I wanted to walk faster to get away from it, but I knew that was impossible. It was keeping a distance from me so maybe it was not sure yet. Maybe it was waiting for a moment when there were no lights and no cars.

Then it would strike. The noises it made grew louder as it grew bolder and moved closer. It was hurrying to get into position to strike. Now almost beside me. No, wait it was to my right. A few seconds earlier it was on my left. It can move very fast when the streets are dark.

I walked faster. It was no longer trying to be sane. It knew I heard it. Had it decided I was it? I could feel the hair on the back of my neck starting to stiffen. I wanted to yell out, but who would hear?

If they did hear would they bother to go to a window or door and look out? I doubt it, they would not want to be involved. They would choose to remain distant. They and theirs were safe and accounted for, what did I matter.

It was a mere feet behind me now. My heart was beating wildly, and I was beginning to pant from moving ever faster. My feet seemed to barely touch the ground, but it wasn’t fast enough. I could hear it catching its feet on the uneven surface. Maybe it wanted to raise my fear level a little higher?

Through the fog of my panic I had a thought. They don’t like the light, and they don’t want to be seen. If I could just make it to the light I would be okay. Only another one-hundred feet and I would be safe. Could I make it? It sounds like it is right next to me!

I gave up walking fast and started to run. I could hear it starting to move faster too. Its feet hitting the pavement as it hopped towards me. Only another few seconds, that is all I need to get to the light!

I reached into my jacket, pulled out my cell phone, and fumbled trying to open it. In mindless terror I pushed the camera button. It was taking forever. It was inches away from me. I could feel its closeness like hot foul breath on my neck. I threw my arm backwards and prayed I pushed the camera button to make the flash go off.

It hissed loudly sounding only inches from my ear! The flash worked! It slowed and loped off into the darkness. Temporarily blinded by the light of a neon flash on a cell phone! I made it to the light. Traffic was picking up, and I knew I could get away from it before its eyes healed from the flash of light.

As an after thought I looked to see if I got it on camera. The rational part of my mind said it was the leaves falling from the trees. The rest of my mind knew what it really as because it remembered ten thousand years worth of well founded fear.

I quit giving advice many years ago, or at least I think I have. Sometimes, I wonder if I am getting lost in semantics, or I really quit giving advice. When someone asks for advice, a conversation turns from being on the same level whatever level that was to a parent to child conversation. I dislike parent to child conversation because I do not think they are conductive conversations even when I may be talking with a child. I like to keep a conversation with both parties on the same level that way we are equals discussing the possibilities.

I prefer to think that I now give suggestions and examples instead of advice. Suggestions and examples are explorable, where advice is like a pressed caplet; it is an all or nothing proposition. Also if I give examples or suggestions, there leaves options to explore and modify according to a particular circumstance, rather than the other person assuming I am intimately knowledgeable of their particular circumstance.

If I simply give advice, the things that become of it are usually not good. Someone follows my advice and it made things worse. Someone followed only parts of my advice and it made things worse, or someone only heard part of what I said and trying it made things worse. The times my advice has worked have been fewer than I am comfortable with, not because the advice was bad, but because the listener was not active in the conversation.

These days in most circumstances, I want to hear all about the problem and then offer suggestions based on my life experiences. The receiver in the conversation can then ask for clarification, and back up plans can be formed if all does not go as planned. Of course I like to throw in a disclaimer of my own, mentioning that whatever I use as an example worked for me, and it may not work for someone else.

Of course the worst thing about giving advice is in a situation where advice was given and not followed. It used to make me wonder why I bothered to start with. I know now these are usually people who collect opinions, and then when the scale tips far enough in a direction that is what they do, and it had little to do with the advice given.

Suggesting allows me to know the person asking understands what I am suggesting. Usually when people want advice, they are in an area of life that they are not comfortable navigating. Offering suggestions allows me a chance to ask questions to ensure they understand the general flow of what I have said. I also offer that the person try out my suggestion on something not important, to make sure they understand completely. There is nothing worse than following someone’s advice, getting most of the way through, and realizing you have no clue what to do next. Practice makes perfect in this instance. 

