Standing up against the side of my parents’ house, shaded by the white haze of the plummeting snow, was a naked, elderly man. Almost as white as the snow all around him, shivering and rail thin, he seemed to be looking right at me through the glass of the now-exposed windshield.

I took him in for one more flash before I dove down to the floor and my heart rate and terrified anxiety picked right back up.

Tucked in the false safety of the filthy carpet next to my gas pedal and brake, I tried to piece together the image of the naked elderly man standing just in front of my car, who now had to be fully aware of exactly where I was. It was not my dad. It was not some ghost of my dad who had leaked out of that answering machine where he left the message two weeks ago, but I had my doubts as to my assailant’s living status since it seemed like he was still fine standing in the sub-zero temperatures of the storm.

Just as big of a mystery to me as what the deal with what the elderly man was, was exactly what I should do. I could make a run for the house to retrieve my cell phone, but it was running on empty battery power when I left it there anyway and I would expose myself to the geriatric demon just going back in to get it. I could make a run for the nearest house, but same thing, I would expose myself and there was no guarantee I could make it to the nearest house in the storm as it was at least 100 yards away in the rural paradise my parents lived in. My best option was to break open that emergency kit, wrap myself in that weird, silver blanket and wait this thing out.