Alton One: Chapter 9

It was noon in Scottville, Michigan.  Sarah laid with her head on the couch pillow, playing with her i-phone, occasionally laughing, occasionally verbalizing something she read.  Mike watched her from the kitchen table while eating a chocolate chip cookie, his t-shirt covered in crumbs.  On the table were seven boxes of opened girl scout cookie boxes, with about half the former contents in either his or Sara's stomachs.

Bloated, roasting, he got up and opened the patio door, the same one Lance floated through on his way to Alton One.  The sun was shining bright over head, and a warm, toasty breeze that wafted through the door felt very refreshing.  As he peered out he felt it odd there were no shouts from children playing, and no squeaks and chirps from squirrels or birds.  The only audible thing outside was the rustling of leaves. "Do you think the police have people locked in their homes, or something else is going on."

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because it's eerie the way things have transpired?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's almost as though we're being cooped up in here on purpose?"

"What?"

"That we're being shown just enough to tempt us?"

"What?

"Well, look out there?"

She was not standing by him, holding the curtain with her left hand.  "Just look out there.  The sky is clear blue, and there's barely a cloud, just a few random ones.  Look at the homes across the street.  You notice anything odd about them?"

"No!"

"Neither do I.  I spent many hours sitting on this front porch with either Lance or his mother, and I never once ever saw a person come out of any of those houses.  Occasionally you'd see a car go up a driveway, and enter a garage, but once the garage door closed that was it."

"So what are you getting at?"

"Those people never went outside anyway.  They were house potatoes. It seems every neighborhood has house potatoes.  They have their windows closed, curtains or shades closed, and they sit in their houses all day.  No one knows what they do.  They only leave to go to work or to pay bills."

"Okay, what does that have to do with this.."

"The only exception is Mrs. Schaffer.  She's out and about in her yard all the time. You can tell by all the pretty flowers and plants in her yard.  She reminds me of my grandma.  Every time you pass her she has something to tell you. If you spend time with her she has a nice story to tell.  If your'e interested, and I'm always interested, she could entertain you for hours."

"I don't get your point."

"My point is she's a useful person."

"And."

"And we're useful people.  Lance is a useful person.  Lance is doing something all the time.  For crying out loud, look at all the stuff he wrapped around this house.  He may be the laughing stock of the neighborhood, he may not, but either way, he's productive.  He doesn't sit around all day playing video games, watching TV, and doing things that don't effect the lives of other people."

"So you're saying house potatoes are non productive members of society."

"They at least look non productive.  What we don't know is what they are really doing with their lives.  I remember dad told me once that he felt like he was a house potato for about ten years when Jimmy and I were little, really little.  He felt like he was useless to society; that all he did was watch kids, work, watch kids, work, take his wife on a date, and stuff like that.  He had no contact with his friends.  In fact, he went so long without hanging with his friends he felt he was antisocial.  And that's when he came up with the term house potato, because he suspected others probably thought that of him."

"And?"

"He wasn't a couch potato at all.  He was outside more than the couch potatoes in the neighborhood.  He was outside walking with his kids, us, down the street.  He was teaching us how to ride bikes.  He was pulling us in the wagon.  He was taking us to the state park.  He was taking us camping.  He was taking us to the store so we could buy Christmas presents for mom.  He was busy raising his kids.  He was invisible to the rest of the world because he was raising kids."

So, that sounds great.  What does it have to do with this."

"Well, don't you feel like a house potato right now?"

"Oh, yeah, I see what you mean."

"Do you?"

"Yes, I guess I do."

"That's my point.  Maybe... maybe.... maybe we are a part of the plot.  Maybe the alien let you go on purpose, ever think of that."

"Mike?" Her face looked a sudden fret.

"Look, Sarah, the bad aliens, if that's what they are, kill people.  As far as we know, there's no way to escape their evil grasp.  But you got away.  You got away and you returned here, where, coincidentally, you have me, who was kidnapped by aliens in the past, and Lance, who, by the way, is on a spaceship."

Sarah hugged Mike, tight.

Alton One: Chapter 8

"So now what do we do?" Sarah said. She was sitting on the couch.

"I have no idea." Mike said. He was slouched in the love seat, staring at his Kindle Fire. By moving his fingers he created the word "SILENCE" to start a Words With Friends game. "Ah, beat that move!"

"How can you do that at a time like this?"

"I needed a brain break, Sarah. My head is fried." He closed the Kindle case and set it on the sidetable alonside the empty Coke can.

"We may both be fried soon," she said, and burst out laughing. 

He joined her.  He laughed so long and so hard his stomach cramped.  He tried to force himself to stop laughing, even went as far as to pinch his cheek, and it was no use.  He hopped out of his seat, laughing all the way to the kitchen.  He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a Coke.

"Here, you need this," he said, talking with difficulty.  He was still trying to fight off the laughter.  "Boy, I needed that.  We needed that."

"Yes."  She said.  She sighed. 

"Here!" he proffered her the can again.  "Take this, would you."

"No, I'm trying to be good."

"Not today you're not.  You deserve a day off.  You deserve a treat.  In fact, I think I'm gonna go to Northside and get you an ice cream sandwich.  I know that's your favorite."

