by Joe Stanley

So Jonah had resolved himself to a lonely life on Patriot hill. He could pass his days in drink, drinking to forget his cousin, drinking to forget the hateful townsfolk, drinking until oblivion carried him into the next day.

On this day, his rheumatism had pained him severely. He knew that rain was coming and watched quietly as heavy, dark clouds rolled in and swallowed the sky. The rain was always a beautiful and welcome event to him. He liked the sound and the way the world smelled fresh and new when it stopped. It was like the whole world and all of life was made clean again… at least in a small way.

He watched the storm break and the lightning rage as though it was a kindred spirit. It had been one for the books, and certainly the river would swell out of its banks. He toasted its rising with the wish that many awful things might be washed away. Staring toward the slowly snaking water, he caught sight of something strange in the clouds above.

At first, he thought it might be ball lightning, flickering and zigzagging erratically across the sky. Then he became aware that something larger stirred and disrupted the clouds around. Whatever it was, it drew the bolts repeatedly and became wilder in its path with each strike. Then it dipped below the clouds and he saw it was an aircraft of some kind, but he knew at a glance that it was not the sort of plane any man could be expected to recognize.

“A god damned flyin’ saucer!” he whispered as it lost altitude and plowed into the forest. The noise was incredible, and in the flashes of the storm he watched as ancient trees were tossed up and aside like a handful of matchsticks.

The darkness swept in between the lightning, seeming deeper than before. The air felt colder, and he began to shiver, despite the liquid fire in his belly. It bothered him to think that there were worlds besides God’s green earth. What good could spacemen be if they had never known Jesus Christ the Lord? And what if they weren’t men at all? What could they want here? What awful reason brought them forth from the darkness of space?

As if nature had heard him and agreed, a stampede of squeaking, soaking creatures crawled up the hill. They swept past the cabin like a furry wave and vanished down the other side of Patriot Hill.

If those critters know to run…, he thought with a growing panic, and fled back into the cabin as fast as his screaming joints would allow.

He thought to call for help, to call the Sheriff. Why not let the professional hero do some work for once? But what could he say that wouldn’t make him seem like the crackpot they took him to be? As he schemed, he grabbed the old shotgun and checked the shells.

And realizing the warm and cozy cabin blazed in the dark, he knew these visitors could see him. Throwing out the lights, he grabbed the phone and dialed.

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