A MIDNIGHT OBSERVATION
Was that a hic-up? I thought I heard a hic-up, but it was so tiny, oh so tiny. I wasn’t sure I had really heard anything. Did I?
“What is your answer for Number 19, Krista?” My professor’s voice cut through the fog and jerked me back to class. I focused in, but for the rest of the day, I could not forget that hic-up.
After supper, I settled down in the corner of the Activity Center. Stifling a yawn, I pulled out my Greek textbook and began to memorize the paradigms for the quiz the next morning. The words began to blur. I rubbed at my eyes. I straightened up.
The next thing I knew, I was groggily rubbing at a pain in my neck. Why was I sitting on the floor? Where was I? Why was it so dark? I need to start scheduling naps, I thought to myself! I will never get anything memorized if I’m falling asleep the whole time.
“Wait! What time is it?” My voice startled me, and the quietness that followed was eerie. I needed to find a clock! I gingerly unfolded myself from my cramped position, and hobbled along the wall feeling for a light switch. Finding one, I flipped it on – almost blinded by the sudden burst of light. As my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I looked up at the clock.
“11:56! What!” I began to realize that I had fallen asleep while studying Greek and then slept for over six hours! No one was in the church building now, and I needed to go home! Then, in the utter quietness, I heard the hic-up. My skin crawled with goosebumps.
Spinning around, I saw the strangest phenomenon. On the whiteboard ledge, the whiteboard marker was suspended and moving in the air. As I inspected closer, I realized that a group of tiny white creatures – almost impossible to see against the whiteboard – were working together to move the marker. They carried to the edge and pushed it off. One of these tiny creatures fell too; its little paw seemed glued to the marker. The group scurried down the wall.
“Ah ha!” I whispered to myself. “These must be the wachiekas I’ve heard about. Their paws are sticky! How did the rest of the wachiekas not fall with the marker too? Fascinating! Wait – this is weird. I thought Pastor Schultz said they had been exterminated years ago! I guess they’re back!” My attention returned to the wachiekas, but they were gone! Disappointed, I turned to leave when I remembered that they change color like chameleons. Gathering my courage, I crept across the room to get a closer look. Sure enough, there they were: the exact shade of the carpet. I focused on one little wachieka. He looked a little out of shape so I assumed he was the one who fell.
Sure enough, a couple wachiekas came over and were obviously communicating to him in some secret language my human ears could not detect. Suddenly, the little one hic-upped!
“My little friend!” I was ridiculously delighted to have solved my mystery.
“Oh! We’re a little proud are we?” I asked as he pushed his friends away, and went pouting along the wall. As I watched, he started inching towards the marker. He pushed and pulled with all his might. Whenever any other little wachieka came to help, he would make the most horrendous faces to chase them away. I was not sure I wanted to claim this greedy, grumpy wachieka as my friend!
Just then however, an obviously older wachieka approached the little one. With stern motions, Grandpa seized little wachieka, swung him over, and delivered a firm spanking. I watched with surprise to see the little wachieka’s response. My friend rolled over and, reaching up, gave Grandpa Wachieka a big sneeze. Grandpa Wachieka patted the little one on the head and pointed to the other wachiekas. Humbly, the little wachieka walked over to them and sneezed in front of all of them. They all smiled and climbed up the wall towards the whiteboard ledge.
Smiling, I gathered up my books and grabbed my coat. Just as I left the room, I heard an itty bitty sneeze.
According to my daughter, wachiekas are the little creatures who come out of the carpet at night and steal the white board markers. Today’s college education seemingly beats mine by a mile.
