by John Muir
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ANNIVERSARY LIGHTING
Many families have secrets kept from the rest of the world. Skeletons in the closet, an insane relative kept in a dungeon, a mass murderer no longer acknowledged as part of the family. But in this case it was a whole community keeping a secret of ongoing events, longer than most of them had been alive.
When I first became aware of ‘the happenings’ there were still surviving old timers who remembered the first year it all started. Nobody spoke with outsiders about it. Outwardly, nobody seemed to know much about it. They certainly never said anything within earshot of ‘foreign’ visitors. And when nosey outsiders asked, the locals closed rank and seemed to know even less; expressing shocked disbelief at the questions, even belittling the questioner as if they were asked by the lunatic fringe.
Originally the old community was established to support gold mining and panning in the many streams flowing from the high rugged ranges and through its large flat and fertile plain. Ranges surrounded the plains on three sides; its western and fourth side bounded by the rocky seashore where some long suffering locals eked out a living from fishing. Once the limited amounts of gold were seemingly panned out many stayed to farm the plain and lower hills, plowing and burning off the prolific native bush where they thought it could be converted to economic farming. The ranges were now a mix of native forest, regenerated bush and untended pine plantations.
Of the scores of farming families around the county, most had been there for several generations. A few others survived from seasonal hunting of deer, pig, or trapping for possum skins. Some panned hopefully for last traces of gold. Occasional big returns were sometimes rumoured. But the most secret return from the inhospitable ranges excellent water was for the illicit production of a whisky to die for. The whereabouts of the stills a secret kept closer than the whereabouts of King Solomon’s mine.
The remaining population was shop-keepers like my parents, or support industries like schools, hotels and socially essential administration.
With only one road into the area, from the south, through traffic was non-existent. It was as though the bubble shaped area drew people in and held them trapped and economically or physically unable to move out.
My parents shifted to the area in their late twenties, soon after they were married. They took up the once in a lifetime opportunity to purchase cheaply a small grocery shop which became available after its owner disappeared on a hunting trip one autumn.
When the short period of ‘the happenings’ occurred, the community virtually closed down all forms of communication with the ‘outside’. Any news or information about that event was deniable. News did circulate but only among its long time established community members.
My knowledge of those secrets seemingly evolved like any normal development in a child’s life. We are born, learn to walk and talk, go through puberty, notice that there are two sexes in the world, fumble through sexual learning, and the lucky ones get to marry someone who is not pregnant.
Somewhere between learning to walk and talk, and going through puberty, the first of my noticing of some memorable incidents occurred. I was immediately sworn to secrecy. ‘The happenings’ occurred regularly; every four years in autumn, except for the unexpected occurrences in the twenty-fifth and fiftieth years after the first ‘happening’.
My earliest memories were of flashy and spectacular lights. Initially two or three colourful lights zoomed around the sky. The next couple of nights a few more arrived. The larger ones moving slowly in very sober fashion, seemingly finding a position and parking up for the night before switching off all lights. Others seemed busier. By the fourth night up to fifteen mysterious light sources would be spread around the county.
Some instinct among the locals, learned over preceding generations, saw them prepare days before the arrival of the lights, almost with a sense of fatalism. Mid-autumn every fourth year, and without fanfare, locals would stock up on food, prepare early evening meals and wrap up against the oncoming cold of the evening. The adults, boosted by a few shots of the local whisky, sat on comfortable chairs on large terraced decks which every family home seemed to have, and with seeming disinterest watch the evening sky. Only the younger children displayed amazement at the arrival of the lights.
Early on the fifth night the lights would suddenly brighten and accelerate out of sight into the universe with the speed of comets in reverse. This signaled the families to begin their self imposed curfews. For the next two weeks nobody ventured outdoors at night. The performing lights were watched through gaps in curtained windows as they re-gathered in the early evening sky every night before streaking off, not to be seen again until early the next evening. The same procedure repeated for nearly two weeks.
