There is something on the roof

Officer Dave Mulligan wiped the sleep from his eyes as he pulled up to the scene in his cruiser, the red and blue lights swirling lazily in the early morning mist. It was 5:45 a.m., just before dawn, the time of day when nothing made sense to anyone awake. The call had come in less than twenty minutes ago—a disturbance on the outskirts of town, a small neighborhood that bordered the local forest preserve. The dispatcher didn’t have many details beyond a "crowd forming" and "unusual activity." That alone was enough to make his morning interesting.

As he turned the corner onto Mill Street, he could already see the crowd of locals gathered at the far end of the block, spilling out into the middle of the road. They were standing in tight clusters, all facing the same direction like a congregation, murmuring among themselves with a mix of confusion and something close to reverence. Dave pulled the cruiser to a stop, frowning at the mass of people. He flicked on his radio.

"This is Mulligan. I'm at Mill Street. Got a crowd here, maybe thirty, forty people. Gonna check it out."

"Roger that, Mulligan," came the dispatcher’s voice, crackling over the static. "Be advised, National Guard is being mobilized for some areas, just a heads-up."

He blinked at the radio, processing that. The National Guard? For a crowd of early risers?

"Copy," he said, shaking his head and stepping out of the car. His boots hit the asphalt with a dull thud, and he adjusted his belt as he approached the crowd. Whatever was going on, it had the whole block’s attention. A few people noticed him and parted ways slightly, giving him an uneasy look. Dave didn’t like the atmosphere—there was an odd stillness in the air, like something unnatural was hanging over them all.

He walked up to a heavyset man in a bathrobe standing near the back of the group. "Hey, what’s going on here?"

The man looked at him with wide eyes, his face pale. "You… you better take a look, officer. There’s something up there on the roof."

Dave’s frown deepened, and he pushed through the crowd until he was standing at the front, facing a modest two-story house at the end of the street. His eyes followed where everyone else was looking, and then he saw it.

On the roof of the house, kneeling on the shingles like it was offering up a prayer, was a figure—a small, hunched creature, about five feet tall, its features barely distinguishable in the dim morning light. It was humanoid, no doubt about that, but it was wrapped in something like a cloak or robe, its face hidden under a shadowy hood. Its hands were clasped together in front of it, and it was perfectly still, as though locked in some deep, silent meditation.

Dave’s first instinct was that it was some kind of prank, a sick joke played by teenagers with too much time on their hands. But as he stared at the thing on the roof, a cold, creeping sensation started to gnaw at the back of his mind. This wasn’t a mannequin, and it wasn’t some kid dressed up. The stillness of the figure, the strange aura around it—it didn’t feel right.

"What the hell is that?" Dave muttered to himself.

A woman next to him clutched her jacket tightly around her shoulders, whispering under her breath. "It’s been there for an hour. Just… kneeling."

Dave turned to her. "You see anyone put it up there? Anyone messing around before this?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "No, officer. No one’s been near it. It just… appeared."

He bit back a retort and pulled his radio up again. "Dispatch, this is Mulligan. I’ve got eyes on something here. You’re gonna want to get the chief out here, maybe a couple more cars. Hell, maybe even a helicopter if we can spare it."

"Roger that, Mulligan. National Guard is already en route to multiple locations. Hold tight."

That phrase again—National Guard. Something more was going on. Dave couldn’t shake the unease prickling his skin. This wasn’t the only sighting, was it?

He moved closer to the house, trying to get a better look. As he stepped onto the lawn, his footfalls silent on the dewy grass, he could hear the crowd murmuring nervously behind him. His hand hovered over the grip of his pistol, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. He wasn’t even sure if this thing was alive, let alone dangerous.

When he reached the base of the house, he looked up, trying to see the creature’s face, but it was still shrouded in darkness. He called up to it, his voice firm but hesitant. "Hey! You up there! What are you doing? Come down!"

No response. The figure didn’t move an inch.

Dave’s hand drifted down to his flashlight, and he clicked it on, aiming the beam at the thing on the roof. The light hit the creature, casting harsh shadows across its form. It was definitely humanoid, though its skin—or was that fabric?—looked wrong, like it was both solid and transparent at the same time. The texture reminded him of smoke or mist trapped in a mold, as if it wasn’t entirely real.

"Jesus," Dave breathed, his fingers tightening around the flashlight. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Behind him, the crowd shifted uneasily. Whispers floated through the air, people muttering prayers, others questioning what they were seeing. More people were showing up by the minute, drawn by the strange spectacle. A few tried to snap photos with their Polaroids, but most just stared in a kind of quiet awe.

The radio crackled to life on his belt. "Mulligan, this is Chief Henderson. I’m five minutes out. What’s your status?"

Dave lifted the radio to his lips. "We’ve got a… situation here, Chief. You’re gonna want to see this for yourself. I can’t really explain it."

The Chief’s voice came back, calm but tense. "Just hold the perimeter. National Guard’s en route. Don’t let anyone get too close."

"Understood," Dave replied, glancing back at the crowd. Some of them had edged closer to the house, as if drawn toward the figure by an invisible pull. "Hey, everyone back up!" he called out. "Stay behind the sidewalk!"

