Grey Aliens begin abducting humans at an alarming rate so that the conspiracy to cover them up for centuries falls apart as an Armageddon scenario takes over the planet.
Terry Brown was about to get ready for bed.
But not before finishing my landscape.
It was her custom to complete the day’s artwork before retiring no matter how late is was.
Her husband, Justin, was still at work—a psychologist at Florida State University, tending to both clients and students alike over a busy five day a week schedule. Their children Melissa, eight, and Brian, five, were already in bed asleep after a long day on nature trails, surrounding their property in the Everglades.
Brian was late, but that wasn’t unusual. He was probably marking papers. He’d be grabbing the very last transport home. Terry had plenty to do, and was always grateful for time to herself.
She was a professional artist—a painter. And she was working on a huge canvass—six by nine feet—a custom job for some big wigs at the University. She got a lot of work at the school because of her contacts through Justin, although she hardly needed them. She’d sold more paintings for an artist of only forty than she felt she even deserved.
She bent over the giant canvas on the floor of her workshop dry-brushing a series of stokes to an abstract Dali-esque sort of sky containing figures of various gods and goddesses.
This was a regular theme in her work: Mysticism.
That’s how she met Justin in the fist place. They were both students in a class of ancient religion, back in Michigan where they were both born.
Terry loved to paint more than anything. She preferred the canvas over the digital formats that were always the rage. Old style oil paints and heavy canvases were rarer and rarer mediums as time went by. Her grandmother would have approved—a very respected artist in her community, also known as a spiritualist of sorts. The controversy in her life had been mostly-kept-secret—reveled only to the people her knew her real well, mostly the family: that she claimed to have been abducted by aliens!
Terry had a special affinity with her ancestor. She looked almost exactly like her, and shared her passion for the arts—especially painting. Terry could never work on a canvas let alone look in a mirror without thinking of her. She’d even named Melissa after her—even though her daughter seemed to follow more of her husband’s line, both in appearance and character, than her own.
She wore her grandma Mel’s, silver locket on a chain around her neck—her most prized possession which she never took off—and it dangled down as she brushed some cobalt blue over the shinning face of Krishna in her collage of deities blessing a spectacular beach-scene with dancing fairies, angels, and mythical beasts.
It was dark outside now.
It always seemed to get dark quicker in the Everglades than in the towns or cities.
She and Justin had bought the old house out here in swamp-land just after they got married. The place was over two hundred years old and needed a ton of work at the time they acquired it. It hadn’t become truly practical to live in on a permanent basis to meet their needs for many years. The house had been their labor of love. Now it was home.
Justin insisted on doing everything himself—no contractors. He had learned carpentry from both his dad and grandpa. Like him, they had also been professional teachers in schools, but thrived on the manual labor of building things and restoring properties and dwellings. Terry also liked physical work so the whole family had a hey-day fixing up the place.
Their property was quite expansive. Neighbors were at least two kilometers away in every direction and seldom home, preferring to have their principle residences elsewhere—somewhere more hospitable. There was no doubt that the Everglades were a pretty intense place to live in terms of bugs, weather, and weirdness.
Terry, finally satisfied with her evening’s labor, yawned, stretched, and decided to call it a night.
She cleaned up her brushes and rags, putting everything away fairly neatly—she’d be at it again tomorrow anyways.
And then, she washed her hands with water and a scrubber enjoying the ritual, and didn’t mind that her reddened hands would feel rough and used. That was the sign she had worked well, and it rewarded her with a visceral feeling of strength, that she’d accomplished something meaningful.
She went into the living room to leave a note for Justin. Then she checked the house security system—even though she knew it was already on—just out of habit, more ritual.
She followed the tiny orange floor bulbs that led her upstairs to the master bedroom. As she ascended, the soft fancy florescent pathway shut off behind her with every step, leaving the house in her wake black as night.
Arriving at her bedroom, she undressed, preferring to sleep naked under her warm comforter and Egyptian cotton sheets.
She climbed into bed, turned onto her right side, placing a little pillow between her knees. She was still.
The night light—the only brightness left in the dwelling, or anywhere for miles, save for a few fire flies—finally went out after expired time.
Terry loved to sleep. Her mother had always said: “Terry’s such a good sleeper—rare in my family.” Usually sleep took her in less than couple of minutes.
But not tonight.
Tonight, there would be an interruption, a rude awakening. An unexpected visitor was coming to the unsuspecting.
Terry snuggled herself into her little cocoon, and sighed a last time as she felt her eyes relax into her head, trying not focus or even regard any images in her mind, and let her head peel away like an onion into the deep restful pose she knew from habit would guarantee the sleep she always enjoyed—
She startled, suddenly—a noise!
