Night Vision

The guard clanged the door open. "OK, kid, try that on for size. Go on, get in there." The guard was a large middle-aged man. He called anyone who looked younger than 40 'Kid'. He could bench press 350 pounds, and looked like it. He didn't get much backtalk from the people he had charge of.

Few of the inmates knew that he was a second degree black belt. Richard was one of the few.

He entered the cell and the guard closed the door behind him. "You've been here before, haven't you?" It wasn't a question. Richard didn't answer.

"Well, you're mine for the next sixty days, turkey. Just do what you're told and we'll get along just fine."

Richard Stone was a stringy blonde tough who grew up in a poor neighborhood. He never knew his father, and his mother went through four short marriages while he was growing up. When she wasn't draining some man's wallet, she sold herself and shoplifted on the side. He came out of the cradle fighting for what he wanted, and usually got it. When he didn't get what he wanted, he learned to get revenge.

Richard sat on the bunk and thought about his situation. He didn't have a home, a car or a bank account. Having lost his job, he'd been trying crime again. He liked not having a boss.

It didn't take long to remember that cell time is boring. There is nothing to do but think. Having spent a lot of time in cells, he was tired of thinking. He thought of the answers to a lot of questions, but never got the answers he wanted.

A trustee came by with a cart full of books and magazines. "Want something to read?"

"Buzz off. I just want to sit. I don't like to read."

The trustee threw a small thick book to him. "Take this anyway. Maybe you'll learn something."

Richard caught the book with the reflexes of a predator. He glanced at the cover. "The Bluejacket's Manual". He thumbed idly through the pages, looking at the pictures.

It wasn't what he'd expected. It was a WWII training manual for enlisted seamen. He was surprised at the wide variety of subjects. There were chapters on naval discipline, how to care for uniforms and one's personal hygiene, how to tie knots, how to sight a rifle, how to maneuver a boat, and how to see at night.

"How to see at night. Now there's something that might come in handy." He read as quickly as he could, stumbling over the words, often going back over the same paragraph several times. By nightfall, he had a good grasp of the subject. Night vision during the war was done with only binoculars to aid the eyes. There were few ways of amplifying light, and the technology left much to be desired. The primary activity was to sensitize the eyes, to make the most of the available light.

He began by shielding his eyes from the light for an hour or so before lights out. Then he waited for the deeper blackness that late night would bring.

Midnight came, and the guards made their inspections. After they were gone, he tried his new found knowledge. He confirmed what the book said. If he looked directly at something, it would disappear. If he used his peripheral vision, he could make out details that were otherwise invisible.

It was a learned skill, like many others. Unlike painting, carpentry and plastering, Richard had an interest.

"Nothing like a little robbery to pack my wallet. They can't pick me out of a lineup if they didn't see me, and if I'm caught, there's nothing to incriminate me. No partners, no witnesses. Nice."

It never occurred to Richard that if he'd applied as much effort on the job, he might have made a good honest living. When his term was up, he could see fairly well in darkness that most people would be blind in.

He washed dishes to pay for his meals and shelter when he got out. He checked out the downtown area, looking for theaters where patrons might be coming out late at night. He found one that had an alley next door that led to a parking lot. He studied the details of the alley, looking for escape routes and hiding places.

A black cat rubbed against his pant leg, mewing for attention. "Hi, puddy tat. You need a friend, huh?"

He picked the cat up, stroking it. "Maybe you'd like to hunt the mice I saw in my room. I could use your company."

He cradled the cat on his arm and headed for home. "Now all I have to do is come back tomorrow and reel in the loot."

The next evening, he ate early and then went shopping. He bought a small flashlight, some batteries, a sleeping mask and a pair of cheap cotton work gloves at a variety store. He inspected his tools back in his room.

"A little bright light to kill any vision they got. Just gotta make sure I don't get myself." Any exposure to bright light would destroy his ability to see in the dark.

He poured a little milk in a saucer. "I'd feed you, Midnight, but then you wouldn't hunt. This will keep you here while I'm out."

He waited until an hour or so before the play was over, and entered the alley. A well aimed rock took care of the street lamp. He found a comfortable hiding place behind some cardboard boxes and sat on a pile of old rags.

"Gotta make sure I don't fall asleep while I'm waitin' for the wallet to come by. It'd be a shame to miss a roll of bread because I dozed off." He made himself less comfortable, put on the mask to block the light, and sat listening intently.

The sounds of the crowd walking by woke him up. "Geez, I dozed off anyway," he thought. He pulled the mask off and cautiously checked the light. The alley was quite dark, only a little moonlight came in. He felt quite safe.

He watched the crowd thin down to a trickle, and finally just one every minute or so. "The next one who looks like he's got some bread, Bingo!"

A man wearing a hat and overcoat entered the alley. "This is the one," he thought, his pulse accelerating. He moved into his chosen attack position.

"Gimmee your wallet, or I'll slit your throat." He spoke just loud enough for his victim to hear clearly, no need to broadcast what was happening. He carried no weapon, but the man in the overcoat had no way of knowing this.

"Here, take it." Mr. Hat and Coat took out a wallet and threw it on the pavement. Richard took careful aim with the flashlight, closed his eyes, and flicked it on for just a second.

Having flooded the victim's face with a blinding flash, he opened his eyes and scooped up the wallet. Then he glided through the darkness to a gap between the buildings, and walked quickly away.

He might as well have been invisible, the victim didn't see a thing. He walked for several blocks before he found a deserted stretch where he emptied the wallet and flipped it into a storm drain. He removed the gloves and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. If the wallet was found, it wouldn't have his fingerprints on it.

