Violet scribbled all that down in her notebook. Then she asked, “Can you describe the inside of the spaceship?”
Bobby said, “It was round, but the edges were sharp.”
His uncle folded the paper, tossed it on the desk. He puffed on his cigar and stared at us.
Bobby continued. “It was dark, but there were spots of light. The walls were curved. There were boxes piled everywhere—filled with medical equipment and supplies, I guess. I woke up strapped to an operating table, completely paralyzed. Next thing I remember is floating within a beam of light for a second time. I ended up right back in the spot where everyone reported seeing a UFO last night. I put two and two together and figured I’d been abducted by aliens from outer space. Not something I’m proud of, but maybe my story will help others. When you see a flying saucer, get out of Dodge. Run. Don’t just stand there and stare at it like I did, no matter how shiny and hypnotizing it is. Break the spell. Run!”
I muted my phone. I had turned off the camera flash before we got there. Holding the camera down low by my side, I secretly snapped photographs of Bobby, the guy behind the desk, some of the animal cages. I couldn’t frame the pictures exactly; but I snapped away, keeping the phone out of view. No one paid any attention to me.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and stepped forward. I asked Bobby if he could draw a picture of the UFO and a map of the exact place where he’d been abducted.
Bobby said, “Sure. Sure. You got paper?”
I asked the guy behind the desk. He grumbled, but handed over his newspaper and a black permanent marker. He said, “Wrap it up, OK? I don’t want my nephew stressed out talking about this stuff too much.”
The newspaper was local. The front page featured an article about the guy whose creepy lair Kai and I had found. The headline was horrible: Serial Killer Hoarding Trophy Teeth and Fingernails Found in Local Cave. Ugh. I wondered if Kai was mentioned. It would be nice for her to be a hometown hero with her name in the paper ... although not if they gave out her address or anything specific where people could find her. Plus I lived right next door and would go nuts if I had to push through a swarm of reporters every time I went outside.
Acting like I wanted two whole pages for Bobby to write on when I just didn’t want to deal with that article, I flipped to the middle of the paper. The entire middle section featured stories about the UFO Festival. Kind of surreal, like being inside an M.C. Escher painting. An article about the festival inside the festival.
I handed the paper and marker to Bobby. Clutching the marker in his fist, he drew circles and ovals so maniacally, they turned into a violent black tornado around one spot. The marker soaked through the thin sheet, ripping a gaping hole straight through to his jeans.
Rather timidly, I asked, “What have you got there, Bobby?” I half expected him to leap up and stab me with the marker.
He said, “There! Right there! There it is!” He punched the black swirling vortex with his finger, then stood up and let the paper float off his lap onto the ground. He covered his ears. He slapped his face until his cheeks turned red. He paced back and forth, talking in staccato phrases. “The UFO was bright lights. Shining into my eyes. They knew me. Saw them before. It hurt. Hurt so bad. Want it to stop! Never again! Never, ever again! I promise! I won’t do it ever, ever again!” He punched his head.
His uncle stood up. Pounding his fist against the desk, he bellowed, “Please leave! I think you have enough information for a high school newspaper. Go, please!”
I snatched the paper off the ground. We scurried out of the tent.
Outside, we ran through rows of tents until we were far away. I had a metallic taste of blood at the back of my throat. I gasped for air, then took a swig of water. Science doubled over, laughing. He said, “That was nuts, wasn’t it!?”
Starshine confronted him. “You think that was funny? That poor guy...”
Science said, “Oh, poor guy, my foot. People around here believe the craziest stuff and it makes them go nuts. Personally, I think it’s funny every single time I see it happen. Plus, I used to live next door to that guy. He was a pain in the ass.”
Changing the subject, Violet said, “Well, do we have enough for a story? We can make it either serious or entertaining. We need to decide the angle. Personally, I think we should combine the UFO sighting, that guy’s story and the festival into one news story, talk about how the festival reflects people’s belief in flying saucers around here.”
