It walked across the road, casual as you please.
The teller lives in town, about seven miles from downtown Scranton. The front of their neighbourhood faces a main highway, but behind the houses are state game lands. Turkeys and the odd deer come through, and what seems like every skunk in the county. Oddly, they rarely see squirrels, groundhogs or chipmunks.
One night in January 2019 they caught movement on the driveway from a window that looks down over it. Something was walking slowly toward the street on all fours, nose to the ground, swinging its head from side to side. They assumed it was a bear.
They moved to the bedroom window, which looks straight out over the street, and watched it come down to the road. Then it stood up on two legs and walked out into the street with its head raised, sniffing the air. Under the yellow streetlight they could see its silhouette clearly: tall pointed ears and a long snout. It was not a bear.
It was dark grey or black, though the yellow light made the colour hard to judge. It stood up in one easy movement, walked across the road without hurrying and crouched down in a thick tangle of scrub on the other side. Then the teller realized it was looking straight into their bedroom window.
Its eyes looked blue, whether from reflected light or a glow of their own they couldn't say. Their legs gave out and they sat down hard on the floor under the window. They were home alone with five cats and a dog that slept through the whole thing, behind a large picture window that would have been no barrier at all.
When they finally got up on their knees and looked over the sill, the eyes were gone. They couldn't tell whether it had moved off toward the game lands or simply settled down in the scrub.
Here is what they saw under the light. It had dark fur, tall pointed ears and a long muzzle. Its hands had long claws and hung loosely at the wrist; with the arms straight they would have reached below the knee. It walked on dog-like legs, up on its toes. It looked heavily muscled with a narrow waist and stood seven to seven and a half feet tall, judging by the streetlight. It never acted aggressively, even while it was looking at them, and they didn't feel it was angry at being seen.
They didn't take a photo. They say the phone was the last thing on their mind.
In the months after there was tapping at the windows and scratching on the siding. The seven stray cats they used to feed disappeared one by one. They put up motion lights and two game cameras and stopped sleeping through the night. Their message to anyone who hopes to see one is: pray you never do.