"Now all I gotta do is find a bus, and head for home." He hummed to himself on the bus, pleased with how smoothly it had worked. The pattern was set for the next several weeks.

The police were stuck. The victims had seen nothing, heard little and remembered less. There was no physical evidence that they recognized. Pressure began to build for an arrest.

"I want this bird stopped," the chief yelled at the lieutenant. The lieutenant yelled at the captain and he yelled at the sergeants in turn. "He hasn't hurt anybody so far, but how long will that go on?"

Richard counted his loot after each time. He was surprised at how well he was doing. Many of his victims had been carrying a hundred dollars or more. One had been packing over three thousand dollars.

"You'd think these jerks would be smart enough to carry just a few bucks, but if they want to hand over hundreds instead of tens, who am I to complain? Midnight, it's steak for us tonight."

He knew that the heat was on, and decided he'd better not press his luck. "Maybe I'll take a short vacation, give it a rest. Let the cops think I left town or something."

He was eating dinner late one night when he heard two waitresses discussing business.

"I don't envy you taking the receipts to the bank. That's an ugly part of town at night."

"Don't tell Charlie, but I don't go to the bank. I just take 'em home with me, and then go to the bank in the morning."

Richard paid close attention to her uniform when he went to pay. Her name was on a badge, "Betty". He made a mental note. He went back the next day for lunch, hoping that Betty wouldn't be there.

"Betty on today?" he asked the cashier.

"No, she works nights. You know her?"

"She looks like a girl I went to school with. Is she married to a painter named Burns, lives in Bentwood?"

"No, her name is Chase and I think they live in Kingsley." The cashier was free with Information.

"Not the same girl. They look a lot the same, and I wondered." The rest was just as easy. A check of the Kingsley phone book gave him the address. It was a quiet residential neighborhood. The plan was the same; wait for Betty in the dark, blind her with the light, take the money and disappear in the darkness.

He forgot about Halloween and modern women.

The younger kids had made their rounds and gone home to bed when he got off the bus. Small groups of teens were still canvassing the houses. He waited impatiently for them to get tired or bored and call it quits. It took forever.

He hid himself in the bushes by the driveway. He shielded his eyes from the headlights when he heard the car approach. He made his move when he heard the car door shut.

"OK sister, gimmee the purse or I'll cut your face." He flashed the light and grabbed for the money bag. The night was pierced by an ear shattering howl. Betty had been wearing a personal alarm, and she had set it off.

The screaming noise filled his brain, and he knew it could be heard for blocks. "I gotta get out of here," he thought, scrambling to make his way through the bushes. Lights were coming on in nearby houses, and a running man on the street would show up like a beacon.

He leaped over an iron fence and hid in the shrubbery. The screaming of the alarm seemed to go on for hours. Finally it stopped. He watched through the fence, and cupped his ears to catch the conversation. The police came, witnesses were found, statements were taken. They began searching the nearby yards.

He looked for an escape route. He concentrated on the periphery of his vision, trying to make out the murky details.

The upright stones and shadowy monuments told him where he was.

"A graveyard on Halloween night. What a place to get stuck. Good thing I'm not superstitious." He walked toward the far end to explore the situation. He heard someone to his right, their feet crunched the dry leaves and he jerked around to confront them. The crunching stopped. There was nobody there.

He took a few more steps. Someone walking to the left now, two of them. He flashed the light at them in panic. A light mist floated through the beam of the flashlight.

"That must be what I saw," he told himself. His legs began to shake.

His body's reaction to his surroundings made him angry. "This is stupid, there's nobody here but me." The leaves rustled in denial. He glanced toward the sound, straining to see.

"Use your night vision," he thought. "You're panicked. Don't look directly at it, watch the corners of your eyes."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and concentrated on the corners of his vision, ignoring the center.

"Come, your place is over here."

He could see them. They were out there, walking through the headstones, coming for him. He caught the first whiff of rotting flesh. This was not teenagers in rubber masks, this was Death.

"Get away, get away from me!"

He flashed the light again. Its brilliant beam showed only mist. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and torso. Resources were taken from digestion and given to flight. He tasted the remains of dinner as his stomach tried to expel its contents. The alarms inside his head shrieked at him.

Stone Age reflexes prepared him for flight. He listened to his heart pounding through his jacket. Chills ran down his arms and legs as adrenaline increased. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, trying to make him look bigger. It didn't help.

Lungs gasping...

Eyes bulging...

Mouth screaming...

"No...! Get away! Nooooo...!

When a person dies outside a hospital, without witnesses, an "Unattended Death" report is filed. The evidence is collected, and the coroner determines the cause of death at the inquest, which may be several weeks later.

"Well, Lieutenant, do we tell the coroner this is a possible homicide?"

"No, I don't think so. From his footprints I'd say he was alone. He came tearing across the grass at full tilt, and fell in this open grave. Broke his neck. The grave should have been covered over."

"It was, but the planks have been moved, see? Probably some kids out doing trick or treat."

They took notes and discussed the evidence while they watched the photographer. After he left, they helped the coroner get the body out. They laid it on the grass.

The sergeant turned it over. "Good Lord, look at his face! What do you suppose he saw that scared him like that?"

The coroner looked at the body. "That's just a contraction of the facial muscles after death occurs. Happens sometimes. He couldn't have seen much out here last night, it was pitch black."

"Well, cover him up, please. I can't stand to look at him."

The coroner unzipped the body bag. "The fence is meant to keep trespassers out. Wonder what was he doing in the Old Sailor's Cemetery on Halloween night, anyway?"

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