His agency was done for. Done. Just completely and utterly over. Marl Tethgers looked over the ridge down into the valley and thought if he didn’t have something more important to do right now he’d have an “accident” perfectly right here. It was only a short rocky trip down the edge before he’d be bludgeoned by the beach below and then everything would be over. All problems would be solved.
But he couldn’t. He had shit to do.
Now how in the fuck would he negotiate this?
His walkway was narrowing quite a bit and the zig-zagging of how the path was cut into the slope was tripping his vertigo hard. A few times he’d stop and rest holding himself against the slope to his left that he’d just climb down.
Just a few more feet and he’d be at the river’s edge.
Tarnished reputations. Men trying to satisfy their fragile egos. Bosses. He hated bosses. Especially right now. Bosses got to gamble away everything and left you there at the bottom rung—yeah you—having to figure out the mess. That’s what this was. Sending him on a goddamned fact finding mission to look at a fucking spaceship of all things.
He could still be forking through all of this terrain for absolutely nothing too. He was over it. He hated being there.
He figured once he got down to the river he’d take a big break. He owed that to himself. He could eat the hamburger he’d been saving all morning—an act he felt proud of. Maybe smoke a little. Then before long be back on his merry way. As far as these missions went this one wasn’t all that bad even though he wanted to be home.
He finally hit the water. Ahh. Felt good.
Took a nice big deep swell of the fresh air. Ah so clean.
Arched his neck down at the water.
His reflection undulated and rippled the edges of his outline which made him look incredibly frightening. Man even like an alien. All wobbly and distorted and black and gray and with glowing eyes… Hold on—glowing eyes.
As Marl considered the question he raised his head and felt a leathery gray hand with fingers long like tentacles curl over his right shoulder. It was almost like a horror movie scene but before he could look back and say something stupid his body checked out hard and he fell forward face first into the beach.
It was later and the sun shone in his eyes. His face was flecked in sand particles and leaves. He tried to move but couldn’t. He looked to see his hands tied to a tree. He struggled but couldn’t and instead for some reason he tried to call out for help.
No you idiot. It might make them come back.
I know. I’m just panicking.
In front of him was a ship. It was about 20 feet long and seemed made out of metal. It was triangular in shape. And was docked to the ground as opposed to hovering which he found rather odd but then again his real extent of UFOs was pretty much YouTube videos and TV shows. He’d never actually read a book on the subject. He tried to once when he first started out with the society. On the ninth page he was done. Couldn’t get into it—which would’ve said something to most people. But Marl here wasn’t most people.
Now he was tied to a tree in the middle of the woods seemingly being abducted by an alien life-force.
He was every way scared and every single horrible thought he could think of hit him all at once. He tried to block them out—the probing, the being dissected, being cooked, human zoos. He was losing his shit. Literally. Nothing like being tied to tree after messing your pants. It didn’t feel good and he felt very pathetic in that moment. One of the things you would keep out of the story when you made it back—if you made it back. He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to find a way to get out of his bonds and make a break for it. They didn’t feel like any crazy alien-tech-type shit. They almost felt rubbery like a band of some kind. Like an exercise band. The ones people use to stretch with. Look it up.
Hot damn! If that was all it was then he could make the slip easily and hopefully before predator came back and turned him into a human trophy.
He strategized the best way free himself was a good old wiggle—and he started to, twisting and turning the night away as best he could. It became intense. A full on gyration at one point. He wiggled his little heart out until he couldn’t anymore. He took a few deep breaths.
Thought he’d give it another try. If the last wiggle episode lasted not that long his second attempt lasted a third of that time. He was tired and out of shape and needed a cola.
His eyes danced around like slot machines. He scanned over everywhere. Nothing. No one. He was screwed. Effectively.
But he needed to get his ass in gear here. Time to figure a way and make a break now.
Marl had 15 different options working against him in varying ways of expediency and/or lack of. He was tied to this damn tree and unless he had a way of moving it he was going to have to look for a way of getting loose of this exercise band.
Think Marl think. C’mon old man you can do it.
Jezus Christ yea right bro. You couldn’t get yourself out of a paper sack with a hole in it. You think you can thwart the design of an intergalactic intelligence now. Tall order bro.
Marl we’d like you to follow us.
I would if I could but I’m stuck—
Stuck. No you’re pig-tied to a tree getting sap all of over you.
Would you shut up. Did you hear that voice?
Yeah. Who the fuck was that?
While Marl’s thoughts were swirling he again began the forbidden dance of gyration/wiggling on the tree. This time he was going to do it though the back chaffing he was starting to feel was not helping him at all.
Valentines Day is coming up.
Ok can we just work together please.
