Foiling a conspiracy

My mom says I made it up in my writer's mind, but I remember it. At least I think I remember the fateful night I single-handedly foiled a murderer's plan.

I was 14, or at least 14 sounds like an age when it could have happened, and I was babysitting the next door neighbor kids, Kirby and Kassi (sorry to name names, but it makes the story more believable). Anyway it was late -- past 10 o'clock -- and the house began to settle. It was the kind of night when the tree blowing against the house no longer sounds like a tree blowing against the house and every creak makes you whip your eyes to the stairs to see the thing coming up from the garage to get you and the kids.

After checking on the kids for the fifth time, I turned on the television looking for distraction. As I flipped from Letterman to Leno, I glanced out the window and saw it. In the pale glow of the fluorescent, yellow street light sat a car, not just any car but a sinister looking four-door - not your mother's sedan.

The trunk was open and what appeared to be two shovels were sticking out. I remembered every horror movie that my sister forced me to watch, recalled the recurring scenario - young innocent girl runs back into the house even though you shout at her to run the other way, hides behind the door as if the crazy man who survived being knifed, lit on fire, and then buried alive is not going to be determined enough to take a simple glimpse behind the door. I think you know her fate.

I called my parent's house next door, no answer. The men grabbed the shovels and walked out about 200 yards making themselves barely visible under the dim light.

I pressed my face against the glass. They began to dig, first one and then the other. The mound growing higher, the hole deeper. It was when they went back for the body that I knew it was them or me. It was time to prove what I had learned from my horror movie education. I would not go gently into that good night. I picked up the phone, fingers trembling, I made the call.

"Yes, this is Faith Beyer, there are two men burying a body in the field near my house."

Okay, so this is where it gets sketchy. Check the police phone log and you may not find any evidence. But I remember it, or at least I've told the story enough times that in my reality, it did happen.

The police, in my story, did come, dragging the perpetrators up to the front door for identification. Except on their faces were not looks of pitiful remorse, they were looks of anger, anger at me, not for spoiling their perfect crime, but for adding more hours to an already long day of work.

"Thanks to you, kid..." they snarled.

Kid, who were they calling kid. I had done this town a great service. In that body bag was someone's daughter or mother or brother and I, I alone, had the courage to stand up and say, "No, I will not be the girl that hides in the corner and waits for the heavy footstep to draw near. I will not be another nameless face running through the woods stumbling over a log that I would have seen had I not been slowing myself down with looks back. I will not be..."

"What? What is that you say? It was Pirate Pete's treasure you were burying. You'll have to do what? Find a new location and begin again. Oh......Sorry."