My mother�s next-door neighbor in suburban Massachusetts is a woman named Gloria, who was born in the house and inherited it after her parents died. �I�m an orphan!� she�ll tell you cheerfully, before launching into a story about which of her various cats killed what that day. She always has cats, although the number varies. Over the years, as her cats have grown infirm and died, she�s mourned and then replaced them with an endless stream of strays with bad personalities or oddly spaced features. Every time a new one arrives, Gloria recalculates the �pecking order� in the neighborhood, a system that determines which cat can be let out at what time, based on which is most likely to beat up the others. She tries to keep my mother on this schedule, with mixed results.

Gloria has worked for the same computer manufacturing firm for fifteen years. She keeps her cars immaculate and trades them in for a new one every two years. Her house is immaculate as well, each room color-coordinated and decorated with wooden dolls or rag rugs�a style she refers to as �geeky country.� Each spring, a row of red tulips appears in her front yard, as neatly aligned and uniform as if they were painted tin. She likes order and predictability, and very specifically does not ever want to be visited by spirits or aliens.

We had no real way of knowing that, of course, about the aliens, I mean. With all the discussion about the cats and the anal-retentive neighbor across the street, we never thought to bring up the possibility of alien visitors. In hindsight, even if we had known about it, there�s still a good chance that what happened would have occurred, but I�m getting ahead of myself.

My brother E had gotten a laser pointer. I don�t know where, but he�d found it, and enjoyed, in an idle way, shining it on things. What else would he have done with it? It wasn�t as though he�d suddenly be called upon to give a presentation on projected sales figures�he was fifteen years old. So, one night, sitting around in the living room, he amused himself�and a handful of other people�by shining it over at Gloria�s windows across the lawn. The lights were off at Gloria�s house, but the little red point of light was bright enough to light up the objects it hit. E guided the laser pointer around the face of a grandfather clock, across the mantle of the fireplace, up and down the walls�he didn�t have a specific purpose, but it was amusing to watch. When he tired of it, he put the laser pointer away, and thought no more of it.

No one had considered that Gloria might have been home during the laser show, and everyone forgot about it afterwards, so my mother was surprised, the next day, to hear Gloria�s report about the Light of Mystery that had visited her. Gloria was clearly dismayed, which I believe is why my mother, who has been known to relish a practical joke, confessed immediately about the laser pointer. �Oh, my God,� said Gloria, relieved, �I thought it was the frickin� aliens come to get me, because they know I�m the one person on Earth who doesn�t want to see them!�

That story came back to me clearly and suddenly just this past Saturday night. I was up late, knitting (yes, I know this means I am a loser, I already get that part) when I saw a flicker of movement at the edge of my field of vision. I looked up to see a red pinpoint of light shining on the curtain opposite where I sat. The light moved across the curtain and then up onto the cabin top, and I don�t know where it went after that because I jumped up and pushed open the hatch, calling �Who�s out there?� I half-expected to see one of my hoodlum friends standing there holding a laser pointer and perhaps a Miller Light, but the dock was totally empty. I dashed out onto the dock and looked both ways�I could see no one.

I walked back to the boat and looked at the angle of the ports. In order for the pinpoint to appear where it had, someone had to have stood on the dock right next to my boat. It was very creepy to think that someone had been standing directly behind me, out there in the dark. It brought a number of thoughts to mind: how long had they stood there? What did they want? Thank God I was wearing pants.

Everyone I told about the incident questioned me at length to make sure there was no simple explanation for the light, to the point where it became insulting (�So, you�re absolutely certain that you yourself weren�t holding a laser pointer and shining it at your own window?�) Once they saw that I wasn�t to be swayed from my story, each had a different explanation of what had caused the light:

Hoodlums (The Keelhauler)
Punks (Next-Door Dan)
Stalker (Carson)
Damn Kids These Days (Tony, various others)

And Lorelei, the only one who actually didn�t question me. When I told her about it, she shrugged and said matter-of-factly, �Aliens.�

Star of the day. . .Mr. Burns