Marl lumbered and he sweated and he wiggled. Boy surely he did.
It would’ve been quite the sight to see and he would’ve welcomed the chance to frighten hikers if they were to pass this way, is how desperate he was at this point flailing and struggling like a mackerel caught on a fisherman’s line.
TAPTAPATAPATAPATATAPATTAPTAPATP!
What was that?! he both looked and said at the same time.
Up the tree no higher than the first meaty looking branch was the tiniest woodpecker he’d ever seen in his entire life. It tapped again and again and he felt the pinging in his head. Wishing that thing would shut up and fly away the perfect idea—one that would totally work and be his ticket out of here—struck him instead. And then a big ass acorn did.
He felt woozy and his head fell forward as he clinged to consciousness wondering about the size of that acorn. More importantly he was wondering about the brilliant idea he just had—would it work? And what the hell was it again?
Shit. He lost it. All thanks to that goddamned acorn. He looked at it gaining his bearings again.
Something strange about this acorn he thought.
It was darker first off. It was far more egg-shaped than your typical acorn. He wasn’t quite sure if acorns could grow to be about the size of a bowling ball like this one. It seemed to be made of leathery material and scaly which again he was no expert but surely couldn’t be right. No if he were to make an educated guess he would’ve said this was actually some type of egg. Maybe though. I mean what type of animal could lay an egg like that—
His look of "oh shit!" was one of the more expressive and depressing in the history of people giving oh shit looks. It wasn’t like my god he proposed; more like a shit I cut too much off.
He had more than enough reason to be. Things had definitely taken a turn.
The leathery egg shell split in random shapes and as they fell away from the structure they broke free from they tethered back to it in goo that looked like maple syrup with cat hair in it.
Echoing the fears of many in similar situations Marl’s first thought was panic that this thing was a velociraptor.
He’d been deftly afraid of dinosaurs from a young age. He thought it was because he almost choked on a brontosaurus toy when he was younger but his mother of course objected to that because it was actually a toy car.
Either way this could go multiple ways of bad if what was hatching from this egg was anything other than a sweet magical unicorn—all though their horns are sharp.
Hey it’s almost Valentines Day
Would your shut up about that? Why would I care whether or not it’s Valentine’s Day? I got bigger problems. Understand?
With what? Valentine’s Day. How?
His last Valentine’s Day was spent wondering the deep bowers of the local supermarket for chocolates. He was there with his lady of course so it would be an even more expedient gift exchange. Surfin Safari played over the PA in a rare muzak version. It still had that flat feeling to it. Like looking at the 4th version of a picture of the galaxy out of a toner-challenged photocopier.
He was there for what seemed like eons. They’d run into the mayor of Cordelia the small town he lived in which was not far from where he was tied to that tree.
He remembered how funny it was when the mayor paid for their drink and didn’t leave a donation when asked as he ran his card. Shouldn’t politicians be aware of how that could look? Doesn’t that kind’ve hint at privilege? Maybe in his mind he was insecure about his role in society and felt it wouldn’t be seen as being authentic. More than likely he didn’t care. Why was that sticking with him now?
What is so important about him? Where was this train of thought heading if not off a cliff into looney land?
The dude wore a ball cap. Nothing odd about that. Had a trout sewn onto the front. He did look like a fisherman in how he stood. Kind’ve hunched but still and straight enough. Like it was easy for him to stand like that for long periods of time. Oh yea he was carrying a book. What was the name of it again? They were talking about it. It was what’s her name’s favorite story.
The pea-sized gears in Marl’s head started churning very slowly.
They looked like he did when getting out of the bed every morning. Groaning, pained and holding their lower back while letting out huge exasperated breaths. Sometimes tripping over themselves and hitting the ground causing a compound fracture in his right forearm.
The name of the book? It was geriatric. Old novel. Written by that one guy—the great American author named after a town in England.
He began blurting out the names of English towns. Or towns he thought were in England including New England.
He then devolved into characteristics from movies set in England like the fact that it always seemed foggy over there. He thought of Piccadilly Circus. But no the guy’s name was not Piccadilly anything. Fog made him think of something which brought him back to the ever-hatching egg in front of him. What if this thing was a werewolf?
` Did werewolves have baby werewolves via egg, he wondered. Was that even a thing or was he mistaken (not shocking). They were people first so it must be passed through the bloodline and it’s like a human born with a trait. Oh like in Teen Wolf. Or An American Werewolf in—LONDON!! Hot damn—JACK LONDON!! That was the name of the author. The book was Call of the Wild. Of course.
He was elated and felt himself lifted by a heavenly cloud and bathed in beautiful celestial light. Tears fell down his cheeks and he let out one of the top 5 best smiles of satisfaction known to Man. He looked radiant and felt even so.