"I'd love that, but what if the aliens are out there?" She took the Coke, clicked it open. Drank. It seemed to bring some color back to her face, for a moment any way. "Mike, I don't want you to get hurt?"

What are you worried about me for?  I'm worried about you.  I'm worried about you, Sarah.  "You have a point."  He sat next to her. 

She said, "We need to do something, though. We can't just stay cooped up in here forever.  There's a dead body staring at us for Christ sake, and aliens out and about that are killers." 

"Well, how 'bout if I call 911 and tell officer Joe Bean I saw an alien, and the alien scared the crap out of me..."

"You were there when I Disappeared," Lance wrote.  What did he mean by that? What are these coffins?  If Tsatso had a coffin, and this evil, alien that killed the cop and tried to kidnap Sarah are two different aliens, then why do they both have coffins, or whatever those things are?  Are they from the same place?  Are they from two different places?  What's the connection here?  And does this other alien have anything to do with the urgency of Tsatso needing Lance?  Man, it almost looks like there's some kind of connection here. 

"...and then I'll tell them about everything that's happened.  I'll tell them about the body.  Hell, I'll just show them the body.  Hell, they'll see the body on their own..."

There's also the U.F.O. sightings reported in the papers.  There was more than one sighting, so does that mean there's more than one U.F.O.?  Is there some kind of intergalactic war going on in the space over Skitville?  Are we in the middle of some kind of Star Wars battle?  And if so, where are the aliens from anyway?  And why in the world did they choose Skitville?

"...I just wish we weren't trapped in the middle of this, you know what I mean.  You know how all your life you kind of want to believe in the extraterrestrial and you kind of believe in it but it's a belief that's on the surface.  But you..."

The aliens who kidnapped me were not from Alton?  I know they weren't.  But the alien Sarah described wasn't like Tsatso. Sarah, you're wrong there.  It wasn't like Tsatso at all.  The question that has me about Tsatso...

"...know what I mean.  I always supported Lance, but, as he said, it was a hobby to him.  It wasn't something you expected to really happen.  You never...

...is whether or not he is a prisoner like he was with me on that ship.  No!  If he was a prisoner now, he wouldn't give Lance a choice?  No, that would't make sense.  If Tsatso was a prisoner, and he was being forced to take Lance, he would just, you know...

"...expect to actually see or meet an alien.  Well, I suppose Lance did.  Lance I think believed a lot more than the rest of us stories like...

...Kidnap Lance...

"...you know, he would... Mike?  Mike, are you with me?  Am I talking to a wall?

"I'm sorry, I just can't stop thinking about Lance's blog.  It just reminds me so much of..."

"Of what, Mike?  What does it remind you of?"

His fingers dug deep into the couch fabric. He took in a deep, slow breath.  "You do have a point, Sarah.  And, yes, I'm listening, Sarah. I really am."

"You were not.  You were staring at the blank TV." She smiled.  She was so sweet.  Mike studied her face. Her features matched her innocence.

"The coffin, you know, whatever it was, it just appeared in front of me.  It was in the back of Mr. Foster's house.  It just appeared, as though it knew where I was gonna be.  I don't think it was Tsatso.  I don't think if he's the way you described him, that he would do such a thing.  This was a bad, an evil, alien.  He, she, it, tried to kill me.  There was no doubt about that.  It tried to kill me.  There was no choice.  If I didn't run, it would have killed me right there. 

"Sarah, can I ask a question?"

"Ask away."

"How did you get the blood on your hands?"

She looked at the ground.  Her hands were shaking.

"Never mind, he said.  I shouldn't have asked."

"No.  No."  She looked in his eyes.  "THE ALIEN HELD A BALL, AND IT WAS COVERED IN BLOOD!  She squeezed him.  "It tried to touch it to my shoulder.  And that's when I started to run.

She cried.  Mike put his arm around her, and she wrapped her arms around him, and cried.

Alton One: Chapter 7

Her hold on him was a life grip, so hard he tremmored with her.  Her head was snug on his shoulder, and he could smell her hair spray.  On a normal day he would have made a commical remark about it, but there were no words for a moment like this.  She was scared to death, and he could smell that too.  He let her hold on as long as she needed.  What in the world brought THIS on? he wondered.

She let go and an immediate flow of warm blood rushed down his arms to his fingertips.  She stood in front of him with blank stare, shivering. 

"Sarah!" he held her hands. They were cold as ice.  "Sarah!  What happened?  Who did this to you?"

"Hold me, Mike!  Just hold me!" He did.  And he guided her to the livingroom, and sat with her on the couch. All the way, he never stopped hugging her.  "Who did this, Sarah?  Who hurt you?"

"The coffin!"

"What?" A shiver rushed up his spine. His mind immediately recollecting Lance's story. "A coffin? Like the one Lance wrote about?"

"The coffin.  It was a coffin.  And an alien, like the one you drew.  It was an alien.  It came out of the coffin.  It came and tried to take me.  It tried to take me." 

She squeezed him again, hard, very hard. 

"Sarah, you have to tell me what happened.  You have to tell me everything."

"I can't.  I can't!" She started crying.  "I don't mean to be a baby."

"It's okay.  It's okay."  It wasn't okay.  Tsatso took Lance, and he was supposed to be a good alien.  Now this.  "Did Tsatso do this to you?  Was it Tsatso?  The one I drew was Tsatso."