I was once a help line worker in a small town many years ago. One piece of advice I was given was: When I did not know what to reply to something said on the phone to me, that agreeing with the person was usually the best practice. One night as I slept the phone rang. I answered it half asleep. A person told me they had a gun to their head and they were going to pull the trigger. As most of the calls were about boyfriends and sexual disease, I was totally unprepared for a call like this. Not knowing what to do I used the first piece of advice I remembered when dealing with a tough phone call. I agreed, and said to the caller they should pull the trigger, I said, “Go ahead”. This was not one of the finest pieces of advice ever given under the circumstances.

I was with two other people (1981), and we were walking across the Green (a town square, sort of) on a path that met with another path in the middle of the Green at right angles. Think of two sidewalks crossing each other like streets do. There was a woman with a child of two or three years of age to our left, walking to my right. On our right were two teenage Girls of about fifteen, or sixteen years old walking from the right, laughing and giggling as Girls do. At this moment we were all about twenty-five feet apart walking towards the intersection.

In mid-stride, the two teenage ‘Girls’ appearance changes to something almost exactly what Dean Koontz describes in Odd Thomas. Between lifting one foot up and placing it down they changed from Girls into emaciated Werewolf like creatures. I could see no teeth, or claws, but their body structure was changed into that of a large dog walking, and their red eyes were glowing. They walked, and looked like a very large dog would on its hind legs. Even their appearance is hard to detail well. They kind of blurred into brown fuzz at the edges and center of their beings. They walked two to three steps in this Werewolf form, and just as suddenly, within a step, they turned back into normal teenage Girls.

When the ‘Girl’s’ changed appearance into this other state, the child of the Woman on our left started to run towards the ‘Girls’, calling out something. The Child’s Mother with a terrified look, ran forward, and roughly grabbed her daughter by the arm and yanked. She swung her daughter about three feet into the air, and walked a wide detour around the Girls, staring at them in fright, or downright fear, or maybe both as she did. I had no doubt that the woman at least saw these two Girls change into whatever they were/are, and then change back into girls again in the space of three steps. The woman’s daughter also saw them change be her reaction, but it may be she saw something other than we did, as she ran towards them.

Of course I saw this happen, and when I looked at the person with me, they also saw something from the shocked look on their face. When I asked after the Girls passed on the path, I heard a description of exactly what I saw happen, the Girl’s changed into something that looked like Werewolves for about three steps, and then changed back into young girls.

I filed this experience away as one of those things – not knowing any different at the time. By this time in my life seeing strange things for me, was not all that strange anymore. Then this last summer (2004) when I was reading Dean Koontz – Odd Thomas, the memory of that day came back when Koontz gave described his creatures in the book.

I can only surmise either Dean Koontz has seen these beings, read of them, or it is only a coincidence they ended up in his book? If you have experienced anything like this, I would like to read about it? Please leave a reply, or send me an email. Me email address in my about page.

The work was okay, it was sort of boring, but it paid better than most jobs I could get so I stayed with it for those two years. The manager of the grocery store though never really seemed to like me. I never knew why, perhaps my personality was a little to colorful for a grocery store worker.

As I had graduated, I decided that as I was going to school full time, and working almost full time, I could now take on a second job. It would double up my money in a few months, and then it was college, so it seemed like a good idea. I went looking for a second job. I was up front with my boss about it, and of course he was not too pleased. He told me that was fine, but my first obligation was to the job I currently had.

I found a job as a dishwasher on a local military base and it paid more than what I was making bagging groceries. It was sixteen hours, two days a week, on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I took the job, as there was no problem with the schedule I was on which was Monday through Friday, mornings and afternoons…. When I told my grocery store boss I found a job that did not interfere with my current schedule, and was only two days a week, I thought he would be okay with it.

How naive I was to think that it was not a problem. On the second week of working two jobs, I came in and checked my grocery store work schedule, only to discover that I was now working Saturday and Sunday days. I went to my boss, explained again I was saving money for college, and I could work any schedule during the week except Saturday and Sunday. Of course that was a problem for him. I mentioned again that I had already spoken to him before this second job, and thought I was clear about what I could work.