Over the decades following my first sightings I slowly heard of some of the prior mysterious events that occurred during these visits. Never anything directly attributed, only inferred. The stories included the mysterious deaths of sheep and cattle, bodies left unmarked at the side of roads, often drained of all their blood. People believed aliens were drinking it. Some farmers claimed the complete disappearance of stock or mysterious circles appearing in their fields were the work of the aliens. Others had water storage dams half drained of their contents. Stories so common-place they hardly drew a mention.
But not everything was a down side. The spring following the lights always resulted in bumper crops and high calving and lambing percentages. Even more gold was found and the fishing industry temporarily boomed for a couple of months.
This may have been one of the reasons the stories were kept hush just in case revelation caused the bounty to be lost. Rarer events, whispered in complete confidence, were also those that circulated quickest and discussed most. It was about those abductees who had undergone alien experiments. The purported victims being so ashamed the incidents went unreported and never spoken about; except by those in the know who always refused to identify the sufferers. Most of the un-named victims of abduction were those who lived alone like the school mistress Miss Beaumont-Peabody. She was supposed to have suffered a horrible series of sexual experiments with animals. It was believed the aliens also drank her blood. This must have been true as when she was found after her abduction she had permanently lost her former ruddy complexion. After that she bought a large Great Dane dog for protection, and over the years after each dog died of old age she would purchase another. She never married and lived alone, with the dog.
Then there was the lay-preacher Reverend Ritchie who prior to his abduction had been a heavy drinking, “cussing” ladies man whose unusually timed midday church service and sermons packed the church with adults, and were superbly inspirational, even if loaded with words outside the school curriculum. Non attendance for two consecutive Sundays tended to invite the absentees darker family history being paraded before the other attendees by the Reverend’s acerbic tongue. Subsequent to his abduction, his life became one of piety and chastity dedicated to the will of the Lord and spreading His word instead of using it as a swear word, and privacy had become a watchword. Though attendances had fallen considerably in the number of adults; children now attended to hear much milder language sermons. In private he was still known to partake of the local drop more than the pastoral wine.
Over the years I learned of dozens of similar tales about the extra-terrestrials. But there were other mysteries in the forested ranges of the county. Some described the huge man-like creatures roaming the bush as a local offshoot of the Himalayan yeti or North American sasquatch. Others passed it off as wild bears that had escaped from a zoo. Most locals felt it was just the wild looking appearance of some of the forest dwelling distillers. The certainty of the Yeti existence was real to locals who had seen them.
The lack of any real crime meant there was no local police establishment. Tourists were almost as rare as the aliens or the yeti. Visits by service industries of milk trucks, telephone and electricity personnel were fleeting, having come
and gone during daylight hours.
Somehow, on one occasion, news of our four-yearly event must have made it to the outside world. A reporter and a cameraman stayed in the rarely used accommodation section of the local hotel to investigate ‘the happenings’. Having taken various photos they could not get any locals to agree to interviews about the mystery sightings. They soon discovered the pleasures of the local elixir and began sleeping most of the daytime. By the seventh day the object of their mission had changed. They sought the source of the pleasurable drink by searching some of the many spider-web narrow back-roads in the ranges for clues.
The proprietor noticed they had not returned to their rooms for a couple of days, but took no action. That soon stretched into twelve days and the season of the lights was over. The reporters’ big city editor phoned the hotelier to find out where his employees were. The hotelier advised that he presumed they had returned to the city and complained they had left without paying.
Police arrived the next day to investigate the disappearance. Soon after a police helicopter brought into the area located the deserted car on a rarely used back-road, but no trace of the passengers or their equipment was found. The police realized the nature of the terrain and the cold weather meant little chance of survival for any lost souls and soon gave up the search. The newspaper editor never paid the hotelier, but the hotelier was not too upset. Quietly and unmentioned, he confiscated the camera gear they had left in their room. It more than paid the bill. The undeveloped negatives went into the hotel garbage.