"Yes," she said.  It was Tsatso.  Only..."

"Only what?"

"Only he wore black.  He looked mean.  He grabbed me and I ran."

He let her squeeze him again.  She cried hard, and he made no effort to stop her. 

Civilian on the front lines

So do you ever have a dream you think could easily be turned into a story if you had the time to write it down.  Last night I had one of those dreams.  There were a bunch of guys all hanging out in front of this building, and we were writing in our journals.  One guy was passing around a picture book, and having all of us guys write things in the margins, between the pictures.

We all had on our regular clothing, so it was obvious we weren't real soldiers.  I didn't even have a helmet, at least not yet.  I could tell you I wasn't a real soldier because I have asthma and would never be accepted into a real military.  But desperate times call for desperate measures.  For whatever reason, the real military was desperate, and they called on us.

Some of the guys are trying to find their spot for when the battle starts, and I'm just sitting in a lawn chair.  A couple of the guys are amazed how calm I can be at such a stressful moment.  I didn't say anything, although I'm not necessarily as calm as I look.  I'm relaxed to a certain degree because I know I have no control over what happens to me, and I believe in God.  Although I'm still afraid of dying.  I worry what would happen to my wife and kids more than anything.

Then someone says, "You guys know we're on the front lines!" And this causes a bunch of guys, including myself, to crawl down at the front of the porch, duck to behind the fence, and see how we would fit in that spot. I lied down and noted that my head stuck over the barrier unless I was lying down.  I aimed my gun at the distant darkness, and my entire head and shoulders was out in the open; an easy target.  I supposed if I had a helmet on the bullet would ricochet off me.  Where is my helmet?  Please give me a helmet?

I wondered if the fence wasn't completely done.  I wondered what was out there waiting for us, if anything.  Obviously there was something out there or we wouldn't be here.  Then I heard a scuffle, and that's when I realized there were a bunch of kids hanging around also.  They were playing.  One of the guys says, "This is the front lines. All kids I want to gather over there."

So now I'm looking around hoping to see my kids; or hoping not to see my kids.  None of the kids I saw running to my left were mine.  Then I forget about the kids as I'm trying to get my spot ready for battle, although I can't find anyone to help me.  I'm kind of irritated that the battle ground isn't ready.

Then my attention is brought back to the kids again as I hear scuffling to my left.  I look over there thinking I might see warriors pent to kill us, yet what I see are all the kids grouped in a large circle amid a white picket fence.  I hear a truck pull up, and all the kids get into the truck.  I keep watching this even though I know I should be getting myself ready, yet I can't help but to watch the kids until everyone of them is in the truck.  They were snuggled close back of the truck, but at least they'd be alive at the end of the battle.  I couldn't predict the same for me, being that I was amid the med on the front line.

As the kids are being driven off in the distance, the sound of the truck brings me back to reality.  In real life it's probably a truck going by my house as I lie sound asleep.  Then I look in the distant woods where the enemy is probably waiting to kill us.  There appears to be a good chance they will succeed, although you hear no talk about defeat  We are all willing to fight to, obviously, save our kids.  I also have no idea who the enemy might be, and that in itself sends a shiver down my spine. Who am I going to kill?  Why? Will I be able to pull the trigger?  Will I simply cower behind the shield.

Another idea crosses my mind.  I remember in past dreams during similar stressful and scary situations hiding behind the barrier that is my dream.  I know that at any point I can just duck and be still, and no one will see me.  It is, after all, a dream. I remember running in the woods once, away from some killer chasing me, pent on killing me.  And as I'm running I picture a hole in the ground under some stump, and I find that spot, duck into it, and then I can hear as the bad guys are looking for me.  But they never find me.  When I wake up I'm still alive.

So now here I sit, back in my recliner, waiting for the word that it's time to duck for cover, in my battle spot.  I'm assuming now that whatever we have right now is what we will have for battle.  We are the last stand.  I hear a jet over head, loud  It's close.  And instead of looking up at it, I look around at my fellow soldiers.  They are all afraid, as I am, that bombs will be dropped.  None are.  Then, just when we are feeling the sense of relief, another jet goes overhead louder than the first, then another and another.  For about five minutes there were several jets go over head, yet we cannot see any of them in the still darkness.

I know that the lights are on around us, as I can see the glow of our lights of the distant forest.  I can see no soldiers in the field, although I have no idea if our soldiers are out there in camouflage, or if the enemy is.  The dream is set up here so that it's as though I'm just all of a sudden in this spot.  I have no idea of anything that transpired in my life before this scene.  It's kind of like that old TV show Quantum Leap.  The main character in that TV show would all of a sudden take over someone's life, and make things right.  That's where I was, in some soldiers body trying to make out who I was and why I was there.  Only I was me in my dream.  I just didn't know why or where?

A man all of a sudden appears, and I think he's the enemy.  He's telling us what we need to do to survive the war.  He's trying to get us to give up.  He has a gun, and he keeps waving it.  I'm afraid of guns, and am afraid he might shoot it.  Then he aims it at me.  A fear drenches through my body that he will kill me.

