The apocalypse will begin in my yard. Probably on the day the Justin Bieber memoir comes out.
This spot was once a deep hole. The kind of hole that constantly appeared under your foot and twisted your ankle.
So my husband and son filled it with top soil. With the intention of placing grass seed on top.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. But it’s not paved. It’s dirt.
Because within three weeks, rocks began appearing in the hole. Which is weird.
But then we found…
The closest ocean to us is an hour and thirty minutes away WITHOUT TUNNEL TRAFFIC (which means nothing to non-Virginians but let’s just say it’s far far away).
And no. The shell was dirty with dirt. So it did not HAPPEN TO FALL FROM OUR CAR. (Our car happens to be dirty with Cheerios and dog hair thankyouverymuch.)
The shell came up from whatever dimension that the hole is the gateway. Hell. The Twilight Zone. An Old Indian Burial Ground. Even zombies, demons and tiny spaceship men who land ON EARTH must need a place to relax every so often. Maybe splash around a bit before taking over Earth.
The only other possibility that I see is that there’s a space-time disturbance and the beach and my home are actually IN THE SAME SPOT. So I’m bound to see Spock and/or Captain Picard appear in my living room at ANY MOMENT.
Well, beam me up, Scotty. Because the world’s about to end in my front yard.