(Photo credit: Sean Foster: Unsplash)
“In the small town of Cedar Wood, a man named Tom Myers lived a simple life. He worked for an oil well company, was married to Lindsay, and had two kids, Bobby and Jenny. Tom was a friendly, down-to-earth guy, and he would never have imagined something bizarre could happen to him.”
It all started on a cold, cloudy day in Cedar Wood, following a heavy rain the night before. Tom said goodbye to Lindsay and the kids, then left for work in his big truck, just like always. He drove carefully down the streets, which were slick and scattered with small tree limbs.
As he traveled down an old road beside a small pond, he noticed that the heavy rain had caused the pond to overflow onto the road. Before he could turn around, Tom’s truck got stuck in the rising water.
He attempted to drive out, but his tires were firmly trapped in the mud and water. Taking his wallet out of his pocket to keep it dry, he climbed out of the truck to assess the situation. Wading through the calf-deep water, he realized that if he kept trying to drive, he might eventually free the truck.
On his way back to the front of the truck, Tom tripped over a stick and fell into the water. Soaking wet, he stood up and shook his head.
“This just isn’t my day,” he muttered. A little later, despite the wet and muddy truck, he managed to escape the flooded road and sighed in relief.
Tom knew he was a bit late, but his boss, Robert Porter, had told him the day before not to stop at the office first. Instead, he was to head over to some old oil wells that a new customer wanted to get running again. Robert had also mentioned that he would send one of the other men to assist him
So, Tom drove his truck to the oil wells, navigating down a gravel lane that passed some mobile homes before arriving at a small clearing bordered by woods. The oil wells stood quietly to the side. Tom stepped out of his truck and climbed the metal stairs to the top of the wells. After working for a while, he realized he needed another hand to help him.
At that moment, Tom heard the crunch of tires on the gravel road, a sound that jolted him from his thoughts. He was aware that this isolated path rarely welcomed visitors. He recognized the rumbling of Matt Willis’ truck.
Thank goodness Robert sent Matt; he’s just the right person for this task, Tom thought, feeling a flicker of relief. Robert had always insisted on a casual approach, preferring to be called by his first name rather than “Mr. Porter,” a detail everyone respected.
Matt parked the truck and climbed out, his boots sounding loud on the stairs as he ascended.
“Hey, Matt,” Tom greeted. “I’m glad you’re here; I’m having trouble with this gauge.”
Matt paused mid-step, scanning the area as if searching for something elusive. His gaze landed on Tom, yet it felt as though he was looking right through him, as if Tom were nothing more than the wind that was blowing.
Matt rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion, then shrugged it off and continued his ascent to the top platform, the old wood creaking under his weight.
“Matt, is everything okay?” Tom asked, his voice laced with concern.
Again, Matt’s eyes darted around, searching the space. “Who’s there?!?” he called out, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.
“It’s just me,” Tom reassured him, stepping closer and placing a hand gently on Matt’s shoulder.
“Aah!” Matt shouted, spinning around, his expression a mix of fear and bewilderment. In that moment, it hit Tom with panic that if Matt couldn’t see him, then perhaps he was invisible.
Disbelief and confusion surged within him, intertwining with a strange sense of dread. How could this be possible? It felt unreal, yet the cold, damp fabric clinging to his skin reminded him he was very much awake, trapped in a nightmare that blurred the lines between reality and illusion.
Tom climbed down the stairs, leaving Matt still shaken by the presence of someone unseen. Determined to find answers, Tom headed to his boss, Robert, who was known for his level-headedness.
He sat in his truck for a moment, recalling the books he’d read about invisibility, which all said that invisible people couldn’t see themselves. Yet, there he was, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror.
The only explanation he could think of was that he must have become invisible after passing through the flooded pond. Strange, considering it was just a pond. The mystery of his condition left him puzzled.
Frustrated, Tom decided to stop overthinking and drive to the office. He started the truck and pulled onto the road, aware of his invisibility as cars zoomed past him, barely missing him. Stopping in the middle of the road would surely lead to disaster. Now it was clear: the flooded pond had made him and his truck invisible, both soaked from the water.
Shivering from the cold and dampness, Tom felt the cold beginning to chill him. He longed for the warmth of the office.
Upon arriving, he parked and stepped out, making his way to the door. As he slowly opened it, he knew Robert’s secretary, Ellen Stevens, would be at her desk facing him.
As Tom entered, a wave of warm air enveloped him, bringing a sigh of relief. He watched Ellen, who didn’t seem to notice the door opening on its own. Moving quietly, he slipped past her and opened the door to Robert’s office. Ellen Stevens glanced around, sensing a presence, but then shrugged and returned to her work.
Robert was seated at his desk when Tom walked in, but he remained oblivious to Tom’s presence. Robert was focused on his writing when he heard the door open. He looked up, surprised to find no one there, and resumed his work.
Tom stepped closer, calling out, “Robert.”
