I don’t know about you all, but I love the rain. The pitter-patter of the droplets on the window leaves me in a state of relaxation that makes sitting on the couch that much more enjoyable. We had a particularly heavy onset of rain for the last couple of days, lightning and thunder intermixed the pitter-patter, but I didn’t mind. It reminded me of the time I would spend with my grandfather out on his screened-in porch, listening to the thunder, determining how many miles away it was.
And my pup, Freda, is a smart one. When she hears the rain, she knows it’s going to be a chill day for her, so she cuddles up with me and we relax while watching TV. She gets three to four walks a day, but when it rains, we cut the time of the walks way down since it’s such a chore for us to both get in our rain gear and clean ourselves off once we return, so we always stay close to the house during rain storms.
The rain stopped this morning, so we ventured out onto our usual route. We live in a suburban area, with houses relatively close together. The only area with any breathing room is a fenced-in field that has a sign on it stating, Property of the Sandy Hills HOA, trespassers will be prosecuted, which spans about four acres. No buildings or structures, except for two drainage canals that lead toward the streets straddling the field. It does dip slightly, so I figured there was something wrong with the land where they couldn’t build on it due to some foundational issues.
Anyway, as Freda and I began our usual route past the fenced-in area, I looked over the chain link fence from the sidewalk. There were large puddles from the rain, which was strange because I had never seen any puddles like that before, but it had rained pretty hard so nothing too weird there. However, that was the second weirdest thing to the man who was inside of the fence. He must have hopped it; it was only a few feet tall and I’m not even sure if the gate for entry was ever locked. But I had no idea why anyone would want to be in there. He was standing in the middle of one of the puddles, his feet were not visible to me, either because they had sunk into the muddy ground or because the puddle he was standing in was deeper than I thought.
He faced away from me, staring at the street directly across from me, a street that I would walk with Freda later during the walking route. We walked our normal route, which usually takes about 15 minutes before we get across to the other street. I figured that the guy I had seen earlier would be gone by the time I got back, but as the area came back into sight, I could see his outline, still standing there. Freda and I crossed to the sidewalk that would keep us further away from the guy, but I couldn’t help but pass through where the guy was standing. As we got closer, I didn’t look directly at him, trying to catch a glance with my peripherals. He stood completely still. As we continued to pass through, Freda began to pull on her leash. At first, she was racing to get past the man, but when we came parallel to him, she growled and lunged at him, almost pulling hard enough to get in the road.
Luckily, I caught her before her momentum could pull me into the street. I looked at the man, hoping to quickly apologize and move on. But, as I looked up at him, my blood ran cold.
The man was covered in flies, settling on his body. He didn’t seem bothered, actually, he didn’t seem alive. His eyes were open, but they stared down at the water. His mouth was in the shape of a manic grin. He had jet black hair and a black hoodie and jeans. His hair was plastered to his face and crawling with more bugs.
I asked him if he was okay. I waited awkwardly but got no response. I asked him once more, but it was as if he didn’t hear me. Now listen. I don’t consider myself a coward. I really don’t. But I consider myself pragmatic. So, when my body tells me to run, there is no chance in hell that I am getting any closer to a guy like that. At this point, I figured the guy had something wrong with him mentally and the only logical thing was to get some help. I pulled out my cell phone and called the non-emergency line for my small town.
It took some convincing with the guy who picked up, but I think the panic in my voice made him second-guess hanging up on me. He said he would try to get someone out there later in the day.
Freda and I went back inside the house. I was thoroughly spooked, but I occupied myself with some chores. The day marched on, a few hours passed by, and it was time for another walk. Usually, this walk would be shorter and not go near the field, but I had to head out that way to quell my curiosity. Freda was excited about the extra walking, but I felt shivers, worrying about the man, hoping he was gone.
As we rounded the corner, I saw a police car sitting on the side of the road. I let out a brief sigh of relief as I saw the police officer get out of his car, go through the fence, and approach the man. At this point, the man in black had sunk to the point where his calves were no longer visible. The police officer walked up silently to him. I wondered whether he’d be able to get him out like that. The police officer stepped into the large puddle, turned to face me, and his face turned to a wide grin. He was too far from me to make out much, but I thought I saw fear in his eyes as his head cranked 45 degrees and faced the reflection on the puddle.
He stopped moving, just standing in place. I screamed at him. No response. Freda growled at the gate. I held her back, and then she and I sprinted inside.
I heard sirens a couple more times throughout the day, Freda needed walking. I could have gone a different way, but I felt compelled to see what was happening in the field. I went back two more times today.
The first time there were two more people, one man in streetwear and one woman with a robe on. The second time, seven more, including four emergency workers. Flies are swarming them, creating a cloud of black making it hard to make out details. Yet their grins somehow come through anyway.
I have no idea what to do. I feel as though I need to do something to help them, but they don’t respond to me. And every time someone comes to help, they become a part of the growing group in the field.
The man who had started this was in the puddle up to his hips the last time I saw him. It feels as though they are sinking faster as time passes by.
What should I do?