The police car was parked in front of his house, along with two other cruisers.

His real problem: how was he going to get out of this mess with the cops? It was only his rattled brain serving up a dose of craziness. The strange vision of his great-great-grandfather touching him in that same spot with a hot finger passed like smoke through TreyвЂ™s mind, but he dismissed it. His head ached he had a knot on his forehead from where the cop had struck him. TreyвЂ™s hands were locked in restraints and bunched behind him in the small of his back. He recognized the metal screen dividing the seats the crackle of garbled voices on the radio the squarish head of the officer behind the wheel the odor of stale coffee.

He awoke in the back seat of a police cruiser. His ancestorвЂ™s finger touched his head, above his right eye, with a sensation that felt like a torch searing his flesh. Trey tried to pull away and found he couldnвЂ™t move. His finger looked as if it had been broken a couple of times, but the tip glowed like a white-hot ember. With a sad smile, William extended his index finger toward Trey. Trey recognized him from an old photo he and his ancestor looked like brothers. An angel welcoming him to the afterlife?Д«ut the entity looked like his great-great-grandfather, William Freeman. Then he sensed an ethereal presence near him, translucent as a silver veil. In a flash, he jerked awake and saw a white light somewhere far ahead, as if at the end of a long corridor.

Why do they think all Black men look alike?Д«ulldog Cop slammed the shotgun against TreyвЂ™s head.Дropping violently into unconsciousness was like dying.ДЄs the explosion thundered through TreyвЂ™s brain, darkness fell over him. вЂњYou fuckinвЂ™ piece of shit.вЂќДЄs always, another case of mistaken identity, Trey thought. вЂњYou thought you could get away with it, huh?вЂќ Bulldog Cop said. вЂњAm I being charged with a crime?вЂќ he asked. He knew the drill.ДonвЂ™t argue, do everything they tell you to do. Back then, local cops had cornered him like wolves, charging that he had stolen his own bicycle from someoneвЂ™s backyard. He had never been convicted of a crime in his life, but police had rousted him several times, starting when he was thirteen. Approaching the patio, he leveled a shotgun at Trey. With his boulder-sized head, pug nose, and stout build, he reminded Trey of a bulldog dressed in a copвЂ™s uniform. Had any of their ancestors once driven his family off their land to claim it for themselves? The cops surrounding him were white men, between the ages of twenty-five and fifty. TreyвЂ™s family had lived and owned property in Forsyth, been driven out of Forsyth by armed mobs, and with his return three years ago, had come back to reestablish roots. He was a forty-year-old Black man in America and knew the fatal consequences of disobedience to law enforcement. The bag slumped to the patio and spread across his feet, its pungent contents trickling across his house shoes.Д«ut he put his hands up as if reaching for the twilight sky. Trey lost his grip on the garbage bagвЂ™s handle. вЂњPut your goddamn hands up!вЂќ one of them barked. When Trey Freeman stepped out the back door of his house that Wednesday evening to take out the trash, four policemen greeted him with guns drawn. Now sit back, turn out the lights, and enjoy вЂњNobody Knows My NameвЂќ, written by Brandon Massey, narrated by Carl Stewart. Just go to to get your t-shirts, hoodies, notebooks and more! And donвЂ™t forget, NIGHTLIGHT merch is available and you can support us by sporting NIGHTLIGHT-branded gear. Just go to /nightlightpod to join the NIGHTLIGHT Legion and get a shoutout on the podcast. NIGHTLIGHT will be produced year-round thanks to the NIGHTLIGHT Legion, and now, weвЂ™d love to bring you new episodes every single week. Thanks also to Heather, Asiyah, and Marcelina for increasing your contribution. Thanks to Ash, Alicia, John, soundguysgirl, Barbara, Dominique, Peter, and Anita. This week, we have a tale reminiscent of The Twilight Zone episode вЂњThe Four of Us are DyingвЂќ.Д«ut before we get to enchanting impersonizations and ancestral rage, I want to take a moment to say thanks to our newest patrons. IвЂ™m Tonia Ransom, creator and executive producer of NIGHTLIGHT, a horror podcast featuring creepy tales written and performed by Black creatives from all over the world.

Twisted insane shoot for the face