I am convinced road construction workers are ninjas or at the very least a guild of stealth masters. One day the road to your home is fine and clear, and then magically there are bulldozers and digging machines as tall as houses, holes big enough to inhale a car—and the road is closed until the end of the century. 

How do you get those things in sight of a house and not wake anyone up? So I had to detour on a long side road to get to the highway. Ten more minutes each trip, easy. At least that’s what I thought at first.

The road had a name but the sign was long since knocked over and buried. It’s a winding road and if you’re not paying enough attention you could easily get lost. I used my GPS for the first few trips before I memorized the turns.  

There wasn’t much on the route. Lots of trees and the occasional house. I never saw another driver behind or beside me. Nobody was outside any of the houses mowing the yard. Just a quiet, long road. It was kind of nice to have that before I hit the noisy highway.

After a rough day at work, and a rather late stay, I took the detour back. It was dark and I realized the road had no streetlights. It made the drive back riskier to say the least.  

There was a nice church on the left. I hadn’t noticed it before—had I? It was run down—the headlights showed peeling paint but the structure wasn’t leaning. There was open field a little ways down from the church. Moonlight shone brightly on a large expanse of farm fields.  

I didn’t stop the first time to get a better look at the church, but thought I might later. A few more turns and curves and I found my house road. It was after I got home I realized I hadn’t seen any houses on the detour road on the way back.

The next day I woke up later than usual and had to rush to get ready. It didn’t help my optimism for the drive to come. I put on a softer radio station and kept an eye on the clock as I drove. I saw the detour turn sign and groaned in preparation. The next thing I saw was the stop light to the highway turnoff. I did a double take at my clock radio. Only two minutes had passed and the detour was usually longer than that. It was physically impossible. 

The light turned green and I didn’t have time to think about anything but driving. Better to shave off commute time, I guess.

The detour stayed mostly the same for the next few days so I did some research on my neighborhood. The area had a lot of old roads and most were planned for reconstruction. Great. The detour I had to take was named Blue Hills Road and showed no plans for renovation. Kind of good news.

But I could find nothing else about Blue Hills Road beyond its name. The only reference was in an old newspaper article. ‘The most pleasant street off Highway 10”, it read. A really local old paper. I did find the expected finish date for the current roadwork should be within a few days, which was very good news. Meant I could get a little more sleep and so on. But something about Blue Hills Road didn’t sit right with me. Not that it mattered for now. But it did matter for my car.

I left late from work again and as I turned onto the Blue Hills detour my engine stalled. It had been a while since I had a tune-up but it was far from falling apart. I spent ten minutes looking over the engine before giving up and going to look for help.  

And there was the church again. It was in the same condition as last time but now a preacher stood outside the doors. A fire in a barrel burned in the moonlight. The preacher stared at the flames, his expression blank and a smile on his face. I cautiously approached and waved.

“Good evening to you, Father. Um…would you know of a mechanic in town I can bother?” I asked. The preacher laughed.

“Afraid not, my son.” His accent sounded slightly Southern.

“Well, my car decided to break down just a bit away. My home’s about ten minutes out and I’d rather get my car home tonight.” I said.

The preacher looked thoughtful. “I’ll see if I can ring up a friend of mine. In the meantime come on in. Better than stayin’ out here.” He opened one of the double old oak doors and motioned for me to step in. I didn’t see much point of standing outside so I followed.

Inside the old church was surprisingly well lit. Pews in neat rows in front of a decorated podium. A podium in front of a large cross. The stained glass depiction of prayer hid the details of the inky night. I couldn’t find the priest so I sat in one of the pews and checked my GPS. No signal—of course.

“Why is this place so clean?” I thought. “The building looks ancient.”

“Apologies, good sir.” The priest’s voice from up ahead made me jump as it echoed through the small space. “One of my flock can meet you soon. They’re on their way.” That last line sounded odd. Almost like a prophecy in a well-practiced sermon.

“Thank you,” I said. I half shouted to be heard instead of going any closer to him.

“Might I share some of God’s wisdom and light with you tonight?” The priest had a wide smile on his face below manic eyes. Were his eyes always that intense?

“Um…I’m good, thank you, Father.” I quickly rose and headed as fast as I could politely toward the door. “I truly appreciate your help. I’ll go wait by my car for your friend. I don’t want to keep him any later than needed.”

“Take care, my son. May the Lord’s blessings shine down on thee always.” The priest shouted the last part and his smile turned to a toothy grin as he raised his arms wide and I was ducking out the door. The outside air was cold but welcome. As I closed the door behind me and took one last look inside I finished closing the door faster than I ever had in all my life.

The formerly empty pews were filled with people, all turning to look at me. The priest’s expression was more chaotic now.

All the churchgoers’ eyes were hollow and the room blood red. After I shut the door I ran to my car and watched the church from the opposite road side. No lights inside the windows, no sign of people or life at all.  

And I still had a rundown car. I gritted my teeth and started pushing, glad for the level road. It was going to be a very long way home.

I passed two houses with long winding driveways and no lights. I couldn’t see anyone but knew I was being watched. Not necessarily by anyone but maybe by the road itself? There was no sense at all of humans in that feeling.