Robert jumped up from his chair, startled. “Who’s there? Where are you?” His face showed a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
Tom shook his head. If Robert was supposed to be more sensible than Matt, he sure wasn’t acting that way! At that moment, Tom chose to keep his invisibility a secret, at least for now. Though confused about how he’d become invisible, he realized how rare an experience like this was.
“Over here,” Tom whispered, suppressing a grin as he saw the panicked look on his boss’s face. He approached Robert’s desk quietly, picked up the paperweight, and placed it down with a light clink. Then, shifting a stack of papers from one side of the desk to the other, he stepped back to watch.
“What on earth…?” Robert sank heavily into his chair, scanning the room with wide eyes. His gaze fell on the paperweight, and he rubbed his head, mumbling, “This is the strangest thing. Am I losing my mind?” Just then, the office door creaked open and shut on its own, leaving Robert staring, mouth agape.
Tom moved back toward Miss Stevens’ desk, still shivering from the cold. Miss Stevens had just poured herself a fresh mug of coffee, steam curling warmly from the cup as she read a paper on her desk. With a furrowed brow, she set down the cup, muttering, “That doesn’t sound right at all.” She scratched through sentences, her pen darting across the page.
While she focused on her editing, Tom’s attention drifted to the coffee. He couldn’t resist its warmth, so he lifted the mug, took several gulps, and set it back down quietly.
Miss Stevens didn’t even notice. A few moments later, she absently lifted her coffee cup to her lips, surprised when she tasted nothing but air. She frowned, looking into the empty cup. “I thought I poured a full cup,” she murmured, rubbing her forehead as if to shake off a lingering fog.
“Maybe I drank it all… I must be getting forgetful.” With a slight sigh, she refilled her cup.
Afterward, Miss Stevens stepped into Robert’s office to ask him a question about her work. While she was in there, Tom couldn’t resist drinking coffee, savoring the warmth and enjoying the small act of mischief.
When Miss Stevens returned, Tom overheard her mutter, “Robert’s acting strange today… almost like he’s going insane.” She resumed her place at her desk, eyeing the coffee pot with suspicion. There was barely any coffee left. “I couldn’t have drunk all that, could I?” Her brow furrowed as she glanced around, a hint of doubt in her gaze. “Am I going insane?”
Meanwhile, Tom slipped out of the building as quietly as he could, biting back a grin. It seemed everyone was starting to feel a bit out of their mind.
He headed to his truck, then he paused, uncertain of where to go or what to do. He figured he’d work out how to feel “normal” again if he even could.
As Tom walked toward his truck, one of the company’s heavy-duty 18-wheeler oil rigs pulled into the parking lot, its robust design standing out. These trucks were more fortified than the average semi, designed by a German engineer with an eye for resilience, and nothing could seem to dent them. Crafted from the hardest steel and a secret alloy, these rigs practically guaranteed safety for their drivers, even in an accident.
Tom backed up instinctively as the semi approached, realizing with a jolt that he was invisible. Just then, the semi began reversing and collided right into his truck! Tom’s truck, also invisible, shifted under the massive weight, nearly crushed as it was pushed off the lot and into the grass. The semi’s driver, feeling the impact, stepped out to check, only to find…nothing. Satisfied, he parked and went about his work.
Tom watched in disbelief. His truck was a wreck, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of loss. He’d always liked that truck. The small town was close enough to walk around, though, so he figured he’d manage. But what about lunch? His stomach grumbled as he thought of home, deciding he’d try to sneak in without startling his family.
First, though, he remembered Lindsay’s request from that morning she’d asked him to pick up noodles for spaghetti that night. Luckily, his wallet was still safe and visible, sparing his money from disappearing like everything else that had gotten soaked.
Tom walked to the store, pausing as two people exited. They passed right by him, oblivious. He watched them with a slight smirk, then stepped inside.
George Parker, the store owner and a friend of Tom’s, was wiping down the counter when he heard the door jingle. He looked up no one was there. He scanned the aisles, but they were empty. Shaking his head, he returned to his work.
Tom moved quietly down one aisle, grabbing a couple of noodle packages before heading to the counter.
George glanced up, startled by the sight of two packages seemingly floating toward him. He rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself, “I must be tired from all those shoppers this week.” Returning to his work, he looked up again and there were the noodles, lying on the counter. He felt a peculiar chill, as if someone else was nearby.
“That’ll be about $7.00,” came a voice, clear and familiar, though he saw no one. George’s eyes widened, the voice stirring a sense of déjà vu, yet he couldn’t place it.
The money appeared on the counter. George, bewildered, just stared, too stunned to recognize his friend’s voice. Tom picked up the noodles and headed out the door, which opened and closed on its own. George collapsed onto a chair, rubbing his head. “I must be seeing things. Maybe I need a break.”
By then, Tom’s hunger had only grown. Heading home with his noodles in hand, he barely noticed the few passersby who gawked at the sight of two floating packages, each one wondering if they were losing their minds.
