This year is ending on a weird note. Last night at about 11:00 pm, someone started throwing rocks at my roof. That’s what it sounded like, anyway. It was loud enough that I considered the possibility that some kind of galumphing animal was tromping around up there, but every so often I could hear what sounded like something sliding noisily down the slope of the roof. That’s what made me think of rocks, even though I could hear or see no evidence of humans near enough to make that much of an impact.

This lasted for about an hour, but it wasn’t steady. Every so often I’d hear the pounding, crackling noise for a split second, and then it would be quiet for a while. I turned on all the outside lights, but the side of the house this appeared to be coming from is dark, so the lights had little effect. I tried to see out but spotted nothing unusual. Trust me, I was not tempted to go wandering outside in the dark. I was slightly tempted to call the sheriff or the landlord, but I didn’t.

First thing this morning (or what passes for first thing for someone who sleeps late on Sunday), I went out to look. I saw nothing that would clarify the situation for me. I think I imagined some streaks on the roof, as if something had slid off it. I found rocks and oak balls in the yard, but no more of them than I’d expect to see normally. It was good to see the roof in one piece, because I thought I might be losing it.

I was comforted that the bizarre episode had lasted just an hour. That comfort evaporated when I heard the same sounds this afternoon. Just once, but still. Once is enough. This time I did walk outside. I saw nothing on the roof or in the yard. I came back in and looked out the window on that side of the house. I could see one of the neighborhood teenagers in the lot across the fence, but I had no reason to suspect him other than the fact that he was there.

The kids from down the block use that mostly vacant lot for smoking and drinking (and whatever), but lacking any evidence, I’m not in a position to accuse anyone of anything. I’d just kind of like the disruption of my peaceful rural life to stop.

Don’t bother asking if I’m staying up until midnight. The last night I didn’t stay up until midnight was— well, I don’t remember, but I suspect it was in August on the houseboat. I won’t be out on the street with all the amateur drunks, though. I’ll be hanging my new calendars at midnight, as is my custom. I’m not superstitious, but I have a thing about putting calendars up (or even turning the page) too early. Peeling the page off my page-a-day calendar is usually the last thing I do before I go to bed every night. Hmmm. Maybe that’s why I stay up past midnight all the time.