The boss turned it into an ultimatum, and told me if I was not here Saturday morning there would be problems. Me being me, I told him I would not be there Saturday morning and he should start looking for someone to work Saturday, and Sunday in my place. I needed money for college, and I thought he was being totally unfair. Of course that is exactly what he did. When I came in to work following the weekend, he gave me my paycheck and told me I was fired.

I thought that was the end of my college world, what would I do for money now as there were only a few months to make any before my school started. As luck would have it, they liked my work on the base, and once they heard my predicament they made it possible for me to work full time as a dishwasher food line helper!

After all these years, I never have understood what the problem was with my grocery store boss. It was possible that the boss knowing I was leaving at the end of summer decided to cut his losses and get a new kid hooked on money during the summer when the pressure of working and school was not there.

Or, it was possibly, he never liked me, and wanted me gone, but I never did anything bad enough to be fired. I always, and many future bosses agreed, I am a good person to have in their business, whatever business it was. At any rate, life goes on, though on days like today, I ponder what was the real reason he did what he did, being fairly sure he knew what the outcome would be.

There I was, a nine or ten year old boy, having his once a year experience at playing big-shot, out buying Christmas presents. I was loaded, I had almost twenty-nine dollars which was a big sum of money for a little kid. I had spent about twenty dollars of my money on the Aunts and Uncles, and Grandparents presents, which left me about nine dollars for my folks. That was two gifts, and perhaps a candy bar and a Pez for myself.

My folks wanted to go to Goldfines, which was a new super department store in our city. Because I had nine whole dollars I wanted to get something really neat for my folks, something they would really like. I was walking, going from one part of the store to another when I spotted two sets of silverware in boxes. Wow, silverware was just the thing! We did not own a real set of silverware, but rather most of a complete set, and parts of other sets. This set said it was complete and had service for eight people. Seeing there were only three of us, I thought that would be a great gift. I was all excited as I saw the price was nine dollars and twenty-three cents. I checked my pockets and I had twenty-three cents, I was in business!

I picked up one of the boxes and worked my way back to the cash registers and stood in line. I was so excited, and my parents would be so surprised and excited! I had never seen brand new silverware before, and I wondered what it was like to eat using brand new silverware? I finally made it to the cash register and placed my purchase on the counter.

It was a woman cashier, and when she finished with the woman in front of me, she took my silverware and rang it up. She looked at her cash register, and said to me, “Nine dollars and eighty-six cents.” I was shocked, I was sure the price was nine dollars and twenty-three cents, and I said so. The cashier told me I read the price wrong, and I did not include the sales tax. Tax, what was tax I asked? When she told me, I said I only had my nine dollars and twenty-three cents, and could she take that? She said no, I had to pay the tax too.

I was crushed, and I did not know what to do. I told her I didn’t have the extra money. She told me I could not buy the silverware. I didn’t want to let go of the silverware because I was sure someone else would pick it up and buy it. I took the box, and stepped away, absolutely stunned. As I stood there watching the people pay, I had an idea, a terrible and low idea, but it could work. I started asking people leaving for sixty-three cents so I could buy the silverware.

Of course no one gave me any money, I was a kid begging, and who is going to give money to a kid. I received a few mean remarks, but mostly was ignored. Someone of course was put out enough to tell a salesman what was going on. This man showed up and asked what I was doing bothering customers?

I explained my problem to him. He told me he was Mr. Goldfine and in his opinion this one time they could take my nine dollars and twenty-three cents for the silverware. I was so excited! Here was the man who owned this huge store doing business with me like I was a grown-up customer! Better yet, I could get the silverware too! I don’t remember what I got for Christmas presents that year, but I still remember what I gave out, and I remember the man that made it possible.

