I first noticed the strange car three days before Christmas.

So dented, scratched and spattered with mud that it was impossible to tell what the original color had been.

Its rusted metal guts rattled menacingly each time it rolled by.

The driver was cruising my neighborhood, looking for something, and there was something predatory

about the way he inspected each house on the silent winter street.

He felt myself tense up and the car passed by like my body was readying itself for an attack.

Even my dog Marvin, the huddled close to my leg whimpering. Sure, maybe

the driver was just a porch pirate looking to steal someone's holiday cheer, but you can never

really be sure, can you? A shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

The brown car reminded me of everything I'd worked so hard to leave behind.

Ugliness, danger.

Neighborhoods where the stores had barred windows and gunshots rang out at night.

I'd worked all my life to afford a house like the one I was in now, and the thought that

all that could reach me even here was more than a little disconcerting.

Lost in thought, I turned up my driveway.

But Marvin had stopped and was growling at something.

Rumbling engine pulled up beside me.

The driver rolled down his window and shouted at me.

Howdy, neighbor? Any plans for the holidays?

I muttered something about staying home before it occurred to me that I should definitely

not be sharing my plans with this weird stranger.

He was a grizzled middle-aged white guy with unkempt gray hair and wild eyes that suggested

...