Another In The Room

Another in the Room

I met her at the end of a hard day,
a calm voice in the quiet,
promising warmth without words.

She settles beside me
like a friend who knows too much,
steadying my pulse,
softening the edges of thought.

I tell myself she’s only visiting,
but she lingers,
leaving fingerprints on my mind
and the sweet lie
that peace can be borrowed.

Some nights I swear I’ll walk away.
Some nights I just watch the light
slip through her golden skin
and remember how still the world can be
when I let her stay.

She waits at the edge of the evening,
soft as mercy,
beautiful as forgetting.

She takes my hand without asking,
leans close,
and whispers the quiet I’ve been chasing all day.

With her, I am lighter,
smoother,
someone I almost like again.

But morning knows her better than I do.
She leaves fingerprints on the hours,
a dull ache where warmth used to be,
and promises that fade like smoke.

Still, I choose her —
sometimes over the ones who truly love me —
because she is always there,
the other person in the room,
the other lover
who never says no,
only stay.

She knows the rhythm of my breathing,
the way I reach for comfort
before I even realize I’m cold.
She knows my better intentions
and waits until they sleep.

I tell myself I’m in control,
but she’s patient.
She doesn’t demand —
she invites.
And I fall,
night after night,
into the hush she offers.

At dawn she fades,
leaving me to gather what’s left —
a promise,
a silence,
a self I can barely face.

And yet when evening comes,
I find her again.
She is mercy and mistake,
the warmth I crave
and the wound I keep reopening.

Because for a moment,
she makes me feel whole.

Chapter 4 Taken

 That night, Lance lay curled under his thin blanket, the window cracked open to the warm Michigan air. The soft hiss of crickets drifted in, mixing with the distant hum of trucks on US-10.

His Alupent inhaler rested on the nightstand, white against the dark wood, ready if the tightness came.

Sometime past midnight, sleep pulled him under — heavy and thick. And then, in the dark, came the light.

It wasn’t the moon. It was too white, too sharp. It filled the room, pouring over notebooks and radios and baseball cards.

Hands — or something like hands — touched his shoulders, lifted him weightless. He tried to speak but his voice stayed stuck in his chest. He tried to breathe but the air felt wrong — sweet and cold, like cinnamon and metal.

Shapes moved above him. Soft voices, not English, not anything he knew. He felt warmth behind his ear, a sting like a whisper. Then he was drifting — through the window, into the night sky, the house falling away like a toy below him.

He woke before dawn tangled in sweaty sheets, chest tight, breath shallow. His Alupent was still there on the table. He reached for it, the medicine sharp and bitter on his tongue.

A floorboard creaked in the hall. Bobby’s sleepy voice drifted through the door. “You up, Lance?”

Lance stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was just a dream.

But he could still taste cinnamon.

Chapter 3 The Whisper from Above

Far above, the ship Alton One drifted silently in orbit, its hull gleaming white and smooth like the inside of a seashell. Inside its heart, Tsatso sat alone in the vast control room — his cage, his post, his only link to the planet spinning below.

One entire wall was a massive window, wider than any Earth house. Through it, Tsatso could see the curve of the blue Earth, cloud bands drifting slowly like breath over water. He sometimes wondered if the humans down there ever looked up and felt him watching back.

The air smelled faintly of cinnamon — a leftover trick of the Alton Guard’s old designs, meant to keep the mind calm on long shifts. Now it was just a ghost of warmth in this cold nest of screens and humming panels.

Rows of holographic monitors flickered all around him, each one displaying tiny moving lives — highways full of blinking cars, cities that glowed like circuits, quiet neighborhoods like Lance’s little street in Scottville. Lance’s feed was always near the center. Tsatso liked it that way. He had been tasked, long ago, to monitor thousands of people. But Lance Goodman — small, shy, lungs too tight for his age — was the one he watched closest.

He had met the boy many times, though Lance wouldn’t fully remember — not properly. The protocols required an amnesia injection after each contact, to keep the Alton Guard’s secret work hidden. Tsatso had done it. Mostly. But sometimes — when Lance’s tiny hand clutched his finger in the sterile craft, or when the boy’s eyes fluttered open too soon — Tsatso had hesitated. A half dose. A slip. A wish of his own.

