by Joe Stanley
He had a plan and that plan was to play dumb. It wasn’t a spaceship it was a… plane or… something. The line was terrible and the sheriff’s voice could barely be heard. Why the hell did lawmen want to play twenty questions when emergencies were happening?! Truth be told, though, he felt as low as snake drawing the sheriff out so that these space-things might have someone besides himself to worry about.
A drink… he needed a drink, and nearly squalled as he remember he had left the jug outside on the porch. Grabbing the shotgun, he slid up to the window. Holding his breath, he dared a peek outside.
Oh, dammit! With all the lights out, I can’t see shit!
He cracked the door open and slid the muzzle of his shotgun out. Reminding himself that it was just a couple of steps, he eased himself back outside. His heart drummed painfully loud in his chest and temples. Inch by inch, sparing frequent glances toward the tree line, he made his way toward the jug. But even as he neared this small triumph, he reached out with a trembling hand.
If ever a man was entitled to a belt of booze…
But even as his hand took hold of its desperately sought prize, another bolt lit up the night and he saw it.
What kind of god could permit the existence of such a thing? He could not describe it except by comparison to low and loathsome things. However, even this could not capture its form or indicate the world collapsing horror so inadequately contained in the word ‘alien’.
He had no means to comprehend its body or its… limbs. Legs or tentacles, pincers or claws, what words could fit a thing for which no words had ever been devised? At best he saw that it had, after a fashion, what might be called eyes, gigantic orbs which showed quite clearly where its attention was. And in their boundless darkness, they fell upon him. He could tell not only this, but by some perverse and cruel joke of a nature that no longer seemed so natural, he could tell its intention, with all its malice and contempt.
It scurried or slithered or hovered forward, even its motion being an abomination of all that was good or right in life. If not for a life dependent on his instinct, he might have frozen in the face of its advance. By pure muscle memory, he brought his double-barrel on target as it reached the steps and turned loose first one then a second blast.
It screamed, or at least it made some noise that Jonah prayed to God meant it felt pain. It bounded back with frightening speed leaving a golden, glowing slime to mark its retreat.
As it slipped back into the weeds, Jonah grabbed the jug and fled inside. Only after he had barred the door and curtained every window did he allow himself a long awaited drink.
…
to be continued please comment for the next part
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