The room is full.  I hear a baby cry, and kids innocently bantering about their fake worlds.  Men and women in the room are more solemn, as they wait.  Wait for what.  Then the crown in the middle of the room clears as men in uniform enter.  The men have a stack of journals and a photo book that they pass around.  The women found solace as they find notes from their presumed dead spouses.  I still do not see my wife nor my kids.  I know they must be around somewhere or I wouldn't be here in my spirit form.

Finally I get a chance to look at the photo book.  I see what the men wrote in the columns.  I find not one mention of dead or battle.  The words are all things like "It's a beautiful day out here.  I can hear the crickets chirping."  Each quote is followed by a signature.  I look for something I wrote, and find nothing. I look for my journal. I find nothing.  Why am I here?

Suddenly two more men donned in high military gear enter the room  All the women and men are silent, including the kids.  One of the men says, "I would now like to present the highest metal award to a man who is not in uniform." Now I realize I'm standing behind this man.  I hear sighs and rapid chatter from the folks.  "I would like to provide the award to Rick Frea."

That's when I'm pushed forward.  The military men stand aside, and I'm pushed forward.  Smiles and smiles and smiles across the room on every person I saw.  Yet my eyes quickly find a lady, and my arms go around her, my head upon her shoulder.  Two women and two men wrap their arms around both of us.  Happiness.

Alton One: Chapter Six

"Sarah?" Mike said into the bloody i-phone.  "Are you're parents still in Key West?"

"Yes," she said. "They're flying home tomorrow"

You can't be home alone.  "I need you to get over here right away," he said, "and I need you to be careful"  Did I do the right thing.  

"Mike Rove, what's going on?  And what happened to my Lance Goodman?"

"You have to come here right away.  I know this doesn't make any sense, but you have to come here right now.  Come here slowly and calmly.  You have to park at Wesco and walk here.  And I mean walk here.  Do you understand?"

"Mike, how am I to stay calm when you tell me to do something like this?"

"You have to, Sarah.  Lance wanted me to contact you, and I am.  He said you'd understand.  You have to.  Do as I say, Sarah. Please."

Mike ended the call, and typed in his blog password. Lance knew about his blog, and hopefully since he was updating his own blog he'd monitor Mike's blog, even though Mike hadn't updated it in six months.  He did all this while the bloody corpse seemed to stare at him.
-----------

Seven days ago Lance Goodman disappeared off the face of the Earth.  He was my best friend, and the only person I told my story to.  He was (is) five years older than me.  The police have an all out search for him, involving over a thousand concerned men, women and even some children.

I have no intention of telling them they are on a wild goose chase.  First of all, if I did so I'd have to tell them my reasoning, and I know from my past experience that would just open up a whole new can of worms.  Second of all, that search is providing me a cover to do what I think needs to be done to find my best friend. 

On Sunday my brother Myles takes me with him to the Skitville Wesco.  I get out of the car and make my way through some shrubs behind Wesco, and a branch scratches me good just my left eye.  I took off at a full run, wending my way down an alley and between a couple houses, until I'm on Columbus Avenue.

I see your house from the corner, and right away things look different.  I see you got rid of the boards that wrapped your porch and cranked it up, leveling it out.  With the new railing, the swing, and the white paint, it looks great, perhaps the way it did in the Victorian era when it was built.

As I get closer I see all the odd stuff you did to it.  The large television satellite looks like something white trash would do.  And the wires, red, white, yellow, green, and pink, are strung from the satellite and wrapped around the posts, and along the north side of the house.  And here they seem to connect to an antenna that towers way above the house, and even above the trees. I can't help thinking, "Is this legal?"  It's obviously a neighborhood eye sore.

As I close in on the house I look in your front window, I see him.  A cool, shiver rushes up my spine.  I see his head clear as day: narrow, white, and with huge slanted black eyes. I look away, and I feel a breeze of something brushing past me.  A brilliant flash of light above directs my attention that way, and when I look back Tsatso is gone. 

I rush into the house and slam the door.  
------------

"Sarah?" Mike said.  "You got here quick."

Sarah slammed the door behind her.  She grabbed a book on the table by the door, breathing heavy as she did so.  She was pale, very pale.  She opened the book, and motioned Mike to the page.  As she did Mike saw that her hands and sleeves were stained with blood.

Alton One: Chapter Five

"I don't know what's wrong with you, I've been trying to get a hold of you for three days," she screamed into my ear through Lance's i-phone. "The way you acted the other day I though of leaving you, and then I decided..."

Mike cut her off, and whispered, "Sarah, I need you to pretend to be my mom.  I don't have time to explain.  I have to answer the door right now, and I have to have you pretend to be my mom."  There was a BANG on the door, followed by a muffled, "OPEN UP RIGHT NOW!"

"Why would you... Mike?  Mike? What are you doing at..." she said. And she continued to speak as Mike went on.

"I have no time to explain," Mike said, "I have to answer the door, and you have to pretend to be my mom.  My life, and your life, and Lance's life, depends on it.  Please! Please Sarah!"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

"I don't have time to explain."  Mike opened the door.

"I just talked with your mother, and she says you never talked to her.  What's going on in here."

Crap!  Was I that long reading Lance's blog?  "I gotta go," I said into the phone, and hung up.  Now I was facing an angry cop.

"Look," he said, "I don't know what you have going on here, but you have to listen to what I said.  you have to take care of yourself."

