The Election

“Dear, what are you looking at?” The man, hunched over in the doorway, looked over at his wife. She had one hand on her hip, the other held back the dark curtain just enough to poke her sun-spotted nose through the opening. She glared at something outside.

“It’s back!” She said and let the curtain flutter back into place. She turned to her husband, her white visage a stark contrast against the panel behind her. “What will we do?”

He sighed and hobbled over to the door and flipped the bolt into place, slid the chain lock over with a click, then grabbed his wife’s hand. “For starters, keep yourself away from the windows! If it sees you, you’re as good as gone!”

If not for the stillness in the neighborhood, you wouldn’t know anything was amiss. The sun was shining, a slight fall nip chilled the air. In the distance, children could be heard playing and laughing– they had nothing to worry about. Not yet, at least.

The season was beginning to turn and with it came the election. And with the election came the monsters creeping around the neighborhood. Yes, even in the light of day. One must stay diligent or else you’d be trapped by one. They’d quick-spit their vitriol in your face and then you’d be devoured. The thought sent a shudder through the man.

“Don’t leave the house! They’ll be gone in a few days,” the man said. They agreed to stay shuttered in until the election was over.

Many days passed. The man stood vigil over his home and his wife, watching from the dark living room window as the creatures sauntered from one house to the next. The super-powered binoculars– a gift from his neighbor– took up permanent residence on the wooden table just beside the front door, and each day, several times a day, he picked them up and scanned the neighborhood, searching for the strangers lurking about.

It started out as just one, an innocent enough looking guy if not for his unkempt hair and sandaled feet. “Damn liberals,” the guy spat under his breath, holding the binoculars to his eyes and scanning the row of houses down the block. Slowly, though, more of them came. They came quietly, during lunchtime, when people were gone for work, when they were most vulnerable. They came in the evening hours, after work, when they were more likely to catch the neighbors off guard. But not the man and his wife. They knew better. They’d done this countless times, now.

As days went by, the election loomed closer. Soon, it would be over, and the nightmare descending upon them would be over. One way or another, the election would punctuate the horror, and then the man could go about his business without fearing he’d be cornered by filth.

Sounds from outside– a knock at the door– sent the man’s wife into a fit. Almost daily one of them would come. They never made a lot of noise, but were searching for anyone they could latch onto. They were unsuspecting. If one didn’t know any better, one might think they were friendly and that they meant no harm, but the man and his wife knew better. They would poison your mind.

On this particular day, the day before the election, the man opened his door for the first time in several days. It was midday and the light streamed in through the screen door like a tractor beam, capturing a cloud of dust in its ray. He stood, hands on hips, looking out into his neighborhood with pride. His neighbors were middle-class Americans, same as him. There were older couples, young couples without kids, young couples with kids. People drove new or almost-new cars with shiny paint and kept their lawns well-manicured. Even the gay couple, who added a nice layer of diversity, seemed nice. He breathed in the fresh air and wondered what everyone on TV was complaining about. Life was great. His corner of the world didn’t have the crime and racism that the liberal media would have you assume runs rampant. He knew this to be a fact because they’d once had a black family living on the cul-de-sac. They were nice, even if life had dealt them a bad hand. And if crime found its way into this neighborhood, he assumed everyone here would be safe and okay because they all kept guns in their homes. Everyone here was the good guy.

It was a truly beautiful day. And come tomorrow, life would continue to be great.

Nothing moved but the small sign in their front yard swaying back and forth with the gentle breeze. It called out a campaign slogan in bright red and blue letters, making everyone that walked or drove by aware that they had no time or patience for politically-correct, liberal agendas. The man smiled at the little yard sign, at the rest of the red and blue signs dotting the street, and shuffled away, not thinking one of the lurkers could be just next door.

Before the man reached the kitchen, he heard the gentle tap on his door. Then, a voice called out to him. “Good afternoon, sir! Do you have a moment to speak about the election? I noticed the sign in your yard, and I just wondered if I could pick your brain about what topics are important to you. You know, the democratic candidate is fighting for all of us. I’d like to share with you some of the values that make my candidate the better choice for you…”

The man froze, feeling his heart stop beating in his chest. The liberal had found him.

 

Note: This is obviously satire. The thoughts and opinions in this story are not a reflection of The Confabulator Cafe.

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