David DeLane Snow
Hidden in clear view, engulfed within the shadowy side of the trees was a satchel. A three by one by one and a half foot black box. From the brass fittings, rollers on the back, and segmentedly-extended handle anyone could tell the brief case must have been placed there on purpose. With its flap-top handled-lid still closed, and its undisturbed combination locks still bearing their original proactive ties the case seemed to have an untold story. It was obviously new and not ready to be discarded, yet there it sat outdoors all alone.
The dog-walker, who happened upon the mysterious discovery, immediately noticed it was at least thirty feet into the undeveloped woodlands away from his apartment’s back lot dumpster. It was not “thrown out”. But why was it there, he wondered? As his collie, Sherman approached the owner nervously pulled back on the dog’s leash commanding him to stay back from the unknown. The canine suddenly began sniffing the air in the direction of his owner’s attention. The dog would have just kept going without having taken any notice of it but now, it somehow commanded his full investigational skills. But Thomas would having nothing of a close inspection of the object, either by himself or his furry friend.
“That thing could have - anything in it boy!” Thomas Mathers told his dog as though he understood every word he spoke. Tom’s thoughts ran the gambit of crazy thoughts during those moments standing there looking at the thing.