Tick Tock

mesmerizing eyes.”
    Quy Trang Dai looked at Mother Phan for help. “She crazy person,” Mother Phan explained. “Eerie lights in the night,” Del said, “pulsating lights with an irresistible attraction? Anything like that along the banks of the Xan?”
    “Very dark in jungle at night. Very dark in village at night. No electricity.”
    “In your childhood,” Del probed, “do you remember any periods of missing time, unexplained blackouts, fugue states?”
    Nonplussed, Mrs. Dai could only say, “Everyone sure not like nice hot cup of tea?”
    No doubt talking to herself but appearing to address Scootie, Del said, “Sure as hell, this Xan River is a primary focus of evil extraterrestrial influence.”
    Heavy footsteps thudded across the front porch. Tommy tensed, waited, and when a knock came at the door, he stood bolt upright from the sofa.
    “Don't answer door,” Mrs. Dai advised. “Yeah,” Del said, “it might be that damn aggressive Amway saleswoman.”
    Scootie crept warily to the front door. He sniffed along the threshold, caught a scent he didn't like, whimpered, and hurried back to Del's side.
    The knocking sounded again, louder and more insistent than before.
    Raising her voice, Mrs. Dai said, “You can't come in.” Immediately, the demon pounded again, so hard that the door shook and the lock bolt rattled against the striker plate.
    “Go away,” said Mrs. Dai. To Tommy, she said, “Only eighteen minutes, then everyone happy.”
    Mother Phan said, “Sit down, Tuong. You just making everyone nervous.”
    Tommy couldn't take his eyes off the front door—until movement at one of the flanking windows drew his attention. The serpent-eyed fat man peered in at them.
    “We don't even have a gun,” Tommy worried.
    “Don't need gun,” Mother Phan said. “Got Quy Trang Dai. Sit down and be patient.”
    The Samaritan-thing walked to the window on the other side of the front door and peered hungrily at Tommy through that pane. It rapped one knuckle against the glass.
    To Del, Tommy repeated, “We don't have a gun.”
    “We've got Mrs. Dai,” Del said. “You can always pick her up by the ankles and use her as a club.”
    Quy Trang Dai wagged one finger at the Samaritan-thing and said, “I made you, and I tell you go away, so now you go.”
    The demon turned from the window. Its footsteps thudded across the porch and down the front steps.
    “There,” said Mother Phan, “now sit down, Tuong, and behave.”
    Trembling, Tommy sat on the sofa. “It really went away?”
    “No,” said Mrs. Dai. “It going all around house now to see did I forget and leave door or window open.”
    Tommy bolted up again. “Is there a chance you did?”
    “No. I not fool.”
    “You already made one big mistake,” Tommy reminded her.
    “Tuong!” Mother Phan gasped, appalled by his rudeness.
    “Well,” Tommy said, “she did. She made one hell of a mistake, so why not another?”
    Pouting, Mrs. Dai said, “One mistake, I have to apologize rest of my life?”
    Feeling as if his skull might explode from the pressure of his anxiety, Tommy put his hands to his head. “This is nuts. This can't be happening.”
    “It happening,” Mrs. Dai said.
    “It's got to be a nightmare.”
    To the other women, Del said, “He's just not prepared for this. He doesn't watch The X Files.”
    “You not watch X Files?” Mrs. Dai asked, astonished.
    Shaking her head with dismay, Mother Phan said, “Probably watch junk detective show instead of good educational program.”
    From elsewhere in the house came the sounds of the Samaritan-thing rapping on windows and testing doorknobs.
    Scootie cuddled against Del, and she petted and soothed him.
    Mrs. Dai said, “Some rain we have, huh?”
    “So early in season too,” said Mother Phan.
    “Remind me of jungle rain, so heavy.”
    “We need rain after drought last year.”
    “Sure no drought this year.”
    Del said, “Mrs. Dai, in your village in Vietnam, did farmers ever find crop circles, inexplicable depressed patterns in their fields? Or large circular depressions where something might have landed in the rice paddies?”
    Leaning forward in her chair, Mother Phan said to Mrs. Dai, “Tuong not want to believe demon rapping window in front of his face, want to think it just bad dream, but then he believe Big Foot real.”
    “Big Foot?” Mrs. Dai said, and pressed one hand to her lips to stifle a giggle.
    The Samaritan-thing stomped up the steps onto the front porch once more. It appeared at the window to the left of the door, eyes fierce and radiant.
    Mrs. Dai