at them, Josh! Don’t look!”
The light turns off. It lasted what, fifteen, twenty seconds? Add the ten seconds of screeching brain torture and the whole experience lasted maybe half a minute. That’s thirty seconds of the aliens yanking our chain. Of the POD commander having a little fun, shaking our cages, making sure the humans don’t get too comfortable or feel too safe. Now my room is completely black, except for the lingering blue globs I see when I close my eyes.
Dad, his brain no longer visible, says, “Where’s your flashlight?”
“On my nightstand.”
I grope around, find it, thumb the switch. It doesn’t work.
“Huh,” I say. “It was working fine when I went to bed.”
He says, “I’ll get the one in the hall closet.”
He walks away, his hand sliding along the wall. I look out the window again. The PODs are back to normal—meaning I barely see them. They’re black holes in a moonless, star-filled sky. In the far-off distance a coyote yaps, then more chime in. I guess they didn’t like the show either. Or maybe they did.
Dad walks into the room carrying a lit candle.
“Couldn’t find the flashlight?” I say.
“It didn’t work.”
He stands beside me at the window. I get a sudden flashof déjà vu. The two of us in my room, trying to figure out what the hell happened. It makes me shiver.
He says, “Looks like our guests have gone back to sleep.”
That’s his latest word for them—“guests.” And we’re the hosts. Like this is Uncle Charlie, Auntie El, and their obnoxious twins visiting from East Lansing. I told him it’s more like “Masters” and “Bitches,” and guess who we are? He said, “To quote one of your generation’s favorite phrases, ‘whatever.’”
“They never sleep,” I say.
He nods.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He looks at his watch. “That’s strange.”
“What is?”
“The display—it’s dead.” He shakes his wrist, checks the watch again, presses some buttons, frowns.
I say, “I’ll get my cell.” It shows the time on the cover. At least it did the last time I checked. I’ve got a sinking feeling that things are different now. I pull it out of my dresser drawer. Feeling confirmed. “Nada,” I say.
He hands me the candle, goes to my desk, and picks up the chair. He carries it to the middle of the room, stands on it, reaches up, and pushes the test button on the smoke alarm. It’s wired into the household circuit, but also has a battery backup. He changes all the batteries four times a year, like clockwork, so it should be fresh. We should hear an angry three-second blast, a pleasant birdsong compared to the alien screech. Nothing happens.
“Maybe it was some kind of electromagnetic pulse,” he says.
And maybe they’re getting ready to kick our ass.
I say, “It was crazy, Dad. I could see your heart beating.”
“And you didn’t have any eyeballs.”
That’s a vision I’d rather not think about.
We stand there for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything. Then he says, “Looks like the show’s over,” and turns to leave.
“Now what?”
“I’m going downstairs to check on a few things.”
“Make an entry in your notebook, perhaps?”
He smiles. “Yeah, that too.”
This is crazy. A week ago he’d be at Defcon 5, running around trying to board up the windows. Now he’s all calm, as if a blue light that turns us into talking skeletons is nothing special. Something doesn’t add up.
“I think I’ll hang here for a while,” I say, not that into making sure there are still three cans of mushroom soup in the pantry. “Let me know if there’s a problem with Dutch.”
He stops at the door and says, “You know, Josh, with the smoke detectors not working, it might be better if you—”
“I know, I know. Don’t use the candle in my room because I might fall asleep and burn the house down.”
“I’ll follow the same rule,” he says.
“Safety first!” I call to his retreating steps.
He
The light turns off. It lasted what, fifteen, twenty seconds? Add the ten seconds of screeching brain torture and the whole experience lasted maybe half a minute. That’s thirty seconds of the aliens yanking our chain. Of the POD commander having a little fun, shaking our cages, making sure the humans don’t get too comfortable or feel too safe. Now my room is completely black, except for the lingering blue globs I see when I close my eyes.
Dad, his brain no longer visible, says, “Where’s your flashlight?”
“On my nightstand.”
I grope around, find it, thumb the switch. It doesn’t work.
“Huh,” I say. “It was working fine when I went to bed.”
He says, “I’ll get the one in the hall closet.”
He walks away, his hand sliding along the wall. I look out the window again. The PODs are back to normal—meaning I barely see them. They’re black holes in a moonless, star-filled sky. In the far-off distance a coyote yaps, then more chime in. I guess they didn’t like the show either. Or maybe they did.
Dad walks into the room carrying a lit candle.
“Couldn’t find the flashlight?” I say.
“It didn’t work.”
He stands beside me at the window. I get a sudden flashof déjà vu. The two of us in my room, trying to figure out what the hell happened. It makes me shiver.
He says, “Looks like our guests have gone back to sleep.”
That’s his latest word for them—“guests.” And we’re the hosts. Like this is Uncle Charlie, Auntie El, and their obnoxious twins visiting from East Lansing. I told him it’s more like “Masters” and “Bitches,” and guess who we are? He said, “To quote one of your generation’s favorite phrases, ‘whatever.’”
“They never sleep,” I say.
He nods.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He looks at his watch. “That’s strange.”
“What is?”
“The display—it’s dead.” He shakes his wrist, checks the watch again, presses some buttons, frowns.
I say, “I’ll get my cell.” It shows the time on the cover. At least it did the last time I checked. I’ve got a sinking feeling that things are different now. I pull it out of my dresser drawer. Feeling confirmed. “Nada,” I say.
He hands me the candle, goes to my desk, and picks up the chair. He carries it to the middle of the room, stands on it, reaches up, and pushes the test button on the smoke alarm. It’s wired into the household circuit, but also has a battery backup. He changes all the batteries four times a year, like clockwork, so it should be fresh. We should hear an angry three-second blast, a pleasant birdsong compared to the alien screech. Nothing happens.
“Maybe it was some kind of electromagnetic pulse,” he says.
And maybe they’re getting ready to kick our ass.
I say, “It was crazy, Dad. I could see your heart beating.”
“And you didn’t have any eyeballs.”
That’s a vision I’d rather not think about.
We stand there for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything. Then he says, “Looks like the show’s over,” and turns to leave.
“Now what?”
“I’m going downstairs to check on a few things.”
“Make an entry in your notebook, perhaps?”
He smiles. “Yeah, that too.”
This is crazy. A week ago he’d be at Defcon 5, running around trying to board up the windows. Now he’s all calm, as if a blue light that turns us into talking skeletons is nothing special. Something doesn’t add up.
“I think I’ll hang here for a while,” I say, not that into making sure there are still three cans of mushroom soup in the pantry. “Let me know if there’s a problem with Dutch.”
He stops at the door and says, “You know, Josh, with the smoke detectors not working, it might be better if you—”
“I know, I know. Don’t use the candle in my room because I might fall asleep and burn the house down.”
“I’ll follow the same rule,” he says.
“Safety first!” I call to his retreating steps.
He
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