"Who in the world can that be at this time of the mornin'," I moaned, dragging myself out of bed. A glance at the alarm clock revealed an hour much earlier on a Saturday morning than my eyes were accustomed to seeing. The knocking was insistent, so I threw on my robe and shuffled to the door. Peering through the peephole, all that was visible was the Writer's Digest logo. A very late hour in the previous night found me hard at work on a story for a contest on www.writersdigest.com. My hand unlocked and opened the door before my brain registered what was happening.
"Good morning, sunshine! How's about inviting me in? We've got something important to discuss," the woman said while pushing her way into my living room. This unexpected person was a largish female, dressed in one of those suits with big shoulder pads that were popular in the 1980's. She waved a magazine in my face. "This could be trouble for you, my dear, big trouble. Your article is in the September issue of Writer's Digest, but that particular story is risking your life!"
"Excuse me? Who are you? What are you talkin' about?" I was befuddled.
"Ah, yes. I sometimes forget to explain myself. You see, I'm not usually in the same when as you. Oh, sorry, that isn't clear either. Look, I'm from the future and can come back in time to help folks who need help. And you, my dear, need some help."
"Help? Me? Wait a second. Let me see that. You mean they printed my story?" I asked excitedly.
"No way. You can't touch it. Just look at the date," she said, yanking the magazine out of my reach.
After waiting for me to calm down, she held the magazine up so the date could be seen. It was the September issue of Writer's Digest, all right. But the current month on my calendar showed April. With furrowed brow, the oddity of the situation sunk in to my foggy brain.
The woman plopped into my recliner and adjusted those huge shoulder pads. She fanned her face with the magazine, passing the time until I turned a worried glance in her direction.
"You are writing a story. It's about when you were a juror on a trial, right kiddo?"
Nodding slightly, still in disbelief, I confirmed this was indeed correct. Several years before this strange Saturday morning, I served on a jury for a kidnapping case. This defendant was a really bad guy—we, the jury, happily convicted him. The judge handed down the sentence several weeks later and we never found out how long the offender would be in prison. The woman nodded as if she could read my mind.
"Dearie-dear, that fellow is out of the pen and just itching to get his hands on the jurors who put him behind bars. If this article is published, he'll know just how to find you and…" A quick movement of her index finger horizontally across her neck successfully delivered the balance of the disturbing message.
"Oh. Oh my! So, let me get this straight. You came here, to my house, from the future because an article of mine won a Writer's Digest contest and if that article actually is printed, my life will be in danger?"
"You got it, sweetie. So, what are you going to do?"
"No choice, I guess. But, it's actually tempting to go ahead with the kidnapping story, if it won the contest!" The woman looked alarmed, rising from the chair and again adjusting the shoulder pads. I remembered they were a pain to deal with and wondered if they were coming back in style. "Oh, don't worry. I hear ya'. I'll just have to write about somethin' else. But what?"
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment before casting a mischievous glance in my direction. "How's about a fun little story about a sweet, beautiful lady who came back in time to save your life?" she asked semi-innocently. We chuckled together.
"Hey, yeah. That might just work. Say, what's your name?"
"Don't worry, dearie, you'll find out…someday!" With that comment, she exited my house, taking the magazine with her. Quite excited, I grabbed a Dr Pepper out of the fridge and turned on the computer. After saving the kidnapping article for future use—when the location of the offender was certain—I settled in to write a new story.