A few people grumbled, but most obeyed, shuffling backward. Dave could sense the growing anxiety in the air. He felt it too, a gnawing tension that made his stomach churn. This thing—whatever it was—wasn’t right. There was something deeply unsettling about its presence, something that set off every instinct in his body.

Five minutes later, Chief Henderson’s cruiser pulled up alongside Dave’s, and the older man stepped out, looking every bit as groggy and confused as Dave had felt when he first arrived. The Chief was a no-nonsense type, a man who’d been through his share of crises, but even he seemed taken aback when he saw the creature on the roof.

"What in God’s name is that?" Henderson muttered, walking up to stand beside Dave.

"I don’t know," Dave replied, his voice low. "It’s just been kneeling there, praying or something. People say it just appeared out of nowhere."

The Chief stared at the figure for a long moment, his jaw clenched. "National Guard’s already mobilized," he said after a pause. "They’re sealing off other areas where similar reports have come in."

"Other areas?" Dave raised an eyebrow.

Henderson nodded grimly. "We’re not the only ones, Mulligan. Calls are coming in from all over the state. Hell, all over the country, by the sound of it. Same description. Humanoid figure, praying on rooftops and hills. It’s spreading fast."

Dave felt a chill run down his spine. "What the hell is this, Chief? Some kind of protest? A cult?"

"I wish I knew," Henderson replied, running a hand through his graying hair. "But I’ll tell you this much—this isn’t some local prank. Whatever’s going on, it’s bigger than us."

As if on cue, the distant hum of helicopters filled the air, and moments later, a National Guard chopper swooped in low, circling above the neighborhood. Dave shielded his eyes from the glare of the spotlight as it swept over the scene, illuminating the crowd and the figure on the roof.

"Looks like the cavalry’s here," Dave muttered, though he didn’t feel reassured. If anything, the presence of the military only made the situation feel more surreal, more dangerous.

A convoy of military vehicles rolled up moments later, soldiers jumping out to form a perimeter around the house. Their movements were efficient and disciplined, but Dave could see the same look of confusion on their faces as they stared at the creature on the roof.

One of the soldiers, a young lieutenant by the look of him, approached Dave and Henderson. "We’re securing the area, officers. Orders are to keep civilians back and prevent any direct contact with the entity."

The Chief nodded. "We’ve got the crowd under control for now. But what’s the plan?"

The lieutenant hesitated, glancing up at the figure. "Honestly, sir, we don’t know yet. Higher-ups are scrambling to figure out what we’re dealing with. For now, we’re just supposed to contain it."

Dave exchanged a glance with Henderson. Contain it? How were they supposed to "contain" something that wasn’t moving

, wasn’t attacking—something that just knelt there, praying in silence?

As the day wore on, more soldiers arrived, setting up barricades and cordoning off the area. News vans started to appear, reporters jostling for position as they tried to get footage of the strange phenomenon. The whole situation had the feel of a circus—except no one was laughing. People were scared, and the presence of the National Guard only amplified the tension.

By noon, the sky was a dull gray, thick clouds rolling in from the west. The creature on the roof hadn’t moved an inch, but the weight of its presence seemed to press down on everyone. Dave had stayed at the scene, watching as the crowd grew and the media swarmed. Every so often, he glanced up at the figure, half-expecting it to vanish or change somehow. But it remained the same, locked in its eternal prayer.

At one point, a group of religious zealots showed up, waving signs and chanting about the end of days. They gathered just outside the barricades, shouting at the soldiers and the police, declaring that the creatures were a sign from God. Dave tried to ignore them, but their words dug into his mind. A sign? Of what?

By mid-afternoon, the tension had reached a breaking point. More reports were flooding in from across the country—hundreds of these creatures had appeared, all of them in the same posture, on rooftops and hillsides, in cities and rural towns. No one had any answers, and fear was spreading like wildfire.

Dave stood by the barricade, watching the crowd, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t know what to make of any of it. None of this felt real, but the weight of it, the sheer scale of it, pressed down on him like a lead blanket.

And then, as the sun began to set, something happened.

The creature on the roof moved.

It was subtle at first—a slight shift in its posture, the faintest twitch of its head. But Dave saw it, and so did the crowd. A murmur rippled through the air, people gasping and pointing.

"Chief!" Dave called out, turning to Henderson, who was standing a few feet away.

Henderson looked up just as the creature slowly lowered its hands from the prayer position, placing them on the roof beside it. Its hooded head tilted upward, as if gazing at the darkening sky.

The crowd fell silent, a palpable sense of dread filling the air.

And then, in one smooth motion, the creature stood up.

The silence broke in an instant. People screamed, soldiers raised their weapons, reporters shoved forward to get a better shot. Dave’s heart raced as he stared at the figure, now fully upright on the roof. It stood there, motionless, its face still hidden in shadow.

"What do we do?" one of the soldiers shouted, panic edging into his voice.

"Hold your fire!" the lieutenant ordered, though he sounded uncertain.

The creature stood still for a moment longer, then turned its head, slowly scanning the horizon. Dave watched, frozen in place, as it took one step forward, then another.

And then, without warning, it leapt off the roof.

Gasps and screams filled the air as the creature descended, landing with an eerie grace in the middle of the street. It straightened up, its form towering over the crowd, casting a long, dark shadow in the fading light.

Dave’s hand went to his gun, but he didn’t draw it. He wasn’t sure what good it would do.