The Unluckiest Man Alive [ Gregory Smith ]

 “Yet another souvenir for the box,” Wally mumbled to himself, gazing at his right shoe. Wally felt the hole in the sole where the voltage had exited. The discarded shoe would join his wristwatch that had stopped keeping time, his burnt Park Ranger hat and his ripped gray trousers in the box of “shocking” memorabilia he had collected over the years.

He had escaped death once again. This time he only lost his eyebrows. A scorching, ugly gash streaked across his forehead, evidence of this latest strike.

“Mister Wallace Winkle,” the emergency room physician began, slipping into the cubicle where Wally sat on a stretcher. “I’m Doctor Scanlin. You’re a lucky man to be alive.”

“Lucky? I hate to correct you, doctor but I consider myself the unluckiest man on Earth,” Wally said.

“Am I reading this correctly?” the doctor asked. “You’ve been struck by lightning SEVEN times in your life?”

“That’s correct, doctor,” Wally replied. “Every so often, just like clockwork, lightning strikes me. No one has been able to figure out why.”

“Well, your profession doesn’t help, being a Park Ranger. I imagine you are outdoors quite a bit because of your job.”

“It doesn’t matter, doctor,” Wally claimed. “It all started when I was a teenager, working in the Kansas wheat fields. A flash of lightning hit the blade of a sickle I was using, causing a shock to my system. It happened so fast. There was only one dark cloud in the clear blue sky that afternoon. No thunder, no storm warning, no rain. Just one bolt, hitting my farming tool and that was that.

“I lived in Kansas…flat Kansas, for heaven’s sake. Not mountainous Colorado or hilly West Virginia.  What were the odds?”

“Well, the chances of being struck by lightning even once are slim, “the doctor said. “But to be struck more than once is…astronomical. SEVEN times is unheard of.”

 “Exactly one- in- one- octillion,” Wally responded. “Well, perhaps the only upside of this entire fiasco is my induction in the Guiness Book of World Records someday.”

“A dubious distinction, I’m afraid,” said the doctor.

“Bad luck and storm clouds followed me everywhere I went,” Wally continued. “I left ‘Tornado Alley’ for Pennsylvania in my twenties. I met a girl who claimed I had a ‘striking personality’…no pun intended. We got married and I became a Forest Ranger because I love the outdoors. Yes, I’ve had some close calls in my life. For instance, I was on duty in the watch tower one sweltering summer evening, keeping watch for forest fires. Well, I didn’t have to look far because lightning hit the tower, setting it on fire. I managed to escape but as I was running away from the blaze I was struck by lightning. Knocked me on my ass but I somehow survived.

“That’s the thing, doctor,” Wally said. “I’m not sure if God has bad aim or He is just toying with me. He allows me to live, only to play this game of cat-and-mouse with my life. No, Doctor Scanlin, I’m far from lucky.”

“We can do tests while you’re here in the hospital,” Doctor Scanlin offered. “Maybe you have an unusually large amount of silver in your system. Something is causing you to be a ‘human conductor’. I could advise that you find a virtual job and stay indoors all the time, but I suppose that wouldn’t be practical.”

“No sir,” Wally agreed. “I’m not going to let this curse change my life more than it already has. I used to love hunting and fishing. I was a real outdoorsman. Every year I would head up to the Poconos for bear season. I’ve been known to wait in a tree for twelve hours at a time, waiting for bear or deer. Not anymore. Not since lightning found me deep in the woods. Didn’t hit a tree; didn’t cause a fire…well, at least not in the trees. It did set my hair on fire and knocked me to the ground.

“I learned to cope, Doctor Scanlin. I carry a gallon of water with me in my truck everywhere I go. Not for drinking, but for extinguishing fire… putting myself out, just in case. Fishing is the same way. Me and my buddy Jake were fishing in a fresh water stream not far from here when I felt this jolt out of the blue. He got out of the water, just in time. Pretty soon nobody wanted to fish with me anymore. Pretty soon I lost all my buddies and nobody wanted to be around me anymore. They all thought they were going to get struck too. It’s been an awfully lonely life, especially after my wife met an unfortunate demise.

“I even had a dog. His name was Blue. He was an old bloodhound. Good hunting dog, until one day…”

“Lightning struck?” the doctor guessed.

“Burnt to a crisp,” he confirmed.

“I’m so sorry, Mister Winkle.”

“That’s the hardest part, doc,” Wally replied. “The fear of getting struck again, the anxiety, the anticipation, the helplessness, knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening. And the loneliness of being all by myself.

