The Shadow Followed Her

My sister has always seen things I couldn't.

Growing up, I'd catch her staring off into nothing. She'd pause at the bottom of staircases and briefly hold someone's gaze on a landing I thought was empty.

Like many children, she had make-believe friends.

"Who are you talking to?" I asked. 

"Reenie and Ronnie." She said their names casually.

"Why can't I see them?" I asked.

"Don't know," she said back. "They tell me not everybody can."

I left her alone with her friends and didn't ask again.

Once, at our great-grandparents' old homestead, I walked beside her and said it was a shame the place was getting run-down.

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

Later, she admitted that when she looked at the house, it didn't look old to her—it looked as it did at the turn of the 20th century. Its exterior was painted white, smoke rose from both chimneys, and figures we knew to be long-dead family members moved about on the front porch. 

She's seen such things like this all her life.

The most disturbing one would step out in front of her car as she traveled up Old U.S. Hwy 52 toward Mt Airy, North Carolina. 

My sister was married then, but would come and visit our parents a few times a week.

She was almost home, just passing the exit for Red Brush Road, when the silhouette of what looked like a man stepped out in front of her car.

"I saw his foot. Then a leg. And I waited—waited to hit him," she said.

Her chest locked up. So did her brakes. She jerked the wheel to the left, sending the contents of the Honda Civic flying all over the place. 

"I stopped the car. I was shaking. Crying," she said. "But then I looked back and didn't see anything."

She made it home and told her husband. He was a correctional officer. A meat-and-three-starches kind of guy. Practical as he was predictable, he told her it was probably a deer.

My sister knew better. 

Whatever it was kept appearing. Showing up every time she came home that way.

 It bothered her so much she started taking back roads, adding minutes to a drive that was already long enough. 

The shadow followed her.

It moved closer to her house. On a few occasions, it appeared near my parents' home. This went on for months.

Driving one night, she got a call from her husband.

"Where are you?" he asked. His slow drawl was slightly elevated.

"I'm heading home," she said. 

"You aren't coming up the highway, are you?" he asked.

"No, I'm coming back a back way," she said.

A brief pause. "Good," he said. "Traffic is bumper to bumper because some guy has lost it. He's holding his wife hostage and shooting at cars and anybody who comes near."

 My sister waited to hear what she already knew.

It's happening right near us," he said. Little house right there over on Red Brush Road."

After that night, my sister said her drive home was less eventful.

Still, every now and again, she thought her headlights would catch something moving just outside their reach.

That was years ago.

My sister doesn't talk about it now. Says she doesn't see things like that anymore.

I want to believe her.

I really do.

But sometimes I watch her looking past me, and I wonder.

Wonder. But never ask.