I do not, as a rule, enjoy the games. I find them most distasteful. They cater to the common man's basest desire for blood. But I have never been one to resist displays of the supernatural and resolved to keep my eye open to see how this creature fared in battle that very afternoon.
I did not have long to wait. During the luncheon interval, the creature was dragged into the arena on a long tether. Two lightly clad gladiators approached with trident and net, but before getting within striking distance, they dropped to the earth as if dead. A murmur of surprise arose from the crowd. Another gladiator, wearing mail, leggings, a helmet, and wielding a heavy sword, came at it from behind. But within three paces, he collapsed at its feet as well. This certainly gained the attention of the spectators, who had now begun returning to their seats. They started abusing the fallen gladiators and demanding real men to slay the beast, which remained, throughout, crouched motionless, close to the ground.
The onslaught continued, gladiator after gladiator falling before the creature until it could barely be seen behind the bodies. The crowd was incredulous that so many could be defeated without a single blow falling and were suspicious that it may be just a pantomime. They bayed for blood, outraged that their wishes were being mocked. At last, the morning's champion, Manius Dentatus, entered to rapturous applause. Keeping his distance from the creature, he seized a javelin and hurled it, without ceremony, into its back. It toppled over on its side, dead. Unsheathing his dagger, Manius removed the creature's bulbous head, plunged it on a pike, and paraded it around the arena, much to the crowd's pleasure. One by one, the fallen gladiators arose from the ground, dazed and heckled by the crowd. All were publicly executed before nightfall. Manius was crushed in an incident involving two elephants the following day.
1648, JAPAN
In the year 1648, Toyotomi Yoshiro, a one-time student of the famed Japanese swordsman Miyamoto Musashi, turned from the ways of the sword and devoted himself to the austere disciplines of Zen Buddhism. He retreated to a remote monastery in the foothills of Kyoto and dedicated himself to the mastery of meditation. Zazen, one of the core principles of Zen Buddhism, involves practitioners sitting on the floor and concentrating on their breathing or on koans (paradoxical statements or riddles with no logical answer, such as “What is the sound of one hand clapping?”) to calm the mind and body in order the gain some insight into the nature of personal existence.
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Once a month, it was tradition at the monastery to hold a ses-shin, or seven-day period of intensive meditation. On one such occasion, Yoshiro arose three hours before the other monks for a time of quiet, personal reflection. Sitting on the temple floor beside a small fire, he noticed a flash of light in the night sky. Some time later, sensing a presence, he turned and saw what seemed to be three small, naked children standing in the doorway. Without a sound, they pounced at him. Old habits, however, die hard with a warrior. Without breaking his meditative concentration, he instinctively sprung to his feet and grabbed two hot fire pokers. Brandishing them like bokkens (traditional Japanese wooden swords), he felled two of the intruders with a swift volley of blows to their heads, which, being so large, were easy targets. The third turned and silently scurried off into the night.
Upon closer inspection of the bodies, Yoshiro noted in his journal, “They were both pale and unfed, with heads misshapen through some sorcery of birth. Although dead, their eyes, large and black, seemed to follow me still.”
Yoshiro presented the bodies to the monastery's abbot, who acknowledged their unnatural origin. They were ritually sun-dried and bound for preservation. For the next 297 years, the bodies were periodically put on display during religious festivals and used to warn novice monks of the dangers of sorcery. Both the temple and the bodies were destroyed by a stray Allied bomb during an air raid in 1945.
1804, LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION
The Lewis and Clark expedition across North America remains one of the greatest exploratory endeavors of all time. With thirty-three men, they managed to cross more than 8,000 miles of unmapped territory over a period of twenty-eight months.
A missing journal entry, apparently misplaced during storage in the last century, was discovered in late 1997 during renovations at Thomas Jefferson's private retreat, Poplar Forest, near Lynchburg, Virginia. The following is an undated excerpt from the journal entry.
At half past three, our progress was interrupted by the approach of a violent thunderstorm from the N.E.
On the evening of the 25th, the party halted and encamped on the upper point of the small island that lies close to the village to which we had been invited to visit the previous day. A small, armed party was formed and suitable gifts prepared. Upon landing on the shore, we were received with elegant painted buffalo robes and carried to the village by six men apiece. We were not permitted to touch the ground until we were put down inside the grand council lodge. After smoking, a hearty supper, and much dissertation, we exchanged gifts and prepared to retire to our boat. The chiefs requested that we would not leave them so soon and invited us to view a solemn ceremony to be held that night as a sign of their good will. Although we were fatigued and reluctant, they implored us with such sincerity that we decided to accept their gracious invitation and followed them out of the village. As we walked, our interpreters explained that we were to witness a coming-of-age ceremony. The Indians believed the sky to be the residence of unusual spirits who were periodically offered boys who were of age, to be taken away to receive the markings of manhood.
