Going on 26 years now, I’ve been a police officer in the town of Malverne on Long Island. Day and night I patrol the streets on the lookout to protect my neighbours from vandals, thieves and sometimes worse. I know that no matter how many rounds I make, I can’t be everywhere at once. But sometimes I find myself in just the right place at just the right time.

I was working the midnight in eight shift a few days before Christmas one year. It was bitter cold, and by three o’clock mine was the only car on the road. I’d been all over town that night, but there was still one run I hadn’t made: the parkway. I drove along the parkway and approached the exit back to town, but for some reason I didn’t take it.

The parkway was built on a raised bank, and I could feel the wind from over the treetops battering the sides of the car. Dark woods stretched downhill on either side of the highway, and I drove cautiously in the right-hand lane watching the long path my high beams cut on the road ahead. Suddenly something commanded me, “Pull over!” It came as a whisper but was urgent and strong nonetheless.

I steered my cruiser into the breakdown lane and stopped at an angle, my headlights shining down the gentle, snow-covered slope into the thick woods. Directly in front of my car the hard snow was broken and scattered. Something had gone over the edge. I buttoned my coat, grabbed my flashlight and went to investigate. — Beliefnet.com