NightWriters
By Denis Perry
I did not desire an adventurous retirement. After 40 years at JPL managing interplanetary probes I determined to reorient myself to a natural and simple lifestyle. For my retreat, I located a half-acre property near the river in Atascadero with apple trees, pomegranates, and nectarines; there was a large but neglected garden plot near the back fence.
At first things were excellent. I harvested Granny Smith apples in September and pomegranates the following month, installed a fountain adjacent to the patio and enjoyed watching bats in the dusk. I hiked in the riverbed and up Pine Mountain, went to bed early, and rose at dawn to work in the garden. Peace filled my soul, replacing the noise and confusion of Pasadena.
One morning I woke to find my trousers pulled from the clothes line and left floating at the edge of the fountain. Perplexed, I searched the property for signs of intruders, finding nothing. Mischievous teenagers, I concluded. The episode was soon forgotten and I returned to my study of Sunset’s Western Garden Handbook, planning an extensive garden. By March I’d forgotten the pants-in-the-fountain episode in the excitement of spring planting amidst blossoming nectarines and new leaves on the apples.
Then someone got into the trash. It seemed a bizarre stunt, garbage strewn across the yard and floating in the fountain, a banana skin arranged neatly on the fountain edge. I searched the property, carefully inspecting all the fences, gates and locks but found no other clues.
The next morning I put my electronics and computer skills to work. I ordered three Nite-Cam security modules, then devoted the remainder of the day to wiring and programming. The following day I completed the installation, with two Nite-Cams set to continuously record the gates from dusk to dawn. The third camera was oriented toward a neighbor’s tree that overhung the fence. I settled down to wait for the pranksters to reveal themselves.
For three nights nothing occurred, though I did note muddy smudges on the porch. Then someone uprooted a pea plant, and the next night a pair of socks were pulled from the line and deposited in the fountain.
I reviewed the Nite-Cam records several times, finding nothing indicative of the nature of the prowler. The idea of such a secretive intruder bothered me, and the peace I felt in Atascadero was gone. I reviewed the episodes in my mind, then charted the characteristics of each visit.
The fountain was a focal point of the invader, and clothes were involved in several of the pranks. That night I arranged two socks on a patio chair and chose a seat in the living room with a view of the area of concern. I checked that my phone was at hand, then turned out the lights and sat gazing at the patio in the light of the quarter-moon.
Sometime after midnight I startled awake to a rhythmic sound like someone getting spanked, but heard no squeals or complaining. Slap – pause – slap – pause…
The moon was long set. I crept to the light switch and stood close to the window as I flipped on the flood light. A masked figure stared back at me for a moment, then resumed rinsing socks and slapping them on the fountain’s edge.
I eased back from the window and turned off the light. It appeared that I must now study the fauna of Atascadero. Who knew a raccoon could cause so much chaos?
Denis Perry is a retired physician living in Atascadero. He’s met some space scientists and engineers, and raccoons often visit his back yard – occasionally washing his socks. Denis is a member of SLO NightWriters, for writers at every level in every genre; find them online at slonightwriters.org.
