Shimmering

“Don't chase the numbers. Let them come to you." A former friend who won over $220 million in the lottery once told me that. And for years, I believed him. I played ticket, after ticket, using every imaginable number combination: birthdays, anniversaries, dreams, and phone numbers. After losing time after time, trying to coax the numbers in my direction, I quit believing. I tried to forget just how many precious dollars I had wasted on losing tickets. Shortly thereafter, my number-chasing days ground completely to a halt after reading that the majority of lottery winners actually use computer-selected "Quick-Pick" numbers to strike it rich.

I didn't give the lottery much thought for years; my 30’s slipped by, busily chasing prosperity the old-fashioned way, working hard, day after day, year after year. I owned my own business, washing and detailing cars and mowing lawns in the summer, and shoveling snow in the winter. It was hard work, profits were slim, and by now I was late into my 40’s and most of my friends were starting to build wealth, while I hadn’t created much of anything. Fantasizing about winning the lottery crept back into my mind with visions of tennis courts, Ferraris, winding staircases, and trekking in Nepal. “If only I could pick the right numbers” I found myself immersed in these thoughts as I toiled day after day pushing a mower and waxing fenders. I felt damned, stuck on an endless treadmill.

My existence wasn’t entirely bleak though. I found little scraps of time to go on long, solitary walks and hikes on remote dirt roads and trails. This kept me in pretty good shape, and relatively sane, but still I found myself dreaming of untold lottery riches.

One morning I was walking near a river on an old road that had narrowed its way back into a rough trail; I had to pick my way through endless ruts, mud puddles, rocks and weeds. It hadn’t had a lot of use; I had been walking for close to an hour and had only passed three or four other people. The trail meandered back and forth, hugging the river’s edge, and then wandering away, back into brush and trees several hundred yards from the water. It was on a section that touched the water, a largely rock-free, sandy area, maybe 10 feet wide, that I saw the large arrow in the sand. It was several feet wide, apparently freshly created, dead-center in the trail.

I stopped and stared down at it. It was symmetrically perfect, like it had been imprinted in the sand with a stamp or a laser, giving it uniform corners, depth, and width. I turned to my left and looked at where the arrow was pointing, seemingly into unmarked, heavy undergrowth. There was no secondary trail, no footprints, and no additional signs or clues.

I have rules for wandering around the backcountry, and I was pondering violating a number of them. First, I was alone. Second, I had not told anyone where I was going. Third, I was near water, (where weird things can happen quickly), and fourth, I was considering going off-trail, with no weapon, no cell phone, and no map. My gut told me, “Do NOT follow that arrow!” But my heart was beating wildly and I was filled with curiosity.

I smiled. Surely I was over-thinking this. “People doodle quirky little characters all the time.” I had done similar things over the years: drawing funny faces on a foggy mirrors or bus windows, and carving names and dates on trees a restroom stalls. “Someone strolling along here this morning was probably bored and they left their mark to confirm their passing.” It was this, I decided, nothing more.

My self-congratulatory moment passed. I knew that this wasn’t a hastily-drawn sketch, made with a stick or a finger. This looked like it had been created with great precision by a draftsman. Should I ignore the arrow and continue on my way, or should I attempt to follow it to see if it led to something? I turned back to the wild undergrowth in the direction that the arrow was pointing. Bending down, I saw a kind of gap in the weeds and bushes; it wasn’t big, but I might be able to wiggle through on my hands and knees. Without hesitating, I dropped down to all fours and stuck my head into the gap.

The vegetation opened up a bit on the other side as I shimmied through and stood back up. The ground was covered by brush, logs and trees, but there seemed to be less of it in the direction that I was moving. I tried to move intuitively in the right direction, but after a quarter mile or so, it became increasingly difficult to keep my bearings. I started to become concerned, not only about losing the direction of the arrow, but of getting downright lost.

The little voice in my head said that I should turn around, NOW! As I started to do so, I noticed a little black notebook partly covered by leaves. It looked like it had been there for some time, but when I picked it up and wiped the cover off, it was in pristine condition.

