ORIGINAL FICTION: "Climbers" (Chapter Three)

second roof face's ridge was reached. In some places, the marks and damage showed evidence of the same three-pronged impact that had torn the shingle loose last night. Some of the damage wasn't as well-defined, with just one mark in some places, two in others. So maybe it was the same thing, hitting the roof a little differently each time. Whatever it was had come right over the roof ridge where Ray was still crouched.
That revelation made Ray stand up quick. Too quick, as he lost his footing trying to look around under him for more damage or marks. He ended up dropping right back down where he was, and grabbing the roof ridge for support. He was breathing hard now, and it took some time for what wits he had left to be collected. The good news, from Ray's point of view, was that he was in nobody's view. The kids in the other yard couldn't see him in this roof face unless he stood up. And he'd just tried that. For now, he was content to hug that roof on his hands and knees and very carefully look around the side he was on.
Nothing. Not a scrape, not a mark. No sign that anything ever landed on this roof. Not here, anyway. Did whatever it was go airborne again? He wasn't even going to try to look over the edge of the roof and down in to the yard to see if anything was there. Ray looked back over the ridge. The damage was all still there. He hadn't imagined it. Not that he thought he had. Ray Meadows was not the imaginative type. Not really. He could come up with some great practical jokes, but they were just that: practical. So now Mister Practical was going to have to fix some damage on his roof without thinking too much about how the damage got there. Not now. Not while he was still on the roof. Ray made his way back over to his hammer, nails and fresh shingles and went to work with some determination. Just do the job. Don't think about it. And don't look down. You looked down, Ray. Don’t.
Inside the house, Barbara was actually worried about her husband. She knew how often he went up on that roof. In spite of her earlier candor, she knew what an outdoorsy kind of guy he wasn't. So she kept one ear cocked toward the roof, waiting- for what? For the sound of Ray going airborne? She did hear him hit the roof after his quick stand up, but a quick look out the window showed no Ray flying by to meet the ground, so she assumed that everything was ok. What was that about ignorance? She was blissfully unaware of the situation some thirty feet above her. That would change all too soon.
Ray went about the business of roof repair with a cold detached approach that let him get the job done for now. He replaced half a dozen shingles- he had only brought six new ones up with him. That seemed to work out about right. The ones he left were damaged, but not badly. He would still have to look at that punctured impact area from the underside, in the attic, to be sure the boards under the shingles were ok. But for now, the roof looked done. Not perfect, as there were still some scars on some of the shingles, but no cause for worry during those summer thunderstorms. They'd stay dry. Ray should have re-phrased that last thought. Whoever's living here this summer would stay dry. Unimaginative Ray couldn't tell the future, either. He gathered up his hammer, nails and the old shingles and headed for the ladder. He realized then that he was tired. All this physical excitement was getting to be work. Maybe an afternoon nap was in order. But not upstairs. Not near the roof.
Let's hear it for afternoon naps. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. called them free color movies. Yup. Beats watching the tube. Unless it's baseball season. Then you can find a game, turn the volume on low and sack out on the couch in the living room. With that dull droning of the announcer trying desperately to make the game sound interesting, and the cool breeze drifting though the curtains, it's only a matter of minutes before you're long gone. Off