We worked and laughed and got the job done the best we could each day. Some days were fun and some days were work, but between all of us we did our best, and our customers were happy. One of the best parts of the job for me was the lunch time menu. There was always a lunch special. When I was not the grill cook for the day, I could decide and make whatever the special was for that day. We would try to be be creative, and make enough to feed between thirty and forty people which seemed to be the most lunch specials we would sell in a day.

Ziggy started having headaches that would not go away. Then he started losing his balance at times. It became serious, so he went to the doctor to see what was wrong, and how it could be made better. A week went by while Ziggy waited for his tests to come back. I was starting to notice that he was not doing so well. He would forget what he was doing or have to sit down because he was too dizzy to stand.

The doctors said Ziggy had a brain tumor. It was deep inside his brain and it was growing fast. The doctors said if they operated, Ziggy had less than a five percent chance of waking up. There was radiation, although it would not cure Ziggy. At best it would slow down the growth of the tumor and hopefully extend his life a few more months.

To Ziggy, extending his life a few months meant a few more months with his new wife and daughter. He never gave it a second thought, but started the treatment as soon as he could. The first week or so Ziggy was sick, but he managed to come to work. He was not as fast on his feet as he had been. We all helped by working harder, and we finished the work as a group. By the third week Ziggy was not able to work at all.

Ziggy made it about seven months before the cancer took him. In his last lucid days, he said that if he could do it over, he [Ziggy] would have skipped the radiation, and settled for a few good months with his wife and daughter, instead of several months of being too ill to enjoy his wife and baby girl. I thought it was very sad as they lay Ziggy to rest, his last thoughts were he was cheated out of some quality time with his family.

As time marched on, other family members, and friends died of this or that. It is always a sad state watching someone die slowly of something terminal. The only advantage of a slow death, is there is plenty of time to speak with everyone you wish to speak with. You have the privilege of letting them know whatever you may wish to tell them. There is also time to get yourself in order. Taking care of your affairs as much as you can and giving those things you can to friends and family. I learned a lot from Ziggy’s illness and death, as Ziggy died well, if someone’s death is thought to be possibly called dying well.

I do not really know how Ziggy lived his life before his cancer, but I know how he did afterwards. He took every word, gesture, and thought seriously, because the time he spent with someone may have been his last. He became someone who did not play relationship games with others. He had many paths to follow, but he took the high road in his final days. I realized just a few years ago that Ziggy taught me that there are better ways to live than most of us choose to follow. It is just to bad Ziggy had to leave this world to teach me this.

I turn on my right blinker to inform the car behind me that I am going to be make a right hand turn into a local cafe. I did this about four seconds before the turn, plenty of time for the other driver to notice me, and switch lanes. The parking lot entrance is above curb level, and there is a  short ramp to go up from street level to drive into the parking lot. I had to slow way down to make the turn.

The car behind me did not change lanes. As the car came closer I saw there was a woman and at least two children in the car. She was still in the lane behind me, but now she was forced to slow down. The woman slowed, and instead of changing lanes, she starts honking her horn, yelling behind closed windows, and flipping me off!

Normally, I am a pretty laid back happy type of person, and I didn’t give her behavior much thought. Instead of her simply changing lanes as she should have done, I wondered, why she chose to slow down, yell, and flip me off? Her changing lanes would have been much simpler. My first thought was maybe she had been drinking? Drinking seemed a remote possibility for her, as she would not want to draw attention to herself if she had been drinking.

After thinking of a few possible responses I flipped her off. It was not done with malice or anger on my part, just flipping her the bird in return. It was the best response to her anger. Once I flipped her off, she swerved out to the next left lane, still angry, and yelling at me through the closed windows. Now however, she seemed happy with the result. I felt bad though for the children, wondering if this is how most daily conflict is handled by their parent(s)?

So often we feel we know the right thing to do. We turn the other cheek, or act above someone else, and many times this is the right response. In certain types of situations people expect a different payoff for their behavior. I could have responded with anger, but it was not a correct choice for in this instance. So I responded with the action this woman wanted, but not the emotion that goes with it.

