Re-written and submitted by John Gray: phat_cheops@yahoo.com

Originally written by: Adelle Gray (If you write the author, be sure to spell this correctly...)

Ms. Emmit was a woman of almost eighty years, crumpled and weather-worn with the distinct ravages of age. Her husband, Barrett, long since dead, smiled at her from the portrait over the fireplace, where she sat rocking with her new bloodhound puppy, Colt.

She lived, like most folk on the outer part of Newton, in a smallish house that was almost like a cabin, set up on its foundations a short distance from the pervasive East Texas-Louisiana bayous. Her particular house sat off a tiny dirt road, where her Model T sat in the driveway, long since used. Behind lay what she affectionately referred to as her backyard; an expanse of swamp stretching out for miles into fair-to-moderately thick trees and clumps of high-growing swamp grass the Clemens boys liked to use as duck blinds, when that particular time of year rolled around. As it was, a cold December wind had crept in from the north, and Ms. Emmit wrapped her shawl tight around her. All that could be heard was the wind howling, the crickets singing, and the fire popping.

Until she heard Colt bristle, and looked down to see him sit bolt upright, facing the back door. He whimpered, then trotted over there to stand by it. Ms. Emmit rose from her chair with her standard difficulty increased only slightly by the chill weather, and joined him.

“What’s the matter, Colt? You hear one of them night gators?” Often restless gators would creep up to her back porch in the night, sniffing the unfamiliar smells coming from the house. Every dog she’d ever owned had hated them. But Colt looked up at her in such a way, it made her wonder. So she walked over to the nearest window and peeked out.

About a mile off in the distance, too far away to imagine the size or shape, a faint green glow seemed to be coming from the woods. As soon as she laid eyes on it, Ms. Emmit noticed something else; the crickets had gone dead quiet. Not a chirp could be heard. Now that she strained her ears, however, she could make out some kind of high-pitched whistle, a kind of whistle totally unfamiliar to her. It sounded almost like a radio tuned to static. As soon as she put a finger on it, however, both the glow and the whistle faded. She looked at Colt, and he looked back at her, then back to the door, then walked over back to the fire, casting an occasional glance behind him.

Ms. Emmit went to the house’s sole phone, right on the opposite wall of the fireplace, and had the operator connect her with June Hodges, her oldest friend and closest neighbor.

“Hello, June?”

“Clara?” said June, quizzically. “Everything all right? It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“I know. I was just wondering if you hadn’t seen anything over near your place, out in the swamp a ways.”

“No... but I ain’t been payin’ attention. Bill and I were just gettin’ to bed...”

Ms. Emmit sighed. “Did you hear anything, like a whistle?”

“No, ma’am,” said June. “Are you all right, honey? You sound a little scared.”

“I’m fine, June. Just seein’ things is all. Imagine I’ll be gettin’ to bed, too. You take care, now.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up.

Ms. Emmit went back to her chair by the fireplace and stared into it. Colt once again curled up at her feet, the evening’s excitement already forgotten.

Soon, they heard it again.

Ms. Emmit’s head snapped up as if she had been dozing off, and she looked over to see Colt already at the door, whimpering, his fur bristling. She got up and crossed to the window, and her breath stuck in her throat.

The whistle was closer, louder, and so was the glow. It had moved from being about a mile away to being a little more than half that distance from her house. It appeared to be slowly drifting in her direction. It was about the size of her house.

Colt was growling.

Again, with no warning, the whistle and the green cloud disappeared, leaving only a furious dog and a shivering old woman. Quickly she went to the phone and dialed June’s number.

“Clara?” June asked, without even waiting to hear her speak.

“Yes,” said Ms. Emmit. “I saw the cloud again. It’s, it’s this green cloud, big as my house, and it keeps coming toward my house and whistling...”

“Wait, Clara, slow down, now. Start over. Go slow.”

Ms. Emmit did. She described the whole evening’s happenings to June. When she was finished, June chuckled.

“Clara, my little boy sees a light kinda like that every time he goes frog-gigging at night. It’s just the swamp. Won’t hurt you. Now go to bed, OK?”

Ms. Emmit felt a little relieved and soothed. “All right, June. Sorry to bother you.”

As soon as she hung up the phone, a chill ran up Ms. Emmit’s spine. She had never felt so alone. June lived nigh on four miles away, nearer to town than she. It was possible she couldn’t see or hear this thing even if it was...real.

Ms. Emmit shook her head and hurried back to her chair and Colt, petting his shiny fur. This relaxed her a little. It was good to have another heart beating in the room.

She had almost drifted off again, when the whistling started up again, shrill and sonic. She sqwuaked in surprise; Colt ran to the door and started barking and growling, scratching at the wooden door. Ms. Emmit got to her feet and hurried to the window, where she saw the cloud again. This time it was so close, she was sure she could have hit it with a thrown stick, in her younger days, anyway. She hurried to the phone, as Colt barked madly.

“Clara?”

“June! June, it’s back, and it’s closer, can you hear it?”

“All I hear is the dog barking, Clara! Calm down!”

As soon as June had said that, the whistling stopped. Ms. Emmit couldn’t see out the window, but she felt fairly certain that the green glow would be gone, too. “It... it stopped again.”

“Clara, do you want Bill and I to come over?”

“I, I don’t know, I don’t want to be here alone... I-” Ms. Emmit was cut off when the whistling started again. Colt, running around in circles, finally got it in his head to jump out the window. The green glow shone into the house.

“Colt! Colt come back!”

June could hear the whistling through the phone; it was like nothing she had ever heard. “Oh my Lord!”

Colt stopped barking.

“Sweet Jesus! Oh, sweet Jesus, they're coming inside! Clara!”

And the phone line went dead.

After rousing Sheriff Buckner from his bed, he and two deputies made the trip out to Clara Emmit’s house. But she was gone.

Sheriff Buckner half-expected to find her wandering around in the woods. After all, there were no signs of struggle, and the phone was neatly placed on its hook.

Sheriff Buckner walked out onto the back porch and looked out into the bayou, when he felt something warm drip onto his shoulder.

He looked up, and there was Colt, butchered and strung up in the rafters.

No one ever saw Ms. Emmit again.