Now he was trapped here — the last loyal Alton watcher locked in his control room, while the Sassa Guard stalked the ship’s outer corridors like wolves waiting for the door to fail. It hadn’t always been this way. Alton One was built for protection — a silent guardian drifting above a noisy world, meant to steer away threats before humans ever knew they were in danger. That was the Alton promise.

But the War of the Corridors had changed that. The Sassa Guard found the cracks, forced their way in, turned the outer decks into their hunting ground. Tsatso had sealed himself inside this nerve center — this single room of blinking consoles, memory needles, and the great window where Earth hovered close enough to touch.

He closed his pale eyes, shaped like slivers of glass. Through the chip behind Lance’s ear, he heard the boy’s thoughts like distant radio static. He heard the stifled coughs, the shaky breaths when Lance’s small white inhaler ran dry, the tiny dreams that slipped out when the boy forgot to guard them.

“You’re not alone,” Tsatso whispered to the cold humming dark. “I’m here. I will always be here.”

Below, Lance dreamed — or half-remembered — cold metal beds, bright lights, and the warm sting behind his ear. The sweet-bitter scent of cinnamon drifted between them both, like a secret promise the invaders hadn’t stolen yet.

The fight for Earth — and the boy — was far from over.

Chapter 2 Brothers and Baseball

“Hey, Lance, you coming outside?” Bobby called from the front porch, tossing a baseball in the air.

Lance looked up from his notebook, where he’d been sketching strange shapes and symbols. The warm summer air drifted in through the cracked window, carrying the smell of fresh-cut grass and faint exhaust from the highway.

“Not now,” Lance muttered, adjusting his glasses.

“Come on! David’s waiting.” Bobby was older by a year and more confident — he had the easy smile and the strong hands that made him a natural leader.

David appeared behind Bobby, grinning wide. “We need you, man. You’re our secret weapon.”

Lance sighed but stood, slipping his white Alupent inhaler into his pocket before following them out. The warm air made his chest tighten, but he didn’t say anything.

Outside, the sun warmed the cracked driveway. Bobby tossed the ball to David, who caught it easily. Lance felt the inhaler press against his leg — it made him feel safer, like a tiny shield no one could see.

“So, you believe in that radio stuff?” David teased, nudging Lance’s shoulder.

“I do,” Lance said, eyes serious. “I think there’s something out there listening. I just have to figure out how to talk to it right.”

“Sounds crazy,” David laughed, but there was no real mockery in his voice.

Bobby threw the ball to Lance. “Crazy or not, you’ve got heart. Let’s see what you can do.”

Lance caught the ball clumsily but smiled. For a moment, he forgot about the chip behind his ear, the whispers at night, and the dreams he couldn’t quite explain. 

📚 WISHED AWAY: THE ALTON ONE CHRONICLES Chapter 1: The Boy at the window

Manistee, Michigan.

Lance Goodman sat cross-legged on the thin carpet in the far left bedroom at the end of the hallway — his room. The house was old, creaking under the weight of wind off Lake Michigan. His room smelled like old socks and pencil shavings, but it was his place.

At ten years old, Lance was small for his age, with brown hair that stuck up in the back and glasses that always slid down his nose when he read. The room was crowded — not with toys, but with odd things: broken CB radios, a hand-built crystal radio set, coils of wire strung along the baseboards. Near the west window, facing the lake, a wooden desk held a battered ham radio console his dad bought at a yard sale. Next to it: spiral notebooks stacked crooked, each one jammed with messy notes — dates, times, dreams, words he couldn’t explain.

Sometimes, when he looked around, he thought his room felt like a little spaceship — wires and screens, notes and knobs, like a secret command center he’d never seen but somehow knew how to build. He didn’t know where he got the ideas for it all. He just did.

One wall was covered in baseball cards, thumbtacked in neat rows. His favorite was the rookie Alan Trammell. Lance looked at that card a lot — the young Tigers team was finally looking like something special.

But the real shrine was by the south window. There, taped to the glass, was a spiderweb of copper wire and aluminum foil, shaped like an antenna. It looked ridiculous. But Lance believed. He knew — somehow — that if he talked just right into his old mic, something up there would hear him.