Three boys were handsomely dressed for the occasion and led the procession between the raised burial mounds of their ancestors to a small clearing, ringed with large stones. We were directed to remain outside the circle as the boys were led into its center by one of the chiefs. There followed a long and elaborate ceremony, employing both dance and song. Plagued by a horde of troublesome mosquitoes, we were about to take our leave when the Sergeant of the Guard drew our attention to a bright light in the northern sky. Upon seeing it, the Indians became very excited, withdrawing away from the circle and motioning us to follow them towards the woods. The three boys were left standing alone in the center of the circle. The light, which at first glance appeared as some manifestation of the northern lights, approached, then retreated a number of times before coming to rest over the stone circle. We could now see clearly that the light emanated from some form of solid object that floated, motionless, above the boys. My men were greatly disturbed by this apparition and were keen to ready their weapons for action. Our Indian hosts beseeched us to remain silent and warned of displeasing the visitors.
We watched as the object descended to within an arm's reach of the boys. Before our very eyes, the three youths fell to the ground as if dead. This greatly troubled my men, one of whom discharged his weapon. The object, within an instant, rose a furlong vertically, and then disappeared at a remarkable speed towards the eastern horizon.
Our hosts were greatly upset by this turn of events and suggested, in no uncertain terms, that we leave immediately. As we took our leave, we noted the boys had risen and were standing dazed and bewildered within the stone circle. Upon returning to the boat, the men would only say that it was a bad omen. All have since refused to speak of the incident.
1826, NORTHWEST FRONTIER
Josiah Johnson was known as the “gentleman trapper,” having left his native England for the wilds of the American frontier to work with Hudson's Bay Company in the early 1800s. It was not uncommon for Johnson to spend two or three seasons in the wilderness before bringing his furs into Fort Vancouver for sale. After one profitable year, he met a newspaper reporter in a local bordello. He recounted the following story, which was subsequently published in the Boston Courier later that year.
THE ALIEN INVASION SURVIVAL HANDBOOK
After having set his final trap for the day, Johnson had not gone more than fifty paces when he heard it snap shut, followed by a high-pitched squealing. Thin
king he had caught an animal, he went to investigate. Arriving at the trap site, he was surprised to find what looked like a small, naked, malnourished child.
The newspaper quoted Johnson's account: “Its skin was the color of a three-day-old corpse, with spindly limbs. Its head was deformed through some defect of birth, with eyes as large and as black as a newborn calf. Oh, how the creature did wail. In a fashion that made me grit my teeth and cover my ears.”
He immediately approached the creature with the intent of freeing its leg, which had been almost severed beneath the knee. As he neared, he was overcome by a “fainting spell” and collapsed. When he revived, both the creature and the trap had disappeared. Although a skilled tracker, he was unable to find any trace of the creature. He did, however, notice curious scorch marks on the tree trunks high above his head.
Johnson could not be further questioned about the incident, as he returned to his camp the following day. He died of suspected food poisoning two months later.
1845, KING WILLIAM ISLAND, CANADIAN ARCTIC
In late August 2003, an oil company reconnaissance team recovered a metal canister buried under a rock cairn on King William Island in northern Canada. It contained a number of poorly preserved documents and some weathered European and Inuit artifacts. After extensive preservation work by a private antiquities company in Ontario, it was discovered that the document was a journal extract by the self-professed last surviving member of the ill-fated Northwest Passage expedition of 1845, led by a former lieutenant-governor of Van Diemen's Land, Sir John Franklin. The unnamed author recounts many of the previously known facts of the mission, including their ship's entrapment in sea ice in Victoria Strait for more than a year, and half the expedition's team dying from disease and starvation. He also recounts how the remaining survivors, thirty-five men in total, had embarked on a perilous overland journey in an attempt to reach the nearest Western outpost, on the Great Slave Lake, several hundred miles to the south. What was unexpected was the author's account of the disappearance of the surviving members of the party after the appearance of strange lights in the pre-dawn sky.
Most curious they were. At first we thought them a manifestation of the aurora borealis. Moving hither and yon at a startling pace. Those of us who were awake watched the spectacle in silent awe. The natives who had camped beside us were most alarmed at the sight and proceeded to decamp immediately, urging us to do the same. Being our best hope yet of survival, I beseeched them to tarry, but to no avail. They set off towards the southeast and were soon swallowed by the dark. I hastened in pursuit, hoping to appease their fear. I had not struggled more than a mile headlong into a stout breeze, when I glanced up to see a figure in front of me. I fell to ground, unable to move and barely able to breathe. Watching the figure approach out of the night, I could see that it was unclothed and wasted. It was almost upon me when I heard a dull thud and a horrible shriek that rose above the shrill wind. The figure fell to its knees and then onto its face, whereupon I could see a harpoon embedded in its back. The natives had returned for me, hastening past the body at a distance, and carried me with them towards the south. I believe I owe my life to their rescue and shall forever remain indebted to them. We returned to our camp in the light of day, but it was deserted. There were signs of a skirmish, but there were no tracks leading away from the encampment apart from ours. The natives all the while watched the sky with a genuine fear. With a great sense of urgency, they implored me to collect what I could of my belongings so we could depart. I remonstrated that we should search for the crew but they …
The rest of the page is missing. What can be read of the last entry of the journal tells of the author's journey with the Inuit and their preparation to make a hazardous open-water crossing. Although the details of the writer's fate remain a mystery, we do know that he never reached the Great Slave Lake settlement.
