Rooftop Visitor
by Gay Williford

     The amber light of sundown glazed all
inside my woodsy cabin with a warm, coral glow.
But the calm stillness that reigned was abruptly
interrupted when a sharp noise up on the roof made
me jump! I could easily have been deaf to its
occurrence, (as I was cozily napping under Grandma’s
Bluebell quilt) except for the heavy sounds of zig-zagging
footsteps that followed it.
     I rose staring up at the trap door that ought to have
been bolted. With horror, my fuzzy memory recalled
I had intentionally left it unlocked as I expected to return
to raking leaves off up there.
     As I moved toward the indoor step ladder, I was
suddenly halted when a blunt-angled face peered down
at me from the opening above. In the dim light it was impossible
to identify this man, though I did recognize his
native-designed tee shirt.
     “Hello, down there–I really need your help,” the face
explained in an urgent voice. “My friend out in my truck
broke his leg on our hike and is in bad shape. I saw your
lights but couldn’t get in. Casey Potts, right? I’m Ted Oaks.
Heard you had a cabin out here on Stag Point. May I use
your phone? Mine died. Hope I didn’t alarm you too much!
So glad to find somebody at home!”


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