I flipped the notebook open. The pages were crisp and white, and covered with some very odd pencil drawings and words that made no sense, written in a language that I had never seen before.

It also contained numbers. Each page was numbered in the lower left hand corner, and it was on page 37 that I came to a section that was entirely comprised of digits, hundreds of them, in what appeared to be a random order. Centered perfectly in the page, was a box that had larger-sized numbers: 4, 5, 19, 21, and 55.

What did this mean? Then, without warning, I started to feel sick, and a wave of nausea hit me like a train. My stomach knotted and a spray of vomit arched out of me, along with a blinding, splitting headache. I sat down to keep from falling. My eyes were watering and I closed them to steady my senses. When I opened them a few seconds later, I noticed an odd kind of shimmer off to my left, like a twinkling mirage on a heated, dry lakebed. I was certain that it was just my eyes reacting to the nausea until I heard some rocks rolling down a nearby embankment. Something was approaching. I looked again, and saw nothing, except the weird, wavy, shimmering in the air. It was getting closer and I sensed that I was in danger. My guts were on fire and I needed to throw up again, but I rose on rubbery knees and started moving back toward the river. I fell several times, and continued to see the shimmer behind me, but I had just enough strength to keep moving and stay ahead of it.

I made it back to what I perceived was my starting point, but I could not locate the gap in the heavy brush. I searched and clawed to no avail. I finally spotted a place where the top of the undergrowth was lower, maybe five feet tall; struggling, I was able to climb up and over the bushes, cutting my arms in several places, but managing to scale over. I could now see the river again. Luckily, there were several people nearby on the trail and I staggered over toward them. “Help me. I’m sick” I croaked. “You don’t look well” said one of the hikers. “Sit down.” They tossed me a bottle of water and walked closer.

I realized that I no longer had the notebook. I must have dropped it during my retreat. Regardless, I was starting to feel better; I no longer needed to throw up, my headache was dissipating, and I felt well enough to move. I stood up, thanked them for the water and started walking back toward my car. I was still shook up, and during my several mile trek back to my car, I kept looking behind me. I had a feeling that something was watching me, but the number of hikers on the trail had increased, so I was almost never out of sight of other people. There was no point of separation, which I felt was critical to my safety.

There was no hesitation when I arrived at my car. I drove off as fast as I could and didn’t look back, (although I kept an eye on the mirror). I was upset that I had dropped the notebook, but I kept repeating the cryptic numbers over and over again in my mind: 4, 5, 19, 21, and 55.

That night I dreamed. I saw the shimmering and heard the clacking of rolling rocks and sliding gravel that accompanied it. When I awoke, I wrote the numbers down and put them in my desk, but even if those numbers were connected to the lottery, I still had a problem: one number was missing, and I remained unsure on how to proceed. I did nothing, and was relieved when the next twenty sets of lottery numbers didn’t even come close the cryptic digits.

My intuition told me to play them 11 weeks after I had found them, but I was still stuck on what to select for a Powerball, so I splurged and blew $40, buying 20 tickets, equipping each set with its own unique Powerball number.

Shortly after the drawing I checked the numbers, and to my amazement (or perhaps not) the five numbers DID come up, but I missed the Powerball and the $90 million jackpot. There are 58 different Powerballs, but, being tight on money, I could only afford to purchase the first 20. My uncertainty cost me many millions of dollars, but hitting the other five numbers did earn me a prize of $20,000, which was quite a sum in my limited financial world.

Oddly, I had to work myself up to be excited and upbeat when I showed up at the lottery office a few days later. How could I be ungrateful after winning twenty grand? The lottery people congratulated me, and photos were taken. I again reminded myself to feel lucky and exhilarated when I left the lottery office, but I couldn’t shake the weird, dark feeling that had crept into my head.

I decided to take a short hike in the hills. As I parked my car, calmness and strength washed over me. About three miles into the hike I rounded a corner and noticed that things seemed VERY quiet and deserted. I looked down and there was a perfect arrow on the ground, pointing to the left. It was crisp, new and perfect, like it had just been placed there, and this time it had a number four inside of it.

Directly behind me, I heard rocks and gravel begin to slide.