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.