Knowledgeable locals merely presumed that the strangers had been abducted and, as in a few preceding cases, not returned. That abduction possibility was never disclosed to the police.
Over the years little changed in the four year cycle. Between the visits of the lights people farmed, fished, won a few grains of gold from the streams; supplied wild deer and pork to the local butcher and some nearby surrounding towns, and possum skins were traded to the local dealer. All trading seemed primed by the best unadvertised but highly prized local whisky. Production far exceeded local demand, but it was a mystery where the excess went. Nobody followed the irregular late night departure of the ancient camouflaged canvas covered Bedford truck which left heavily loaded with numerous wooden casks. Its return several days later, much lighter on it axles, barely raised a mention. After each absence the truck received a full and thorough service at the local garage to keep it in grade one condition, before disappearing into the back roads again.
There was always a scramble for the few available used small wooden casks. Locals filled these with fresh water and hid them away for a year or two. The result was that original raw whisky soaked into the casks during ageing was drawn out by fresh water and the next best only slightly diluted whisky would be consumed by the new cask owner.
I escaped for a few years and worked in various occupations throughout the nation; then off-shore for an overseas experience adventure. I knew I would eventually have to return to take over the shop from my ageing parents.
Guilt feelings arose when I realized I had not phoned home for a long time. Before I could even say ‘I was well’, my parents excitedly chattered about the mysterious happenings in the county over the previous days. Neither would elaborate by phone on what happened, but they wanted me home. Large groups of people in dark suits were making enquiries about the lights.
Having been away for years and wanting to know about the mysterious secrets that could not be spoken of over the phone, I was quickly on the long flight home. Distance and travel delays meant two weeks elapsed before I returned.
The tsunami of information flooded over me immediately I was inside the bubble. The oldest residents mumbled that they had warned everybody that it was the 75th year since the first ‘happening’. I quickly suffered sensory overload from my parents and the dozens of chatty locals. The events of the previous three weeks were delivered with personal interpretations so fast and furious from the innumerable sources it came in a totally disjointed manner. Nobody had talked to any of the dozens of outsiders that had invaded the area for twelve days. But when I arrived it was as though the families were desperate to get things off their chests to some confidant after knowingly withholding information from official enquiries.
By the second day of my return I finally managed to get a little privacy at my parents’ home with my Father while my Mother opened the shop. Dad was always the rock, seemingly unflappable.
“Okay,” I asked Dad, “What the Hell happened here?”
“I’ll try,” he offered. He sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.
“A few months ago some of the really old men started muttering about this year was the 75th anniversary of the lights and we should be careful.”
“Well the lights came.”
I nodded.
“The early nights were normal, everyone watching from their terraces then through windows. The usual bloodless cattle and sheep bodies, and farmers’ storage dams half drained. Then, different things started to happen.”
“Firstly hunters and gold-panners arrived from the ranges and took up accommodation in the local hotel. They were scared of the sudden interest of the lights in their forest huts and bivouacs, so they fled for the safety of the township worried about abduction.”
“Then rarely seen but long suspected providers of the local whisky emerged. Mostly riding netting-draped, camouflage painted cross country motor bikes. That explained how they got around the back roads unseen. They too and their camouflaged hooches and stills had become the focus of interest for the lights. The distillers gathered the matured whisky from the producing families and loaded it into the old Bedford.”
“However things didn’t go to plan. They had to abandon the truck and flee to save their lives from the close attention of the lights. When they went back next day, the matured casks were gone from the truck and their accumulated still ageing whisky casks had vanished. When the lights came back again they rushed to the safety of the township. Many farmers gathered in the larger homesteads or moved into town to stay with friends or relations.”
“The next two nights events caused real terror and fear.”
“Instead of lights rocketing away as they had previously, they remained within the area. Flight patterns became erratic and jerky. Lights began to chase each other like playing tag just as you children played. Then they would temporarily hide in the forest before roaring out from cover squealing as they chased each other until nearly touching, then off on another course to be chased by another one.”