1862, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
Confederate captain Uriah Smith, working under orders from Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, lead a small company of Confederate soldiers on a nocturnal reconnaissance mission behind Union lines during the two-day Battle of Seven Pines. Three hours before dawn, they spotted what they thought was one of the Union's aerostats, or manned surveillance balloons, positioned over a nearby hillside. Smith's story is as follows:
We saw it through the trees, at first. Shaped more like an upturned bowl than a balloon. Larger and more graceful than the balloons we saw yesterday. It hung there for some time and then started drifting toward us. Thinking it had broken free of its moorings, we waited to see where it would go. It stopped over a small clearing not more than two chains away and alighted as gentle as a feather. It was a solid structure, the color of polished iron in the moonlight. Hiding in a thicket, we watched as a door opened and its occupants came out. Children, by what we could see; four of them. Thinking that we might capture them, I gave the command for the men to ready their weapons, whereupon the Union Balloon Corps men, hearing us, instantly turned and ran toward us with a speed and agility that was frightening. We opened fire, seeming to hit one before they all disappeared into the undergrowth. Shortly after, the balloon rose into the air and flew off toward the east so quickly that it was out of sight within moments.
Both Captain Smith and his men returned unscathed to their camp. Captain Smith survived the war and worked as a postmaster in Raleigh, North Carolina, for the next twenty years.
1888, EQUATORIA, AFRICA
Sir Henry Morton Stanley was a Welsh-born explorer and journalist. He is most remembered for his 1867 expedition, commissioned by the New York Herald, to search for the missing Scottish explorer David Livingstone in central Africa.
After a journey plagued by disease, desertions, and insurrection, Stanley found Livingstone on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, in present-day Tanzania, were he uttered the immortal greeting “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?”
After a number of subsequent, well-publicized expeditions in Sub-Saharan Africa, Stanley returned again in 1887 to lead the ill-fated mission to “rescue” the governor of Equatoria, in present-day Sudan. In a previously unpublished journal entry, Stanley records:
May 27, 1888
Being yet again short on fresh provisions, I resolved to lead a hunting party to shoot some game. Sporting my Starr Carbine, with two porters carrying my 12 bore ‘bone crusher’ and a further supply of ammunition, I headed northwest from our camp towards a narrow, marshy ravine at the base of a conical hill, on whose slopes flourished a dense thicket. I had seen three fine, plump antelope there the previous day and hoped to bag one for our evening meal. We crept cautiously along, looking keenly into every dark opening for the glint of an eye, but, alas, we saw nothing.
After an hour's search, we came to a mire, overgrown with dense reeds and papyrus. Crossing this quagmire, we sunk up to our waists in foul-smelling ooze. Here we were again plagued by the ubiquitous sword fly and tsetse that had made so much of this journey a misery.
There was a sudden movement in the vegetation lining the shore. Suspecting an ambush by hostile natives or a crocodile, I opened fire. Although I could see no target, luck was with me and I hit my mark. There was a wild thrashing in the rushes, a hideous wail, and then silence.
We dragged ourselves out of the black mud and, still covered in slime, came around our quarry from behind. Taking my double-barreled gun from Mabruki, we entering a small clearing in the rushes. A frightful sight lay before us, which still haunts me to this day. A small, albino native child, frightfully disfigured, with a swollen head and large, protruding eyes, lay naked in front of us. Its arms were disproportionately long and it was missing a finger from each hand. A vicious head wound seeped a dark, viscous fluid, not blood, onto the reeds around its head. My porters were aghast at the sight. They both stepped back, wide eyed, in abject horror. “Utami. Utami,” they murmured, then looked up warily at the sky.
My attention was instead averted to a thick clump of undergrowth to my right. Two more of these God-forsaken creatures, for on
e could hardly call them human, emerged with a startling ferocity. My porters shrieked and ran for cover, leaving me alone, not more than ten yards from the two swiftly approaching demonic forms. I instinctively sprang back, almost tripping on the ammunition dropped by the hastily retreating porters.
Although unarmed, the creatures' intentions were unmistakably hostile. Throwing the barrel of the gun into my left hand, I fired, hitting one in the shoulder. With its arm hanging by nothing more than a thread, it dropped to the ground with a blood-curdling scream. The other stopped momentarily, assessing the situation, then advanced towards me in a stealthy, sidelong manner. Its villainous eyes locked on mine like a spider courting its prey. With one round left, I aimed the muzzle of my gun at its face and ordered it to stop. It paid no heed, suddenly launching itself towards me at a frightful speed. I discharged my weapon, and the shot, true to its aim, ripped through the creature's head, throwing its lifeless form to the ground.
I approached the vile creature with the shoulder wound, which had now slipped into unconsciousness, and, in an act of mercy, hastily drew my keen, sharp-edged knife across its throat.
The Alien Invasion Survival Handbook: A Defense Manual for the Coming Extraterrestrial Apocalypse Page 13