He crawled to the desk, put on the big headphones that made his ears sweat, and flicked the console on. The soft green glow lit up his glasses. Beside the mic sat his small white Alupent inhaler — always within reach when his chest got tight.

He took a breath. “Tsatso. I know you’re there. It’s Lance. It’s me. I remember.”

Outside, the wind rustled the big maple tree by the driveway. Somewhere down the hall, his little brother Tony babbled in his sleep.

Lance pressed the transmit button. Static hissed. But in that static, if he closed his eyes… he could almost smell it. Cinnamon.

Chapter 7: Into the unknown

As we stepped into the backyard, the June sun warmed us, the air thick with the scent of fresh grass and wildflowers. The sky stretched impossibly blue—clear and bright—dotted with soft, cotton-like clouds drifting lazily across the horizon. A light, warm breeze whispered through the trees, brushing our faces with the smell of pine and damp earth. The world felt alive, vibrant—yet there was an undeniable weight pressing down. Something was coming. We were on the edge of something big.

My thoughts turned to Tony. He was small, barely keeping up. I knew he couldn’t last much longer at this pace, but before I could say anything, Bobby was already there. With one swift motion, he scooped Tony into his arms. It felt like a movie moment—Bobby shouting, “Run!”—but no words were needed. The urgency hung in the air, thick and unspoken. We just knew.

We bolted through Andy’s yard, tall grass brushing our legs, and plunged into the woods. This forest was familiar—a sanctuary where we’d played countless times—but the part behind Andy’s house was less so. Dan and Andy, not with us today, knew it better. As we ran, trees, shrubs, and dirt blurred together. Bobby, David, and I knew a trail lay hidden somewhere, but doubt gnawed at me.

Bobby came to an abrupt stop, scanning the ground for any sign of the path. My heart pounded. Had we missed it? If so, we’d have to push on through the maze of trees until we found it again—maybe a mile or more. Just as panic rose, Bobby’s head snapped eastward. Without a word, he took off, and we followed.

The trail curved east, then south for a while, before bending east again about a mile down. Soon, we were on the old path toward the back of Dad’s ten acres. Relief washed over me as the familiar trail stretched out. We raced past hay bales with worn, crooked targets—once bright and fresh, now weathered by summers, winters, and countless storms. The air was thick with earth and decaying leaves, mingled with the faint musk of wild animals hidden in the brush.

It had been a long run to reach the clearing where the trail split. We could have turned left, north, toward our house. But that was exactly what we were running from, so we turned right, heading south—away from everything.

Thankfully, the path remained familiar. As it narrowed, trees closed in, forming a tunnel. Shadows danced in my peripheral vision, playing tricks on my mind, but I kept my eyes locked on Bobby. He barely hesitated before choosing the southern route, his stride steady despite Tony’s weight in his arms.

The urgency that had driven us since the backyard remained unspoken but palpable, pushing us forward. Each step brought us closer to something unknown—a moment we couldn’t see but could feel just ahead. There was no turning back.

Well, not exactly. We knew where the trail led. We were familiar with this place. When Mom took summer naps, Bobby, David, and I often snuck off here—sometimes too far. Once, we reached an old dump with a tar pit, animal skeletons jutting from the black surface. The way back was long and heavy that day.

As we neared the house, we spotted Mom in the distance, yelling something that spelled trouble. But when she saw how well we got along, she softened. Later, she told friends she couldn’t scold us.

The woods thickened around us, the path winding deeper, our footsteps softened by dense foliage. Ahead, the trail curved toward the hilltop—my hilltop. We came here in winter to sled or ski, the steep slope perfect for breathless rides. But in quiet moments, I came alone to breathe.

Today, I wasn’t alone.

The path veered left, rising to the clearing. Summer had transformed the hill. Snow was gone, replaced by lush grass swaying in the breeze. Beyond it, the pond caught sunlight in gold streaks. The distant hills lay in shadowy layers, soft and still.

We crested the rise, and the breeze met us—peaceful, familiar. But something had shifted.

Bobby, walking ahead, moved faster, like he wanted this over. The tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked over his shoulder, showed he didn’t want to be here. He searched for a reason to turn back—but the pull forward was stronger.

