Saskatoon has Shadow People. And (gulp) I think they’re after me!
They walk among us, shoulder-to-shoulder, awash in the glow of a silver moon only they can see. They look like us, talk like us, and act like us—until the moment that they don’t. No, I’m not going off the deep end, and of course I’m being melodramatic. But Saskatoon has its Shadow People nonetheless.
Though things are turning around now, let’s face it—during the past few years Saskatchewan bled an enormous amount of talent. Not everyone could make it in Alberta, though; some who tried turned back before the tide reversed. Others, devoid of anything like a polished résumé, or the life skills needed to fill one, never even tried. One could therefore be forgiven for concluding that the remaining population contains a larger than usual subset of wackadoodles—the Shadow People, itching to be discovered.
Lately, though, the Shadow People have discovered me.
For some males, part of the whole “second adolescence” thing (aka, middle age) includes a tendency to feel under attack, or paranoid. This, for me, is a whole new experience, though one that only seems to affect me here. I’ve crowded onto the Hong Kong subway at rush hour in Kowloon, enjoying every moment. I’m still at ease strolling down a crowded street in Vancouver, or exploring the busy markets of Ottawa. I’ve an experienced public speaker, having talked to hundreds without breaking a sweat. But every time I venture out in Saskatoon, something bizarre or unsettling happens. It’s making me reluctant to leave the house.
Lately, though, I don’t even have to do that. The Shadow People have found me.
I won’t get into the entire string of events that led to this conclusion, but I’ll describe the most recent. If anyone cares to offer a suggestion as to what could be happening, please feel free to comment or drop me a note.
First of all, it’s important to note that we live in a so-called “smart house”. Our home, whether we’re there or away, tends to think for itself. As a life-long techie, both amateur and pro, I’ve accumulated a bigger raftload of campy digital apparatus than an episode of “Doctor Who”. Lights and appliances and utilities operate themselves, or run by remote control, even across the ‘net. Every room has a motion sensor or two, and everything is run by a server. Any track from our 800 albums can be accessed for play in seconds. There are cameras, a fairly recent addition. And no, they were not put there in response to the wackadoodles, or because I’m paranoid. They were put there because, well…I’m a geek, they are gizmos, there was a sale, and therefore I needed one. Okay, eight. Most are invisible, even when you stand in the yard. And if you do stand in the yard, an alert sounds within. (Did I mention the sale on motion sensors?)
Wackadoodle 1
Last Sunday, at 10:30 pm, a dark sedan pulled up in front. Two youths got out, and walked in different directions. One went left, into my neighbour’s front yard, behind a tall cedar hedge. The other went right—right past our front gate and into and up our driveway. A pair of motion sensor lights illuminated the scene, going from half brilliance to full as the boy strode past our car. He didn’t blink, or look at the lights. He didn’t look at the house. He didn’t look at any camera, and in fact was likely unaware of their presence.
The temperature was -8ºC, with a wind chill of -14ºC. He wore a T-shirt and shorts. Right away, I knew I was looking at one of the Shadow People.
He reached the end of a partial fence separating our driveway from the front yard. He then turned and walked around the end, moving back now toward the street on the sidewalk at the side of our house. He reached the walk between the front door and the gate, and stopped in front of the steps. It’s important to note that he could have shortened the trip considerably by simply walking in through the front gate.
Two more bright motion-sensing lights came on, right beside him. He didn’t move, or look at the house. He just stood, a weird smile on his face, looking about the front yard, and staring toward the tall hedge toward my neighbour’s yard, where his buddy was hidden.
One of our dogs began to bark.
Apparently, for the Shadow People, terriers hold terror that security lights do not. He turned to run—back down the side of the house, around the fence, and the long way back out the driveway! He ignored the front walk and gate to the street, which would have got him out of there in half the time. Apparently, for the Shadow People, gates also hold terror. The whole time they were here—less than a minute—they touched nothing, looked at nothing, did nothing but act quite strange.
They got into their car and left. Back to their Shadow World.
In my next entry, I’ll describe another recent visit from the Shadow People. That one makes this look downright normal.
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