“Suddenly two lights merged into one over a forested area and an enormous explosion happened. Several other lights rushed into the area as though searching where the colliding lights had disappeared. Many seemed to be pretty unstable. Then two more lights merged and another explosion followed. As they were falling to earth flying debris hit another nearby light and that too fell into the forest and exploded on impact.”
“A larger light moved to an incredible height before it rapidly flashed a series of colours. The remaining nine lights quickly rose to a similar height and kept wide distances apart, some still wobbling a bit on their axis.”
“After a few minutes, the lights flew off in the same direction like meteors in reverse and disappeared.”
“The next day the area was flooded with armed military personnel, police, and men in black suits and sunglasses. Huge numbers stayed for days. Helicopters directed search parties. Small scraps of wreckage were recovered and accumulated in the barn of a farmer nearest the crash sites. A couple of distilling sites were also found and destroyed and they asked lotsa questions about those. Of course no locals had any knowledge of their existence. The local hotelier suddenly only had conventional whisky on his shelves.”
“Just before you got back, the last police and military forces left and took the accumulated contents of the farmer’s barn. The men in suits visited every household and explained the strange floating weather bal
loons’ movements were caused by natural pockets of wind created by the basin effect of plains surrounded by ranges. Locals agreed with the suits that their explanation had to be the only logical one. The “suits” warned if any further pieces of the balloons were found they had to be immediately taken to the nearest police station. The balloons were Government property.”
That was the last time my father spoke about it. Now, twenty-five years later, both my parents have died. The lights have not returned since. Some farmers complain about the lack of boomer crops or higher stock birthrate every fourth year. The fishing has totally gone but that whisky was back, and as good as ever. The bush-men had become spoilt with baths, shaving and haircuts during that last visit by the lights and they became frequent town visitors. Yeti or sasquatch have not been seen since.
The decks and terraces are now the venue for neighbourhood barbecues. Any discussion about the lights is out of the hearing of youngsters and ends up with a toast using the local vintage as fluid of choice. Some of the fabric from the downed craft would be dragged out of hiding and compared with the collections of others as they discussed the seeming indestructibility of the material. Knives, bullets and scissors all failing to make any marks. Smaller scraps thrown onto flaming barbecues would be extricated undamaged from the charcoal ashes after the night finished. We still have our secrets to keep, especially the location of our King Solomon stills and the best streams for panning.
To the amusement of many of us, some of the older settlers have become fearful and paranoid as they keep warning that later this year it will be 100 years since the lights first arrived and they are sure they will come back.
Recently a group of hard whisky drinking migrant workers arrived from Ireland to clear some wild pine plantations. They had no knowledge of the pre-history lights. But they quickly discovered the delights of the local brew and purchased huge amounts to take back to camp. The astounded hotelier asked how they could consume such amounts without suffering serious job accidents. The Irish claimed they leave out several bottles each night for the strange looking ‘little people’ watching them from the bush and hiding around their camps. The bottles they leave out always disappear while the loggers are asleep.
The bush-hidden whisky distillers though have pre-booked all the available rooms at the local hotel.
As owner of one of the two grocery shops in the town I have also noticed as autumn approaches those same locals that have been pooh-poohing the 100 year anniversary have been buying four times their normal amount of non-perishable goods and stocking deep freezers to their maximum capacities.
There are even some people who wonder whether the Irish tree-loggers should be warned.
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About The Author
John Muir was born in Hamilton, New Zealand. Attended Palmerston North Boys High School and graduated in accounting from Massey University. Spent 25 years in Sydney, Australia and time in Asia.
-Snow White & The Seven Miners, (A short story for teens and the young at heart) – soon to be released (approx 6,500 words).
-Singapore Straits Diamond Pirates, the 3rd novel in the TA series – to be released in the latter half of 2014.
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