Hugh?  What's he talking about.  Yet as Mike thought that, he saw the blood on Officer Chuck's shirt, and unlocked the screen door, and opened the screen door.  And Officer Chuck stumbled into the living room.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Mike said, helping, the best he could with his meager frame, the office to the ground.  He sat in the middle of the living room, with the officer on the floor.  He was lying right over the spot Mike found the pool of blood and the gun when he arrived.

"Officer Chuck, I'm sorry.  I didn't know you were shot?"

"It was the aliens, Mike," Chuck looked up at Mike, grabbing Mikes collar.  "I just want you to know that Lance was right.  Lance was right, Mike.  I didn't want to believe him, but you have to.  You have to do whatever you can to prove Lance right, even if that means...," blood started pouring from Officer Chuck's mouth.

"Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it," Mike said, tears rushing over his face.

"Don't...  leave this house!"

"Please don't die.  Please don't die, officer Chuck." Yet despite his plea, officer Mike's eyes froze, as if in a state.  His breathing stopped.  And Mike thought about jumping on his chest, but there was so much blood, that even at his young age, he didn't think it would do any good.  Officer Chuck was dead.

Mike didn't know what to do.  He decided to phone Sarah, but he couldn't find the phone.  He reached into his front pocket, and his phone wasn't there.  His wallet was missing, and now his i-phone.  And now he had a dead man on his floor.  And then he saw Lance's i-phone lying next to the dead body, covered in blood.  And Lance's i-phone rang.

Alton One: Chapter Four

Now what the heck was that all about?  And what the heck was Lance going to do?  Now he had a bloody mess in here, a bloody gun, a missing friend, a cop nosing around, and some little white guy running around and disappearing.  Although Mike new it wasn't a little white guy.  Oh, and plus you had the U.F.O. sightings that were not U.F.O. sightings according to law officials.

The only way he was going to figure things out was to read Lance's blog and, for the love of God, hope Lance was able to update his blog with some more useful information, real soon like.  Better yet, he needed to figure a way to get in touch with Lance.  And he had to do it before that police officer came back, and before he called his mother, and that kind of put a damper on things.

Mike looked back at the computer, which had gone to sleep.  He pushed the mouse, and the computer woke up.  There was a new message from Lance:

Tsatso is amazing!  This whole situation is amazing!  No:  it's WOW!  And he's right here, working beside me while I'm writing this.  And, you know what?  I'm working on a machine just like the one you're reading this on. 

I'm not joking!  This is absolutely unbelievable. 

Okay, I don't have much time.  Here's my story.

You were there, Mike! You were there the night this started for me.  Jim was there too.   It was the night of the fantasy football playoff.  Remember?  That was when I saw that first message from Tsatso.  I was flabbergasted.  But, with what happened last time still fresh on my mind, didn't want to say anything; at least not in front of Jim.

Anyway, that should explain my strange behavior the rest of that day.  I was so excited I could hardly focus on ANYTHING.

After you left, Jim tried to get me to go with him to Jackson's Actin Center to play games or, more accurately, to check out the scenery (if you know what I mean).  I wheedled out of it.  Any other day I would have gone in a heartbeat, but not that day.  Instead I went on the greatest adventure EVER. 

I swear it wasn't as soon as Jim slammed the door the phone rang.  It was Sarah.  Man, if she didn't pick a dandy time to call.  The way I got rid of her, I'm sure she'll want nothing more to do with me if I stayed. 

Hey, when you get home talk to her.  I KNOW she'll listen to you.

Anyway, that call terminated, I checked on my "silly hobby."  There were eight more emails, Mike.  Eight!    I had never seen anything like this before.  These weren't just random emails like the one's I showed you.  They were ALL from Alton One.  A REAL ALIEN SPACESHIP!  Yeah, like the one you told me about.  

Mike, I want you to know right now, that if I had told you about this right away when I saw that first email from Alton One, you could be here with me.  Or, you at least would have seen Tsato and the ship.

Tsatso!  He's...  WOW!

The SHIP!  You would never in your wildest dreams imagine how cool this thing is.  It's...  It's... WOW! 

OK, I'll get to that in due time.

That first email read point blank, "I am to visit you now.  Respond!"

The second read, "I am coming.  Respond!"

The 4th, 5th and 6th were the same.  But the 7th was THIS:

"PLEASE RESPOND, Mike!  I AM GETTING VERY CLOSE!"

"Lance," I typed.  "The names Lance Goodman."

"LANCE GOODMAN.  RESPOND." 

My heart was already racing, but now it was POUNDING in my head.  If there was any doubt this was real, seeing my name MADE it real.  It also took my breath away, literally.  I grabbed my inhaler and took a hit  -- and a 2nd, 3rd and 4th for good measure. 

"I am FRIENDLY, Lance!  I WILL NOT HURT YOU!  I AM YOUR FRIEND.  YES!  I have received all your messages.  I WILL NOT hurt you.  RESPOND NOW!  This will be the last message.  If you do not respond RIGHT NOW I will have to turn back to Alton One.  RESPOND NOW!"

WOW!  I thought my heart might thump right out of my chest. My mind racing, hands shaking so bad I could barely type, I wrote, "cme g et mea." And before I knew what I wrote, I clicked send.  

At least 10 minutes went by before I got my fingers and brain to work together.  I typed:  "Go AWAY!"