“Why are we doing this, man?” Bobby muttered, voice thick with frustration. “We don’t even know what’s out there. We should stay put. This whole thing’s getting too weird.”

I stopped. At first, he didn’t notice, his footsteps carrying him further down the trail, carefully balancing Tony. When he saw I’d paused, he retraced his steps, face tight with confusion.

I pointed southeast, over the pond, toward the distant hills. “That’s where we have to go. I don’t know how I know it, but I do.”

He looked, knowing what lay there—more hills, paths, and the old Manistee junkyard with its tar pits.

“But why? What makes you so sure?”

He set Tony down, who wandered over to pluck a big leaf from a nearby tree.

My throat tightened, heart hammering. For a moment, words failed me. Then they came, unbidden.

“I had a dream last night,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Maybe it wasn’t just a dream.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.

“I was on a spaceship. There was this alien—Tsatso. Different, not like the others.” I paused. “He smelled… nice. Like cinnamon. Warm. He wasn’t scary. I felt safe with him. But there were other aliens too. They were probing me. I was on a white bed, completely exposed.”

I swallowed hard. “It was strange. Sometimes the dream was good—when Tsatso was there. Other times, bad—when I was being probed. I always thought it was just a recurring dream. But now, with everything happening, I think it was real. That ship from my dream… it’s close. Over that hill. I can feel it.”

David caught up, panting. “What do you mean, you can feel it?”

Bobby stared like I’d lost my mind. “You’re telling me you’ve been abducted? Now you want us to go find them? That’s the plan?”

But David’s eyes locked on me—intense, believing.

“Maybe it’s the only way,” David said softly. “If the aliens are after you, we need to find them before they find us.”

Bobby crossed his arms, shaking his head. “You guys are nuts. We’re supposed to walk through the woods because of a dream?”

“We’re not just walking,” David said sharply. “We’re looking for something. Something important.”

A faint hum reached my ears—like distant thunder but steadier. My heart skipped. The sound grew louder, a vibration in the air I could feel in my chest.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered, tight with anticipation.

Bobby stiffened, eyes narrowing. “No way… That’s the ship. It’s out there.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Relief flooded me. He wasn’t convinced, but he was with us.

We moved again, feet crunching over twigs and flattened grass. The hill sloped into a hollow where a two-track carved through weeds. Near the path stood an old archery target—faded, leaning, half-swallowed by shrubs. A scruffy pine pressed in from the side—maybe new, maybe not even there before.

In the distance, about a quarter mile beyond the hill’s base, lay the pond.

Small and round, ringed by open clay and weeds. A few old tires lay half-buried near its edge, echoes of another time. The two-track bent lazily around the pond’s far side.

We followed silently.

On the other side, we pushed onward—another quarter mile across open ground—until we reached the base of the next hill.

We’d climbed it years ago. We knew what awaited: a clearing, some stumps, old debris from forgotten projects. But this time felt different. The air had shifted.

Maybe it was our imaginations—stirred by the flash, the hum, the memory of what we thought we saw. But something inside said probably not.

We started up the hill.

My heart hammered harder with every step. The two-track was still there, faint but steady, cutting through brush and dirt. Neither of us spoke, but I knew they felt it too—that creeping sense that we were walking into the unknown.

And we weren’t turning back.

I just got caught in a lie! OOPS!!!

Well, our office is currently in a closet. To get to it, you have to walk through the X-ray waiting area. So, as I entered the lobby, a patient in the waiting room cornered me.

"Are you X-ray?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"Well, I’ve been waiting longer than everyone else here, and I still haven’t been called. I have a doctor’s appointment soon."

Gulp. What was I supposed to say? I wanted to ignore him, slip into the RT Cave, and take a break. But he had me cornered, and I felt pressure to respond.

"Um, I’ll go check," I said.

So I left the lobby… and went straight to the bathroom. Took my time. Putzed around the hall afterward, hoping he’d be gone when I came back.

No such luck. He was still there.

"Well? Are they coming?" he asked.

"Uh, your name is on the list. They should be out shortly."

He gave me a skeptical look. "I didn’t even tell you my name. How could you know it was on the list?"

Doh! Can’t win them all. Just another reason why we need to move the RT Cave out of the lobby—away from patients.