Call of the Wild. Ah satisfying… Now what the fuck does that mean?
Panic dropped on him like a cord-cut elevator. He had no idea why that was supposed to be helpful to him. The vibrant color washed away from him. The radiant light he bathed in shut off with a wheeze and a cough. He was no longer floating. In fact with his luck you could say he was actually now sinking. And sure enough that’s what was slowly going on.
Quicksand wasn’t something a 40 year old male rarely prepares himself for. Even one with such an exotic title of Lead President of UFO sightings. His title was admittedly not really thought out. He put the “Lead” in the title. For a human who’s intelligence was made up of pop culture facts and history and a passion for bringing pogs back to prominence along with the sophisticated palette that could tell you when the whopper was seasoned proportionately with the dressing boy he’d sure been asleep on this one. How the hell did one get one out of quicksand? After of course becoming untied from a tree? If of course the werewolf velociraptor egg hatching in front of him could somehow be avoided?
Marl realized in that moment he did not know much. He did know one thing: he needed a cola. Badly.
So when last we left Marl he was in quite the prick-tickler: tangoing with death in varying ways with two left feet and the mental capacity of a battery.
Marl had felt challenged at times in his life sure just like everyone did. But this was about five townships beyond his wheelhouse and he was starting to feel as though he was licked good for sure here. Old Marl was getting uncomfortably close to having a powwow with his maker unless he could somehow shake anything from that ever-barren fruit tree of a brain trust he’d relied on over the course of his almost four decades on this planet.
Something about that book. Call of the Wild. And how would he break free of the exercise band or whatever it was. Calling on his keen strategy he deduced that getting himself untied was the first order of business. The quicksand would work itself out later. The creature birthing in front of him he’d table for the moment but respond to in due time.
How could that help? He needed peace and quiet. He needed to meditate on that. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. He felt himself pulling back from his own body like light fading into darkness. He felt his mind stabilizing. The chattering was identifiable and distinct and punctuated by growing patches of silence. He was getting there slowly but surely. He was being escalated in spirit up a large mountain capped in snow but it wasn’t cold it was soft and furry and felt like gold if gold felt like warm butter which is what it feels like. It wasn’t oily. It was only magnificent. This was it. He was here. The top zone. Nirvana. Enlightenment. Here it came. He felt like he was light.
Holy fucking shit, he sang.
He thought he saw cotton candy clouds part. As they did an angel—the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—looked down upon him and reached towards him with the ethereal hands of a goddess. They glowed and somehow still looked like they were back lit. The lighting was something out of a hallmark movie. And there it went—he touched her hand and his skin sizzled with glee and he felt himself embraced in a cloudy snuggle which felt like he was being hugged by 20 puppies all at once. The angel lady in all her beauty lowered her head to his and puckered her lips. Here he was—he wasn’t just achieving enlightenment he was going to straight up French kiss it. He readied and she came closer and he smiled and—
TATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAATATTAATATATATATATATATATATATTATATATATAT!!!!
Nirvana folded up and left faster than a sketchy-looking travelling circus and Marl’s eyes shot open as he felt himself instantly transported back to where he was. He had problems he could see that were not held up on him zoning back to make out with angel babe. That baby was a-comin’.
His rapid response was to kick the egg away which could’ve helped if his legs weren’t now submerged in quicksand. Back to the drawing board. Untie himself.
How would he do that—tatatatatatatatatatat! That damn bird. Ttatatatatatatatatatat! Could he shut the fuck up so Marl could think? Tatatatatatatataatatatatatatatatat!
Hot damn! Marl had himself an idea. Like a light bulb in his head. Or a sparkler. What about getting that damn woodpecker to cut off the band around his hands? Shit it would be perfect.
For some reason he thought of The Eurhythmics hit ‘Walking on Broken Glass’ in that moment. Crap what he would do for some broken glass right now?
Anyway that woodpecker would be perfect if he could peck the wood perfectly where he was tied. He wouldn’t even be able to repeat that back to himself but he still had an innate sense of the idea. Now how does one call a woodpecker exactly?
Too complicated for the brain trust who was almost flummoxed by tinker toys growing up.
How about whistling? There you go.
He started to whistle at the bird. The bird didn’t care and after a while started jackhammering the wood. After a moment further Marl’s whistling and the pecker’s wood hammering were combining into a very catchy beat. Exasperated Marl gave up. He was done for. Poor old Marl.