Ahh, what was I thinking?  I know:  I was thinking, "I blew it!"  No new messages from the alien meant that I blew a chance of a lifetime. 

"I AM HERE!  PLEASE COME!"  My fingers typed.  It was, as you like to say of your writing, as though someone took control of my fingers and started typing for me. 

Twenty minutes passed and still NOTHING.  Adrenaline rushing through my veins seemed to flow freely into nothingness, like blood gushing from an open wound.   And that blood being replaced with a rush of disappointment.  Here I had a chance of a lifetime, and I let it slip through my fingers like a new bar of soap in a hot shower. 

Nonetheless, my eyes never averted from the screen.  IF a new message came, IF they made new contact, I WAS NOT going to miss it; even if that meant waiting all night, all day, and all night again. 

I was locked in.

“Good. If you would please open the screen door and step aside.”

I did a double take to be sure of what I was seeing:

"YES!" I shouted at the computer, and leaped from the chair, knocking it over, causing an ominous bang.  Startled at the noise I created, I jumped.

"What a dream," I thought, staring down at my knocked over seat.  I picked it up. 

"Got to move," a voice in my mind said, and looked back at the computer.  "GO!"

I clumsily rushed across the room, and promptly slid the patio door and screen open.  That job done, I opened the window and removed the screen.  Thinking back, it was as though I knew what to do.  Remember the dreams I told you about?

So, I was standing there, poking my head out that window, waiting for what?  My mind was burning with curiosity.  Would it be like the stereotypical disk shaped UFO, or would it be something unexpected?  Remember, you said you never got a good look at it, other than the bottom side.  Right?  

Nothing came right away.  It may only have been a few minutes, but it seemed an eternity while I waited.  What if this was just another hoax Jim was playing on me?  What would my neighbors think if they saw me with my head jutting out the window?

"What ON EARTH are you up to," I could hear Martha from across green house across the street screaming in my head, "If you want to enjoy the warm breeze, why don't you just step out on the porch?"

I pray now that no one did see me.  If THAT happened, we will ALL be in jeopardy.

After a few minutes of staring up at the evening sky, I SAW IT.  Willow, you would never...  no, YOU would.  Jim, HE would never...  it was.. WOW! 

First it was a series of shining lights, like the pictures I showed you.  It moved so fast I could barely follow it.  Brighter and brighter and brighter it appeared. Now it was like a star, moving closer and closer and closer to Earth.   In the blink of an eye, it was no longer a light, but a hazy, oval shape in the sky over Scottville.

Then it was gone.

"GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!"  The voice rang in my head. 

Turning, I tripped over my own feet and fell with a mighty force, smacking my head on the corner of the desk.  MAN did that smart!  I rushed to my feet, knocking over the chair in the process, and started typing when a new message flashed up on the screen:

“You are safe. Stay where you are.”

Then the following events occurred in what seemed to me very slow motion. I looked away from the screen toward the window and saw an unexpectedly small, elongated craft very slowly and inaudibly traversing through the open window. From where I stood, the machine was barely visible; if I wasn’t looking right at the craft, expecting it, I might never have seen it.

Then the thing simply hovered over the couch and coffee table as those objects were slowly and inaudibly repositioned out of the way by invisible hands. Finally the rectangular craft softly landed on the carpet.

The more I looked at it, the more visible it became. I know this sounds odd, but that’s how it really was. It appeared, at this point, to be made of a dull, gray and inexplicable material unlike any I had ever studied in school or read about in any book. And you know how I love science and stuff.

Its color started changing.  It was red, blue, yellow, and then...

The smell overwhelmed me.  First it was as though I were standing amid a powerful and aromatic flower garden.  Then, instantly, a disturbing scent like that of burning electrical circuits

...it  finally settled on that dull gray color. 

I felt a trickle of moisture rushing down my face, down my chin.  I licked my lips; the taste was coppery.  I made to wipe it off.  The PAIN was overwhelming.  No.  It was a pressure, and I could feel my heart thump, thump, thumping in my head. 

All the while, MY EYES WERE RAPT ON THAT MACHINE! 

It was so amazing, Mike! 

WHOOOSSSSSHHHHH!

It was a sound like the release of trapped air rushing forth.  The machine rose slightly, and a cool, white mist shot from beneath, rising up the sides of the object and...

WHOOOOSSSHHH!

...the machine relaxed to the floor. 

A cool, refreshing breeze wafted past me.  I shivered. and watched as the mist faded away. 

A chill rushed up my spine.

CLICK!  CLICK!

The top of the craft popped open.  A dim light from within peered out.  Then...  It became brighter and brighter.  I winced, instinctively placing my arms over my eyes.  I tried peering beyond them:  still too bright.  The PAIN.  The pressure in my head was so strong I thought I was going to pass out, when... 

WHOOOOSH! 

Lowering my arms, I saw that the light was gone, and a cloud of mist was billowing from the top of the machine.  A cool breeze blew that mist my way.  It was... 

REFRESHING!  EUPHORIC!

The pain was gone, and the wind too.  The smell NOW was of cinnamon. 

The top of the mini spaceship opened slowly, stopping to an audible CLICK.  A thought, that it was like watching the lid of Dracula’s coffin being opened, occurred to me.  Only, this coffin was not black, nor eerie, nor creepy.  It was...  WOW! 

