It all started when our big screen TV went kaput. This was back in the days of the big box-type big screens and VCRs. We drug the TV from the bedroom out to the livingroom and my husband made a makeshift table to set it on. Because I was in the process of copying tapes for my mother, the big dual VHS deck was set on top of it. To cover the odd pieces of wood that made up the table, I took a length of fabric and draped it over it. It would have to do until we got a replacement.
I had been copying a ton of tapes when my husband came out to take over the TV. I went off into the computer room to do some work. A few hours later, I noticed my husband had wandered off to bed and so I began the ritual of locking doors, turning off lights and closing drapes.
But when I walked into the livingroom, my heart froze. There, standing at the back sliding door, was some guy dressed up like Darth Vader staring into the house. Have you ever been so scared that your mouth tasted like gasoline? I stood there frozen for what seemed an eternity and Darth Vader never moved. I slowly stepped into the hallway, then ran into the bedroom to wake my husband.
Now, my husband was deaf in one ear so waking him was a bit of a chore if he was sleeping on his good ear. I finally rouse him, (and he’s none too happy about being woken), and he’s asking me what my problem is. I ‘yell-whisper’, “There’s some sick freak dressed up as Darth Vader in the back yard!”. He asks, “So what do you want me to do about it?”. I reply, “I want you to shoot the S.O.B.!!!”
He finally gets out of bed and grabs his pistol. I’m attached to his back as he’s walking down the hallway. As he steps into the livingroom, I see the creep is still there, but my husband is acting like he doesn’t see anything. He turns around and gives me the “what” look. I frantically say, “He’s right there! Get him!”
My husband walks toward the sliding glass door and opens it. I’m confused and my brain isn’t quite processing what is happening. He yells out the back yard then comes back into the house. When he shuts the door, I see it.
The TV on the makeshift table with the electronics piled on it and the fabric draped over it reflected onto the glass in the exact shape of Darth Vader. I meekly describe this to my husband who is now thoroughly annoyed. He yells at me, “No more science fiction movies for you!” and stomps off to bed.
So now I tell everyone that Darth Vader lives in my back yard with the possum. (The possum is another story...)