In a lot of ways Marl should not have been in this predicament or in this place for that matter. The only reason a Lead President would get sent on a field assignment in the UFO hunting trade would be lack of funds and they were bleeding out like a stuffed pig. Marl had to do a lot of the work himself in order for publication to happen which wasn’t a guarantee. The magazine they would publish with all of their findings had seen its circulation dwindle from daily to monthly and finally choked its way down to quarterly.
They had a website now defunct after the web tech bolted. The company was really just him and three other people—one his co-captain who was the reason for the magazine losing business (he became too political as they put it) and two younger guys who really had no idea what they were supposed to do and mainly did shopping and food runs or procured office supplies when needed. They proofread each issue before it was published too. That would only take a couple of slow hours.
Their intrepid UFO hunter was not Marl. That belonged to Sky Johnson. Sky Johnson had been following UFOs for years since he was a kid and he and his dad Buck saw one. They listened to radio signals from the sky. Tracked down leads. For the years Sky was associated with them the magazine was hot shit.
After that the stories stopped and so did the interest. Sky was never found and his stuff became that of urban legend. The magazine was accused of pulling it as a stunt. An investigation ensued.
By the end of the whole ordeal the magazine was DOA. This was Marl’s last big chance to see the last 15 years of his life not wasted and going down the drain. Unfortunately he had failed. And he had failed big time.
Sky would’ve known how to get out of this. Sky would’ve never gotten into it in the first place. The egg cracked loud and it sent Marl back to his present reality. It vibrated and another piece cracked wide open. Marl watched in horror. A winding leg shot out from the egg and touched the ground. To Marl the leg looked like a black tent pole and collapsed like one as it crooked and set its foot (?) onto the dirt.
Marl now horrified started fighting again hoping to get out of his restraints. Now more tent pole legs were emerging from the egg all originating from a point within the egg where the body would be located. Then that emerged.
Marl sat for a solid minute looking at the thing trying to figure out how to even believe this was real.
Thing. That’s sure as hell what it was. A spidery-looking thing that was black as pitch with hard leathery shells on its back. It had a face and it had fangs above teeth and he thought about how not nice it would be looking out from the back side of those teeth after becoming a meal. Oh it was extremely aggressive. It roared terrifyingly loud and small sounding like a small dog when it tries to growl. It’s hi-pitch hi-toned. Marl was getting deeper in the shit.
He was tied to a tree sinking in quicksand with a crazed alien spider baby eyeballing him for lunch. He needed something right now. Nothing short of an act of god was going to help him. Good ol deux ex machina would hit the spot.
The spider baby recoiled getting ready to pounce at Marl’s neck. It readied, steadied and shot—
It was in Marl’s mind that he saw the image of this wildlife magazine photo he’d seen once of this innocent mother deer surrounded by a pack of hyenas looking at its children who its sacrificing itself for who’ve just escaped. She looked in the moment when the photo was snapped with a hyena inches away from biting her neck so graceful and at peace with what was to come. Marl thought of himself now in that regard and tried to mimic it as best he could. He was that poor deer he told himself. Here it came.
But it didn’t. The was a blast. Marl didn’t want to open his eyes and see it. Metal became unsheathed somewhere and clanged hard against something. The tree shivered then the exercise band fell free along with Marl’s hands and he sunk into the quicksand instantly like flushed shit.
Globs and globs of sand got into his face and eyes. He bobbed around becoming submerged and feeling himself floating down. He felt something grab his outstretched arm and tug it. He felt himself being pulled and the quicksand became like water and sand being dumped on your head. He didn’t worry—whatever was grabbing him felt smooth. Actually it felt human to be honest. He managed a smile—then his hand slipped and he felt lost again. The slush started moving differently running up and not down. He was sinking.
Enough with this he thought. I’m just going. He stopped fighting and let himself sink like a stone.
But it wasn’t going to let him go and like most things tend to do this wasn’t going the way Marl thought it was going to. He felt himself being pulled again. This time even harder and faster. It was like the quicksand was draining away from him now.
Before long he could feel himself back in the light breathing clean air, completely saturated in quicksand and mud. Hands and arms dragged him and settled him onto the solid ground where he was lying out feeling the sun. He had been saved. Saved by who though?
Thought I was goner said Marl.
Marl’s eyes opened in disbelief. He looked up at the form standing over him.
Like angel babe but in real life Sky seemed to emerge from the rays of the sun crouching down in front of Marl. He looked angelic. His eyes were beaming.
Wha-what happened to you?
At that moment Sky told him they’d have to wait until later. In the meantime Sky would get Marl out of here. There would be many many people who would want to know what Sky knew. Good and bad people. He and Marl would have their work cut out for them scout’s honor Sky had said.
For more info about what Sky said see it in our next issue of Sightlines, the leading publication about UFOs and other strange sightings!!
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