I paused at the edge of the next field and regained my breath. The expansive grass looked pale blue in the moonlight below a view of an unbroken night sky. I wondered if there even was a mechanic anywhere on the road.

I squealed like a caught mouse when the hand landed on my shoulder.  

“Shucks, son, you act like you’re scared.” The voice was neighborly, warm, a slow drawl and inches from my ear. I gulped down a screech and slowly turned.

Behind me, all around me, were the people from the church. I looked around and noticed how…ordinary they looked. All ages, men and women, dressed in their church best. Some of the girls were actually pretty. Just that little problem I’d noticed with the eyes.  

Just good homey types. A couple of the kids waved shyly and I waved back with a quivering hand.

The man standing closest smiled in a friendly way. “Looks like you have car trouble.”

Gulp and nod. “Well….yes….sir?” Slightly less squeaky now.

One of the girls stepped forward. “Then we’ll help,” she said sweetly. Her hair was dark? Light? She was slim and as she moved forward a large wooden picnic basket, complete when a beautiful checkered cloth, grew out of her hand. 

 Heavenly smells came from that basket.

She stepped closer, behaving just like a high school girl trying to snag her best boyfriend. “Why don’t you let them take care of the car?” She glanced at the men. “The rest of us were just ready to share our feast.”  

She took my arm with a slim, very attractive hand and backed me away from the car.

“Hmmmmm.” The first man looked at it for a few seconds. “Let’s see, I need Carl, Ted, Bill and Ralph.”

Four men stepped out of the group, two in suits and one with a very fine fedora on his head. They all extended hands, which I shook although mine was already shaking without any help.

But not as much as before sweet Bonnie, the picnic basket / girl, had taken my arm. I smiled weakly at them and then her. She flirted back with those hollow eyes and I began to melt to high school crush jelly.

The five men nearest the car spoke quietly, and Bonnie turned me away from the car to a small level space conveniently on the side of the road by the perfect corn field. “We’ll get the table ready. Come on.” With a delicate turn she steered me toward the clearing.

The older women formed a rectangle about the size and width of a twenty–foot long table, and I almost squeaked again as bits of table and benches leaked out of their fingertips. The table formed, solid wood, and to finish a soft white table cloth floated out of the ether and covered it.

Then a loaded basked appeared in front of each woman, all laden with the most amazing food smells I had ever known. I was already hungry enough to tighten my belt as I left work. Bonnie steered me to a seat in the center of the bench opposite the car and began unloading the food. I helped and smiled at her. Oh, this girl….

A picnic of imagination. Thick sweet bread, honey, sweet butter, the most tender ham, juicy tomatoes, thick creamy milk, crunchy salad, and pies that would melt on a fork.

And then I noticed what the men were doing to my car. I did squeal then, but not loudly enough to be heard over the unloading. That would have been rude.

Carl’s hands had become a full set of wrenches from the left and at least six screwdrivers from the right. Bill and Ted sprouted lift racks from their heads and my car gently floated about six feet in the air. Ralph’s face had become an air driver and one of his hands an air hose. I heard him tisking as he inspected the tires.

The five men got together again …. mumble, mumble, mumble … and then began to move so fast a cloud of dust covered the area—and only that specific area where they were working on my car.

I stopped staring when Bonnie gave me that smile again that turned me to soft toothpaste

consistency and said, “It’s time to eat.”

All heads bowed as everyone mumbled, sighed or whispered a prayer. Then hands became forks, spoons and cups and everyone started on the food. My own hands felt very awkward at first….

Just conversation about home, school, funny looking chickens, the pumpkin Phyllis saw last week and still wouldn’t talk about, Bob’s horse’s bad habits, how cute Minnie’s kittens are … that was all. At first I would have expected the latest demon gossip, but something about Bonnie…

The dust cleared suddenly and all conversation stopped as everyone, even the kids, stopped to smile and applaud what they saw. My wreck of a ride was now gleaming and brand new. The men beamed with pride and came to take their places, not a spot of dirt or oil on them.

I stared and them smiled and then stared again. Finally I managed, “I can’t thank you enough.” And then, “Is this a miracle?”

Everyone laughed so hard two of the older women almost–but not quite—sprayed their milk.

“Not at all, son!” the preacher laughed. “Just a neighborly thing to do.”

The rest of the meal was done, and then Bonnie became–just Bonnie again. In a few moments everything except the people had gone. My stomach, though, told me the food had been very real and I had never had anything so good.

They stood in a friendly group, thanking me for joining them and the women hugged me. I stammered my thanks as well as I could.

They all walked quietly into the night, gone in seconds, except for Bonnie who turned to smile and show her red eyes to me. I actually felt my heart quiver.

And today I still like to look at that detour sign. It’s faded but it brought me to the place I needed to be.

I went back the next night, and the next and….you know what I mean. I’ve learned the picnic manifestation trick, how to repair cars and all sorts of machines and almost anything else. No need for a job after a week—I simply stayed.

And just yesterday Bonnie had our third child, a boy and our family is now five. When the kids are old enough I will explain to them why they must never leave the detour.

We still have the car, which never needs gas and never gets dirty, our house is dark--but who cares?

This is home.  

And who needs eyes?

If you see a detour sign, and need to go that way….try it.