The underside of the lid had what looked like hundreds of little gadgets and digits and dials, and they suddenly lit up, flashing all different colors.  

Then this gaunt, pale, alien shot straight up into a sitting position like a dead body come to life. I jolted back, slamming into a wall.  The little alien opened its eyes.  A warm stream dribbled down my pant leg.

The alien clambered from the box so it was standing atop the opening, and sort of just floated to the ground where it landed in front of me.  Now it started walking my way.

It stopped ten feet from me and looked up.  I swear it wasn't any higher than my waste line, and yet it had an aura of power about it.  I could see its head, it's freaky facial features barely visible.  But those eyes...  They were HUGE!  They were big and black, pupil-less, mesmerizing.

It simply looked at me a moment.  Then, amazingly, I thought I saw the corners of its lip-less mouth move in an upward direction.  It blinked.  I could now see clearly a sparkle in its eyes. 

"Bababa," it mumbled softly. 

I tried speaking, but no words left my moving lips.  It appeared to be studying me from head to toe, and I studied it.  Naked:  it was.  NO!  At closer inspection, there was a faint outline of white material above its petite hands and at the neckline there was a barely visible small, white "A" stitched above where the left nipple would be if this were a human.  Did it have nipples?  The strange thought crossed my mind.

Man, its eyes were huge.  I couldn't keep myself from going back to and focusing on those eyes; large, slanted, black, bug-like things amid a huge, white light bulb shaped head.  It was wider at the top than where it connected to the neck.  Its chin was tiny and v-shaped.  In the middle of its face was a nose that protruded a tad, with two mere slits.

Those slits flared out slightly as it sighed, wafting a fresh scent of cinnamon my way.  Isn't that how abductees describe it?

It's eyes:  they were INCREDIBLE.  Now I could see that they were not black, but a dark, glossy green.  And there were wrinkles upon its white face, like a sickly old man who smoked his whole life.   At the very top of its pale, bald head were thin strands of white hair, or fur -- barely visible.

A hand was offered, or, you might say, a four fingered, webbed palm.

I hesitated a moment, then took it.

“Peace,” it said in a soft, yet firm voice. 

It's grip was strong, not what I expected from such a bony thing; warm, not cool as some accounts I've read; ironically human; and awkward.  It's eyes moved from my eyes to my forehead and down to my white Hanes socks, settling, finally, back on my eyes. 

It was smiling.

"Iminon."  It's breath, cinnamon-like, was strong.

Releasing its grip, it said,  “Peace from Alton One. I am friend. My name is Tsatso.”

My response was a simple sigh.  It waited patiently as I continued to stare at it.  Finally, the creature's smile widened, and its lips parted.  A cool, tingly shiver crept up my spine.

“I...am... Lace Gorma... and I reperset a earth."

"Lace Gorma," it repeated.

"NO!"  I shouted.  It stepped back.  Oh, my God, I'm blowing it!

"No reperset?" 

"NO!  My...  My...," I stuttered.  The machine behind it let out a WHOOOOOOSH and a cool mist shot up from it, filling the room with a white mist, and for a brief moment I couldn't see the alien, and the mist disappeared in a heartbeat. 

REFRESHING!  EUPHORIC!

"My name is Lance Goodman, and I represent planet Earth." Man, what's going on here?

“I know.  Come,” it said, motioning me to its ship.

I stood stiff.

“I need you to come with me," it said.

My jaw dropped. 

"It's your decision, but I encourage you to come with me."

"Why don't you just take me?"  I smiled.

"It is your decision to make.  It cannot be the old way."  What old way?  What's it talking about?

"What...  Why...not...jus..." 

"I don't not have time to explain.“

"How?"  How?  How what?  Come on Lance, turn your brain on.

"It will all be explained."  The creature sighed, puckered its lips, and looked down.  Shaking its head slowly, it looked up, and into my eyes.  

"I...You are a...I want to--"

The creature moved closer until its nose brushed my shirt.  Glancing down, I had a good view of the top of its head, and thought I might be able to smash my elbow right through its cranium.  My arm jerked, as though a surge of power was rushing through it.  I could do it:  I could kill the beast.

Then it backed up a step, and I jerked my head and stared at the machine it hovered in on.  Without looking at the alien, I could tell it was peering up at me.  I could feel moisture dripping down my brow.  What's going on?  What do I do?

Now it reached up and soothingly touched my forehead with its left palm, pulled it back, and held it for me to see.  I could see my blood on what I had determined was its pointer finger. 

Smoothly, it turned, walked to its machine, turned again so that it was facing me.  "It is your decision to make. We do not have much time."

I was peering back into its eyes again.  “Tell me about--”

"We do not have much time."

"Why don't you have me in a trance?  Why aren't I paralyzed?"

"Time," it mouthed.

"You can just take me? You can't just kidnap me, like..." the words trailed off, as though I knew I was taking a wrong turn.

"No.  It is your decision."

Setting its right webbed palm over its chin and mouth, looking down and appearing to be staring blindly into nothingness, it signed and puckered its lips. I wondered if it was thinking.  Then, as though in response to my wondering, lowered its hand.   

"Tsatso has been a member of Altonian Earthguard patrol since 1985 Earth year.  Our guard has watched your people for over 3,000 years.  We are scientists with the aim of studying, learning, and, when needed, protecting.  When we first arrived here, it was our intention of helping humans advance. That didn't go so well."

