay never knew Tom had overheard her and Jimmy talking about him being invisible, and he never let on that he knew. That day stayed locked in Tom's memory, because he could never forget being invisible.


                                                 

The End