I left the market feeling ill at ease, but firmly convinced I was still sane.  After all, what is normalcy but the confirmation from others that the stimulus is sensed by them as well?  This thought and this thought alone carried me home, and all of a sudden, I couldn't remember the trip.  I had been at the market, and now I was home.

The loss of time reminded me of those eyes--the preacher's eyes that had jumped so unnaturally.  As I pulled open the light screen door to unlock the deadbolt it had concealed, I thought about how all of us who had seen the preacher had suffered grief somewhat recently.  I locked my door again and let the screen door slam, bouncing on its hinges as I turned on my heel and ran to the library.

I was afforded a small smile when I thought about being a child again, in school, and had coined the term "Micro Fish" for the transparent journalistic records.  The basement of the library, where the tall viewing machines were kept, was musty, forbidding to books, threatening mildew to any print-on-paper entity that might have been housed here.

I pulled the binder toward the edge of the table where it was kept, and lifted the front cover open.  My finger ran down the list of contents as I read them silently to myself, stopping for a moment when I reached "O" for Obituaries. 

Moments later I was ready to view the "Micro Fish," and sat down in front of the viewer, nervously taking up the pencil I had set atop the single sheet of college-ruled paper.  I pressed the switch on the side of the machine that reminded me of a see saw.  In the dark and dank library basement, the light from the viewer seemed garish and shocking; I closed my eyes for a moment before opening them again slowly to allow my pupils to readjust.

I scanned and wrote.  I noted the names of anyone who lived in town who had lost someone in the last year, ranging from Millie to myself.  When I'd finished, I looked upon my work with a veritable mixture of pride and sorrow.  Twelve names, thirteen if I included myself.

I turned off the viewer, put away the "Micro Fish" film and left the library, tucking the folded list into my back pocket.  I walked home, unaccompanied and unvisited by the preacher.  I needed a phone book.  I needed to call these people, save for the two I'd spoken to already today.  I needed to know how many of them had seen him.

Once home I looked up the ten phone numbers I needed.  I live in a small town; it was easy to get folks to agree to talk to me, especially because the grief within that first year was always the hardest.  I could commiserate with them.  I arranged to meet with all of them, and though I'd been hoping to meet them all tomorrow, I had to spread it out over the next three days.  Not everyone had such a forgiving schedule.

The next day I was on my way to meet with one of them, one Mike Dency.  Mike worked at the local bank, and was a financial planner, but had arranged to meet me for coffee at the local cafe, which was located on main street, not far from Mike's bank.  As I knelt to close the lock on my bicycle, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck slowly rise.

I didn't look up.  Animals are born with a natural fear of shadows, and I'm no different.  An animal though would run away and I felt rooted to the spot.  When I heard his voice it was as though I'd known it all my life, feared it all my life.  It was the voice of the proverbial boogie man. 

"You know what I love about October twenty-sixth?"

I didn't answer.

"Five days left until Halloween.  Just five days."

Again I remained silent, staring at my bike lock, my gaze unfocused for the duration that he stood there, hovering over me like a predator enjoying the thought of tearing into his prey.  Animals didn't really do that though.  They didn't mentally enjoy fear in others...that was a human quality.  Yet the preacher seemed to be distinctly non-human.

He left.  Or disappeared.  I didn't really care, as I stood up, what his method was, so long as he was gone.  I tried to shake my fear away but couldn't help but notice I looked a bit out of sorts in the reflection of the cafe window.  Mike was on the other side, staring at me.  His expression didn't carry any pity, but instead fear.  I knew before I even walked into the cafe that he'd already met the preacher.