ORIGINAL FICTION: "Climbers" (Chapter Three)

in La-La Land. That's as close as I get to an interest in sports. Sort of an audio night light in the afternoon. But it works for me. Oddly enough, it worked for Ray, too. Somewhere between coming down off the roof, putting the ladder back in the garage and putting the hammer and nails back in the basement, Ray had it all figured out: He could check out the attic later this afternoon, before dinner. Or maybe after. Then pay a visit to the hardware store, if need be, tonight. It's open 'til nine, isn't it? What did he need? He had enough nails and there were more shingles in that box downstairs. What would the attic require? A board or two to shore up a cracked roof panel? No problem. By the time Ray had the TV adjusted and was making his way to the couch, he knew what was at the top of that hardware store list: A flashlight. A great big honking one that would light up the night like a rock concert. Something bright enough to light matches at ten feet. That's what he needed. Maybe a couple of them.
With that thought in mind, Ray pulled off his shoes and settled in for an afternoon nap. It was the top of the third, and somebody was leading. Ray figured he'd just follow along behind. Way behind. Oh, yeah. Nice breeze. Sweet dreams, Ray.
Barbara decided that with Ray off the roof, it was safe to go outside and putter around a bit. Not that she didn't trust Ray, but hammers do have a tendency to fall down, not up. So she waited until her husband was safely snoozing way to tend to the flower beds out front. Gloves and trowel in hand, she was set for a fight with the encroaching weeds. She was sure to win this one. It was still early in the season. Settled on alongside the first bed, she was able to pull weeds, turn the soil and keep an eye on those kids with the lawn darts.
A weed here, a weed there, the work went quick but her mind was ahead of it. Those kids weren't that big. Or that strong. Look at those throws. Barely above the first floor. Certainly not as high as the second floor windows. Barbara had mindlessly weeded out three flowers before she looked down to see what she was doing. Oops. Put the plants back, Barb. She hastily re-planted her mistakes, ignoring the kids for a few minutes. They didn't matter now anyway. She watered the plants and realized what Ray knew from watching the kids from the roof: No way. It wasn't a lawn dart. At least, not thrown by these kids.
Barbara had seen the shingle Ray intentionally damaged in the basement. And of course she had seen the shingle that had been ripped off the roof the night before. But had she really understood the force involved? Probably not. Ray only began to understand when he saw the rest of the damage on the roof. Six shingles ripped up, including that nasty puncture impact and as many more scratched up shingles that were still up there. Barbara had seen the two damaged shingles side by side, on the kitchen table. They looked sort of the same, but not really. Which was which? She wasn't sure. And how bad could it be if Ray was taking a nap?
Yes, Ray was taking a nap. Or maybe the nap was taking him. Ray woke with a start. Huh? What was that? Did I hear something? On the roof? Something running heavily, almost falling, across the roof? Something big? As soon as Ray discerned a change in the afternoon sunlight that hinted at early evening, he was up off the couch. Flashlights, he thought. The attic first, then flashlights. He struggled into his shoes and made his way over to the TV. Goodbye baseball, and thanks for the background hum. Works every time. Ray headed for the stairs and clomped his way up to the second floor. Halfway down the hallway, he pulled down the folding stairs to the attic. Time to face reality, if there's any reality up there.
Let me ask you something right here: When you watch a scary movie, do you notice that the characters in the movie often times aren't, well, over-burdened