Instantly she lifted her head up to hear things better: because it sounded like someone was in the room! In the corner by the window—not by the door.
“Melissa? Justin?” She said into the darkness.
But she already knew it couldn’t be them, or little Brian, yet she felt instantly and distinctly sure, that someone was definitely in the room, and hiding in a very unnatural way; a prowler perhaps. It wasn’t family.
She pulled back her sheets now in a sudden panic about to leap out of bed—initiate the little night light, maybe—and flee the room, get to her kids, call Justin, the police!
But before she could swing her legs to the floor, she froze. Literally—like a stone.
Terry Brown became overwhelmed with fear, unnatural fear—sheer terror—of the unknown.
In her horror, she was suddenly certain that whatever was in her bedroom with her, it was not a “someone.” It was a something!
Then, whatever it was, moved towards her.
She was partly turned away from it now, so she couldn’t see it. She could only sense it—moving closer to her frozen helpless body.
Her nerves were firing like rockets to escape the world, but her muscles didn’t move a fraction, response-less, like a corpse—even her tear ducts were locked-up. Her eyes were burning.
The intruder was coming around the bed into the line of her frozen vision.
She thought she heard someone speaking, but not in the room. A voice, cold and alien.
In my head!
She was too afraid to register what it was saying.
Then, a small shadowy figure was in front of her.
Even in the unique darkness of the Florida Everglades, she saw… two teardrop shapes, its huge almond eyes—hand-sized. They were blackness itself—total blackness. They seemed to absorb even all the star-light that escaped through the dense greenery outside in the half-moon night, bleeding in through her bedroom window. The eyes were an onyx evil.
Her visceral organs would have churned at the archetypal fear that rose out of them, but they were frozen like ice. And the worst thing was that she knew she wasn’t dreaming. This was a living nightmare!
The evil grey thing came right up close, then jabbed a sudden silver dagger into her forehead right between her eyes. And Terry felt her face seem to demonically twist into a hideous swirling vortex around the pen-like knife, as it penetrated her skull with a coldest fire.
Then, intense white light—hard light—flooded into every inch of the bedroom from outside and above the house. It didn’t just come through the window, but out of her very eyes, mouth, and nostrils as they twisted in pain! And her whole mind twisted too, as sickeningly painful as her vanishing body was feeling.
The bedroom disappeared.
And then, she was no-place.
She was somewhere else.
But she was herself again.
Whole—not twisting anymore in that virtual flesh-ripping swirl into some awful endless cone, spinning like meat into a hungry mechanical maw of space, eaten to infinity.
Aware of her body, of space, and of something like time.
She was still “frozen,” yet, horribly, awake!
She felt cold metal—a table?—underneath her exposed naked body.
Above, she saw a ceiling.
I’m in a room someplace—but too bright.
She couldn’t even squeeze her eyelids shut to shield out the harsh light.
She could only stare straight up.
Finally her eyes adjusted, a little.
Out of her peripheral vision she could see small spindly beings moving all around her—almost spider-like, but humanoid. She hated spiders.
Who are they?
The demons, she supposed—
She horrifically realized she might be in hell!
But I’m not dead! I’m not dead!
Then there were quiet icy voices:
“We are not going to harm you; this will not hurt.”
Some of the creatures tightly organized themselves around her table.
She could see: they’re skin was an absence of living colour—a grey matter, the kind forgotten between nightmares and reality, the golem-clay between night and day—where anything evil could have it’s way.
And the monsters—what are they?!—
Started to touch her, with their hands and their tools—
Or programs, procedures,
She did not know what—
Only that she was the subject.
Subject to the tests, the cold and calculating and evaluating process.
And the creatures were liars—
Because, there was pain.
And it did hurt.
All of their penetration and probing.
Damn you all!
That was Terry Brown’s constant angry thought—condemning all these Aliens!
She lost it now completely.
Oh God, oh god, oh god!!
No! No! Nooooo!
She heard her own silent screams for her mother, and her last wonder before she became literally mad with fear was that if she ever survived this ordeal she would be insane.
Mommy! I wanna go home!
For some reason not known to her in this moment, Terry Brown must have indeed invoked the spirit of her greatest grandmother. Because, in all of the horror, terror, and torture in this alien place, she suddenly felt the comfort of her inheritance—her silver locket and chain around her vulnerable neck.
And, with all her might, Terry wished that her beloved ancestor was here with her now.
But, she could only scream—chocking—inside her throat, a captive in her own body, barely making a sound.