The Mined Man

One evening Mike sees an elderly man across the road partially hidden in bushes, peering either side of a tall tree into his neighbour's property. What's he doing? He appears too well-dressed and too old to be a thief. Never say never. But it's an odd, incongruous scene, hiding in the bushes. If he's a visitor, why not use the entrance and ring the bell?

He was just about to spontaneously call out a polite greeting along with an offer of assistance, such as: can I help you? But with his mouth partly open, the man turned suddenly and looked up directly at him, wide-eyed, with a shocked expression.

Definitely elderly, a male in his seventies, Mike could see his face, neck and part of his shoulders with the rest of him hidden in the undergrowth. They both froze for a few seconds, transfixed, staring at each other.

Then the elderly man uttered a strange phrase in an unusual, perhaps ancient, language. Mike instinctively shook his head, trying to absorb the unfamiliar words. He opened his mouth to speak and say, pardon? But in the instant, he shook his head, the man was gone. He stared at the exact spot, mouth open, with a shiver of fear coursing through him. In a split second, directly in front of him, the man vanished. Nothing stirred, no leaves fluttered, no sound of footsteps retreating. He looked up, then down the road . . . nothing moved. The man had vanished in an instant.