“You mentioned a wife?” the doctor inquired.

“I did. One afternoon, a few years ago, she was hanging clothes out in the yard. I was fixing the lawn mower a few yards away. We were just chatting, minding our own business when WHAM- lightning struck again. Only this time it didn’t hit me- it hit her, killing poor Edna on the spot.”

“And all of this happened, even though you took precaution from storms?”

“Yes, sir,” Wally said.” I never talked on my landline during a storm. Never took a bath during a storm. Never out on a golf course, playing through a thunderstorm, or taking shelter under a tree, or doing something stupid. I never sought it- it always found ME.

“I swear, somebody must’ve put a curse on me,” Wally sighed, wiping his face with a handkerchief. It’s almost as if the dark clouds follow me on purpose, like they are coming after me, like bloodhounds chasing an escaped convict. I know this all sounds crazy, but every bit of it is true. It’s all been documented even though there hardly are any actual witnesses around to corroborate my story.

“Maybe I should just end it all. What do I have to live for? Edna is gone. My friends are gone. What is there to look forward to anymore?” Wally said.

Doctor Scanlin’s concern went up a notch after hearing Wally talk about “ending it all.”

“Mister Winkle, have you ever talked to someone? I mean, in your unusual situation, I think it would only be natural for a professional to help you cope with your emotions, your many losses, your stress and anxiety…”

“No, I never have,” Wally said. “I always felt I could handle this by myself. “

“Well, if you agree, let’s admit you to the hospital for a day or two. Not only can we continue to treat that gash on your forehead, we can run a few tests to determine if there is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon. I think you could use some down time in a safe, secure environment. And I do think it would help to speak with Doctor Trappe, our psychiatrist on call,” suggested Doctor Scanlin.

“Anything you say, doc,” Wally agreed. I just want this whole thing to be over with.”

“Fine. Wait here. I’ll send a nurse in and we will get you a room upstairs. Don’t worry, Mister Winkle, everything will be ok. I’ll be right back.”

 Left alone while the ER doctor made the admission arrangements, dark thoughts crept into his mind. What if they think I’m making the whole thing up? What if they think I hurt myself for attention?  What if they think I’m crazy and try to send me to the Funny Farm? Exactly what are these “tests” and will they cause excruciating pain?

Wally got cold feet and quickly got dressed, sneaking out of the cubicle. He left the hospital undetected and soon was in his beloved truck, heading out of town.

It was hot and muggy, typical August weather, and Wally hung his left arm out the window as he drove, a country music station on the radio, the fresh air doing his mind and body good. He needed time to think so he headed for the mountains to find some peace. It didn’t matter where he drove, he just wanted to escape somewhere.

The higher he climbed the cooler it became, refreshingly cool. As he drove along a narrow stretch of mountain road, he looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a thundercloud developing behind him. The sky grew black and the wind turned gusty as Wally panicked. He flew faster and faster, trying to out-race the storm cloud.

“Damn!” he mumbled. “It’s chasing me again!”

He floored the gas while maneuvering several hair-pin turns up the mountainside. Wally finally reached the summit and started down the other side of the mountain. Just then he heard a loud thundercrack, almost as if a rifle had gone off, and in the corner of his eye he saw two trees on his left side get struck by a single bolt of lightning. The flash deflected from the trees into the open window of the truck, violently striking Wally in the chest, one-hundred million volts electrifying him. He immediately lost consciousness, slumping on the steering wheel as the truck careened down the slope. Speeding up even more, it crashed through the right guardrail and plummeted off the cliff, bursting into flames, tumbling down the mountain, finally exploding into a ball of fire in a ravine below.

********

After speaking with Dr Scanlin, the police ruled Wally’s death a suicide. He just couldn’t take his unlucky life anymore, they surmised. No one would ever know how that final storm cloud had “chased” and caught him, one final bolt of lightning sending him to his grave.

Rest in peace, Wallace Winkle.

Only, the force behind a lifetime of lightning- God, the devil, a curse, Mother Nature, or just pure bad luck- would NOT allow Wally to rest in peace. The first night after Wally’s remains were buried alongside his wife, lightning struck their tombstone, sending spider web cracks all through the crumbling stone.

To add insult to injury, the very next day, a dapper, nattily-dressed gentleman from the Guiness Books of World Records organization showed up at the Winkle home. He was there to meet the luckiest- or unluckiest- man alive.

 A little too late, I’m afraid.