It paused as I absorbed what it had said.  Then it raised the hand contaminated with my blood, and held out all four white digits.  "This many times we intervened.  The final time this happened."  He curled up all his fingers but the long bony pointer. 

"So," it continued, "we decided that Alton could not rush time.  We swore to work surreptitiously until Earth was ready."

Staring at it, expecting more, I could feel my head pounding again.  It stared back. 

"Tell me about..." I began.

"No. I do not have time to explain more now. I do not know how to convince you.  I need you to decide now if your will is to come with me.”

"Ah....I have to talk to...you."  I smiled, and only started to nod my head when it grabbed me and rushed me to its machine saying, "Good.  Good." 

Motioning me to stop, it pointed to the floor in front of the machine.  I stopped dead in my tracks, and could feel myself moving up.  Looking down, I could see a small platform.  Was that there before?  It lifted me to the height of the box, and moved me sideways, then down. 

"Lie down," Tsatso said.  "Don't look at anything inside.  Lie down, and then roll over." 

What?  I did as I was told.  The air was cool inside, like fresh air-conditioning.  And I could also smell rubber, like that of a fresh rubber coat or chair.  To my right, I noticed the many dials and gadgets lighted up and flashing. 

Supine, I seemed to be floating on air, staring up at the ceiling.  Strangely, I felt a sense of calm. 

"Roll over," I heard the alien say.

I did.  The machine was gone.  I was floating in midair facing the floor.  Then, by a mere thought of the idea, I was standing up in midair looking down at Tsatso. 

"You can not see it, but it is there," Tsatso said, smiling.  "Enjoy the ride."

My stomach dropped down to my knees as I started moving up, and then down so I was staring at the worn-out carpet.  Slowly, slowly I was moving away from the floor, then gliding sideways.  Next moment, I was crossing the threshold of the window, and over the porch. 

"Maybe I should paint this," I thought as I hovered over the floorboards on the porch.  "Am I that bad of a homemaker?"  Then my thoughts shifted back to the alien.  Was he for real?  Is this just a bad dream?  NO!  If that were true, I'd feel uncomfortable in this position.

Suddenly I was standing up, hovering on my front porch.  I could see a figure of a person approaching from the South down Columbia Avenue.  I tried to focus in on them, but was suddenly blasted by a cool, white mist.  I remembered no more until I had awakened in a white room.

"We had to go back for Tsatso," a smooth female voice said.  Looking around the room I could see no one.  I could not move.  "It tricked me," I thought, "didn't he?  I'm paralyzed? 

"It was traumatic for your first awake ride," a voice said.  I tried opening my eyes, but the light was too bright.  "It's okay.  You'll be just fine."  The smell was again of cinnamon.

"Am I dreaming?" I asked, feeling as though I were floating.

"No, you're here, among the Altonians."

"Am I on drugs?"

"Your an Altonian now.  You live the Altonian way."

"I'm feeling good.  I don't understand."

"You will.  Have patience, Lance Goodman."

"I don't remember ANYTHING about that trip to Alton One."

"You wouldn't want to," Tsatso voice this time.

 "Why?" I asked, opening my eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

"It will be best if I just show you."

I could see him now at the foot of my bed, or whatever it was I was lying on.  I saw that I was covered by a light sheet, and above my feet was that ancient head and those big eyes.  What human could not be mezmirized by those things?

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't; just flopped my head back on the bed and looked up at the white ceiling. 

Silence.

I looked for a light source, a corner, some kind of detail to focus on, and could find nothing. Beyond the bed, and Tsatso, all I could see was whiteness. 

Something pricked my forehead.  "It's time to head on," the female voice said.

"Come," Tsatso said, motioning me to get up.  I did.  I hopped off the thing I was lying on, and followed the alien.  I felt light headed and week, like I did while trying to walk after spending that week in a hospital bed trying to catch my breath.   

The hallway was long, white and with no doors.  I followed the two aliens, and it was a challenge to keep up.  They turned and suddenly an opening appeared and they disappeared.  I feebly stumbled across the threshold and found myself in the same room I'm writing from now. 

As I look up from my writing, the view is breathtaking.  The best way to explain it is:  Wow!  I'm talking about the view of our planet, Earth.  It's BEAUTIFUL!  

All of a sudden I'm hearing an alarm.  Tsatso says it's time to go. 

I know YOU would be amazed to hear all that I've learned about the Altonians and Altonia and Alton and Earth.  You would be astonished at how much we don't even know about our own history. 

But THEY tell me Alton One is going home, and it will NEVER return to Earth.  Tsatso says otherwise:  "Never should never be spoken." 

If I ever get a chance to write you again, I WILL.  So, remember what we talked about.

Keep THE LIGHTS ON and be patient.  

Keep the lights one.  That was a code word that Lance and Mike used as kids that meant:  something I'm telling you isn't right.  So Lance was trying to tell Mike something Lance doesn't want anyone else who might read his blog to understand.  Something he wrote, one part of his story, was fake.  But what?

Before he had a chance to mull it AC-DC's Hell's Bells started playing.  It was his i-phone.  There was a knock on the door.  It was officer Chuck, and he didn't look pleased.