As Tom arrived in his neighborhood, he maneuvered around people strolling by. Nearing his house, he heard the distinct whir of a bicycle coming up fast behind him. He jumped aside just in time, but the bike grazed his boot, veering dangerously close to a light post before crashing near it with a loud clang.
The boy stood up, visibly shaken. He had seen two small packages floating, just before he crashed. What had he hit? How strange, he thought. No one was there except him.
Tom quickly recognized the young cyclist as Jimmy Dobson from next door, the ever-curious, mystery-loving ten-year-old paperboy. Jimmy was a good kid, though his tendency to see something odd in everything always amused Tom.
Tom continued on, grateful to see both Jimmy and the bike seemed fine. He quickened his pace toward his driveway. But before he reached it, his other neighbor, Mrs. Belle Anders, emerged from her car. Mrs. Anders, elderly and always vocal about neighborhood matters, was impossible to avoid. To get to his front door, he’d have to pass her yard and her terrier, Presley.
Tom tensed as he neared the small, feisty dog, who was already gearing up for his usual show. Without fail, Presley would bark, growl, and even snap at Tom’s pant legs, only to transform into a little angel the moment Mrs. Anders looked his way. To her, Presley was a darling; to Tom, he was the fiercest thing on four legs.
As Tom briskly passed by, Presley yanked his leash from Mrs. Anders’ grip, his nose quivering as he caught Tom’s familiar scent. But where was he? Presley bounced, tail wagging frenetically, yapping in anticipation of Tom’s presence.
This was his favorite moment of the day: when Tom got home from work. Presley had learned to create distractions just so Mrs. Anders would open the door, giving him the chance to bark and growl.
Moments before, Mrs. Anders had returned from the vet, her worry lines deepening. Presley hadn’t touched his dog food, and she feared something was wrong. Every little sign of his discomfort sent her rushing for an answer, but today’s diagnosis was clear to Presley: he was simply fed up with chicken-and-turnip-flavored canned food.
Mrs. Anders watched as Presley jumped and barked at the empty air, eyes wide and ears perked as though searching for someone she couldn’t see. Concerned, she hurriedly retrieved his leash, guiding him back to the car with gentle insistence.
“Oh, Presley,” she muttered, brow furrowed as she closed the car door on his eager paws. “My poor, poor little dog… you must’ve gone mad. There’s no one there!”
Inside, Presley whined softly, pawing at the window, but the car pulled away before he could make another escape.
From the walkway, Tom exhaled in relief as the car disappeared from sight. His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his next priority: food. Silently, he approached his front door, slipping his key from his pocket, mindful not to alarm his family.
He eased the door open, stepping quietly into the living room where his seven-year-old daughter, Jenny, was absorbed in her toys. Down the hall, his son Bobby, eight, was likely in his room. Lost in her play, Jenny didn’t notice as the door opened and closed, nor did she hear Tom’s cautious steps as he entered.
Lindsay was in the kitchen, finishing up a few sandwiches. It was just after lunch, and she and the kids had already eaten.
She set the sandwiches aside. “These will be for Tom if he comes home for lunch.” She didn’t know that at that moment, Tom was watching her through the kitchen door.
A moment later, Bobby called for Lindsay to see the model airplane he’d made. As she stepped out, Tom slipped in quietly, placing the boxes of noodles in the pantry where she’d find them later. Then, he picked up the plate of ham sandwiches and settled at the kitchen table to eat, savoring each delicious bite.
But he’d only taken a few bites when he heard footsteps approaching. Jenny came into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water. As she drank, a prickling sensation made her glance around. She had the distinct feeling of being watched.
Tom held still, his breath shallow, watching her.
Jenny put her cup down, frowning as she noticed the sandwiches on the table. There were a few half-eaten ones on a plate, but no one was sitting there. Had her mom left them for her dad? It didn’t make sense.
She froze. Was someone breathing?
Tom didn’t move. Jenny shivered, her gaze darting around the empty room. No one was there. Then how could she hear someone? A chill crept down her spine as she hesitated, then turned and dashed back to the living room and her toys.
Tom watched her leave. He had wanted to tell her it was just him, but knew that would only frighten her more.
He returned to his sandwich, taking another slow bite. But moments later, he heard Lindsay returning. He quickly set the sandwich back on the plate, making it look untouched.
“Where are the sandwiches?” she wondered aloud, glancing at the countertop. “I’m sure I left them right here…”
Her eyes fell on the kitchen table. The sandwiches sat there, as if they’d been waiting.
“How did…?” she trailed off, rubbing her forehead. “I thought I put them on the counter… or did I?”
Lindsay shook her head, chalking it up to forgetfulness. She didn’t notice the small bites already taken out. Her mind felt foggy. She shrugged and turned to resume cleaning.
Then, a sudden movement at the table made her stop cold. Her breath hitched. A sandwich was hovering, floating in the air right before her eyes!
OUR STORY CONTINUES IN PART TWO