Sometimes, doing the right thing means giving the other person what they need even though it goes against how we think, or would like in return. As we have expectations of how people treat us, other people should be treated in a manner they wish to be treated. There are situations and people where unfortunately the best thing to do is something you may feel least comfortable doing. In these situations, I have found, other people want a payoff of a certain type. As odd as it sounds, my giving this woman a response she solicited, instead of myself taking a different path, gave this woman something she needed to help her with her life, which is the right thing to do.

When I was a child we lived out in the country, sort of. There were neighbors around us, and you saw a car going down the road once in a while, but not very often. The population of my school was a little over eight hundred at the time and that included kindergarten to grade twelve, so there weren’t a lot of us. Brad must have been the ripe old age of six or seven when he first started showing up at my house. Brad was the only boy to ever show up to play with me besides the much older boys who were interested in my sister. Being little and alone in the country, I was thrilled to have a play mate.

Except Brad was not all that good of a play mate. We would play sometimes, and have a lot of fun, though most times we would end up fighting, usually with me taking the worst of it, being smaller and younger. I did not know any better, and Brad was the only friend I had outside of school. My Dad always thought I should beat Brad up and be done with it, but I did not have it in me at that time. Bradley’s family was very different. Brad’s Mom was a rather stern woman with little to say other than correcting or berating Brad. Brad’s Dad was very quiet and serious. They both drank I knew, everyone I knew that was an adult drank, or almost everyone, so drinking was not unusal. Brad’s folks just did not seem to have fun when they drank, and that was unusual.

One summer day Brad was supposed to come over and play with me, just getting off of being grounded for a few weeks. My Mom received a phone call from a neighbor down the road. My Mom suddenly was all shook up, she told me Brad had been in an accident! We jumped in the car and took off down the road to a four way intersection about three-quarter’s of a mile away. There was Brad lying in the middle of the road, moaning, crying, and sort of calling for his Mother, all in all pretty scary looking. His Mom showed up and what she said to him, I would rather not say, but it was not nice.

According to the driver of the car that hit him, Brad was on his bicycle and raced right into the intersection. If Brad had been two seconds earlier or later, he would not have a broken arm, a broken leg, and some broken ribs. Brad spent five months that year in various casts. Brad had a repeat accident a few years later with another broken leg, smashed ribs, and two broken collar bones. Same thing, Brad was hit on bicycle crossing a highway, at the other end of the road from our houses.

Fast forward to three years later. Brad has no friends. Almost everyone near his age is scared of him, because he is so wild and scary. You didn’t know if Brad would want to talk, or hit you with his fist – or something worse. I remember Brad the last day of school that year. Brad was on his bicycle after school, riding through the small line of buses, yelling at kids and threatening them. He had red and blue finger paint on his face and a stick in his hand he was hitting people with as he rode by. He also had a trash can lid hanging off his back. The teachers and bus drivers chased him, but he just laughed and mocked them.

I no longer lived near Brad by then. Brad had spent some months away from his home for reasons I did not know about, so we were no longer that close. About three or four weeks later after school was out I was going to Brad’s funeral. Brad was killed on the same highway he had been hit on a few years earlier. This time there was no saving him. Brad has lost almost half of his face, and his rib cage was held up by wire as he lay in his coffin. His Mom told me both of his legs and one arm had been broken too.

I felt real bad about Brad when he was killed, I cried over him after I was finally alone. At the same time, I could not help but think that maybe this was as good as Brad was ever going to get in this lifetime?. Maybe it was for the best that Brad died at the ripe old age of thirteen and a half? I do not think about Brad now days as much as I used to. Life has a way about it in that it keeps moving onward presenting new obstacles. But when I see other children I think are being abused, or have been abused, I always think of Brad. I still wonder sometime if he is better off where ever he is now. I think for the time he lived in and the family he was a part of, he is better off, not that that makes it better.

Brad would be in a prison somewhere serving a life sentence, or worse if he were alive today. Maybe if Brad were born today, he would have had a chance at a better life, as times are so much different now than they were when we were kids. I would like to think so. I still miss Brad some times. Brad was not always a good friend, but he was my first and almost only friend all those years ago.