Dark already. The house sits 150 yards from the street, among the trees. Only one neighbor past, at the end of the street, with just the woods beyond.
The door-bell rings. No car in the drive, just a man standing in the middle of the porch. Disheveled and wet from running, long and hard. Wants to use the phone to call his mother.
Man of the house engages the visitor in non-threatening conversation, through the glass of the closed door, while wife and children move to the far end of the house and call 911. He's confused, knows that the pharmaceutical companies are all out to poison him; but he got away. He ran from the mental hospital 20 miles away, ran all the way, through the woods, exhausted now.
The police come up the long drive quickly and quietly, no lights, no siren. They've been looking for the man for two hours. It seems he was used to being cuffed and put in the back seat. No resistance, just resignation. All went quietly.
He was non-threatening, confused, scared, tired, but no one wanted to deal with all the bad potential that was on that porch. Police took him back to the hospital. Drama done.
There's an old, trite saying: "problem people are people with problems", and we'll never know what his was. He was handled kindly, the police handled him professionally, no harm was done.
But in the quiet of the early morning hours, a little girl is still wide awake, not so much frightened as just on edge, realizing that living out of sight does not mean isolated safety. She'll grow from it, but her world is a little rougher now than it was before. She's seen what she didn't know was there in the dark woods.
Blessings to all who take away the fear from children in the night.
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