Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Alton One: Capsule 4

It grabbed the nape of Rick Shane's neck and wrestled him to the ground with a strength that shocked the six foot, two hundred pound social worker.  Even with four years of high school wrestling he was no match for the alien.  He heard a cry from the back rooms.  "Carrie?" he whispered softly.

Rick wanted to jump up and tackle it, yet he wondered if this would be wise.  The alien took something small off his waste.  An audible wail from the back room from Carrie made up his mind.  He made to tackle it.   With an audible click the alien removed the object and flicked it at Rick.  He made to jump on it.  He did not move.  He could not move.

The alien stood over him Rick got a good look at it for the first time.  It was eerily similar to the pictures Mike Rove drew during the sessions.  He felt bad for the boy back then, but he had no idea of knowing if the boy was telling the truth of just making up some kind of a fable to account for a tie that was very stressful for the boy.  Yet now it appears his hunch was right all along, that the boy was telling the truth.

He picked up the scent of burned cinder.  Yet he could have sworn Mike described the alien, the good alien anyway, as smelling like cinnamon.  This alien didn't smell like cinnamon at all. Is that a bad omen?

Only this alien wore what appeared to him to be a tight, shiny uniform that had spikes on the shoulders that made Mike think of motor cyclists, and mainly the gruff, bearded Harley Davidson type cyclist.  And it gave him the impression of the Hell's Angels gruff motorcyclist, or a gang member, as it's expression appeared as though the creature was smitten with a whip by the supreme  alien in charge of it, kind of the way Hitler humbled gained the cooperation of the Germans during WWII.

Yet that was just a hunch by a social worker who provided an ear for many young boys and girls over the years, many who were abused and beaten.  He felt, at least, that he had the ability to read people, and now he felt he had the ability to read the alien before him.  The alien who was now intently playing with a shiny blue object on the creatures right lip, and with a loud CLICK the round object popped off and rolled on the ground.  Nick felt it bump his right foot, where it rested.

The alien slowly moved toward Nick.  He smacked Nick with his hand, and all Nick could do was deal with the sting.  The alien bent down to pick up the object, and stood before Nick. With a vicious scowl on it's face, the alien touched the object on Nick's left shoulder.  It burned horribly bad, so bad Nick wanted to scream.

Yet his mouth would not move, and words would not come from his throat.  For that split second he thought he was a living being in a body that wasn't.  Memories of his dad's life after the stroke flitted through his mind.  He was a mind trapped in an object he had no control over.  As the arm of the alien moved toward him again, he wanted to pounce and crush the frail looking beast, yet he could do nothing but deal with the burning.

Fresh, red blood dripped from the blue globe that suddenly seemed larger.  The beast struck a third time, and held the globe out and appeared to be inspecting it.  Yes, he was sure of it now: the globe seemed to get bigger each time it touched him.  Is it my pain that's making it grow?  Or, is it my blood?  Yes, it's my blood, that's it!  

Something smacked his left side, making his body sway slightly in that direction in the middle.  Through his periphery he could see a string was connected between him and some object.  There was an object in his living room. Where did that come from.  He felt tension at his waste and his body was being moved.  It was as though the rope was connected to some pulley inside that machine and he was being tugged toward it.  The alien just stood by, groping the bloody ball, watching.

He could see the machine now, and hear it's hum.  Why didn't he see or hear it before.  There's no way it could just appear, is there? It was like a box, and the top opened and he could see all sorts of  lights.  There were flashing red and blue lights, like a police siren.  And, in a heartbeat, he was looking at the ceiling.

Now he was lying in the machine, staring at the ceiling, watching as the lid with the flashing blue and red lights closes on him.  "No!  No! Noooooooo!" he screams.  Yet his words were only audible in his mind.  He heard  wail from Carrie.  It was the last thing he ever heard from her.

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