Science said, “Mistaken belief, I hope. Don’t encourage people. Don’t act like this stuff is real. You know, be journalists.” He winked, which made his words seem less insulting than they were probably meant to be.
I opened up the paper. The torn section looked like a black hole right smack next to an advertisement picture of a flying saucer: just your average silver metallic saucer with Christmas lights all around its rim.
I studied the page. Next to the silly UFO was an article with a photograph. It looked just like the one Science had showed us earlier: a ball of light against a black sky, a picture someone had taken last night during the famous UFO sighting. I read the caption underneath. The place where the photograph was taken was halfway between my trailer park and the cave where we’d found the serial killer’s stuff. I knew the exact location. The newspaper mentioned that the photographer, Mrs. Charlotte Patel, had stood in a patch of cacti under a desert willow to snap it. Kai and I had passed right by there on our way to the cave.
I told everyone I knew the spot—or at least the approximate spot—where Bobby thought the UFO had picked him up. I said, “It’s actually in between my house and the cave where that creepy serial killer was arrested.” Everyone stared at me. I started to sweat. I hadn’t meant to give anything away about knowing where the cave was. I said, “It’s just open desert between my house and the place where the news said the cave’s located. I walk out there sometimes. Not all the way to the cave, but I’ve seen this spot.” I laughed to break the serious mood. I said, “Isn’t that where UFOs always land—out in the middle of nowhere, where only a few select people get invited on board?”
Only Science laughed. He suggested we go investigate the place and take some photographs, in order to have as many details as possible. He said, “Your article will be more interesting that way. Every year ... And by that, I mean: Every. Single. Freaking. Year. ... Our newspaper publishes the same old story about the UFO Festival. You could write something different. If you want, I’ll write a section about the physics of space travel, what it would take for an alien civilization to reach us.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to be a buzzkill ... But I could add some interesting facts.”
We all agreed that sounded good. We also decided to head on out to the location where the UFO supposedly beamed up Bobby Huffman.
Violet said, “Oh my God, I completely forgot about Moonjava and Wolf Song. Let me give them a call.”
I felt a bit shocked. We had all forgotten them.
Violet was friendly as heck on the phone, acted like she totally remembered and was just ready to leave the festival. Apparently, they were, too. Clicking off her phone, she said, “We’re supposed to meet them in the parking lot.”
Science arched his back and ran his hands through his hair. He said, “I have my jeep here. If you guys don’t need a ride, I’ll follow you, since Shade seems to know where we’re going.”
In the parking lot, I asked Moonjava and Wolf Song what they’d found for our newspaper article. They had lots of pictures of UFO stands and merchandise and people in outrageous costumes. That was perfect. Our article would have a balance between the serious and the wild-and-crazy.
When we reached the open desert, we had to go off-road to get to the exact location of the desert willow with cacti growing beneath it. The weather had been so incredibly dry lately, the wheels of the vehicles threw massive amounts of dust into the air. A whole lot of it flew in through the truck windows. Moonjava coughed so bad, I thought he was goi
ng to lose control of the vehicle. He leaned over, popped open the glove compartment and, in between coughing jags, pointed at it. In a hoarse voice, he shouted, “Get ... me ... the ... handkerchief! Tie it around my mouth and nose!” Boy, that was awkward. The truck swerved all over the place when he leaned this way and that, while I struggled to get the cloth around his face and tie it behind his head.
Wolf Song pounded on the back window. He had his jacket up around his head. He and the girls were bouncing around in the back, holding onto the sides of the truck for dear life. Violet and Starshine were trying to plaster their Believe! hats against their faces to block out the dust.
Moonjava slowed down. He rolled up the windows. We traveled at a snail’s pace the rest of the way.
When we finally reached the willow, the guys parked right next to its weeping branches. We hopped out. We ducked into the shade, guzzling water and wiping grit off our faces. We hacked and coughed and spit mud from our mouths. Yuck! It was disgusting!
Science motioned for us to be quiet. He waved his arms, so we’d notice him, then put his fingers to his lips and told us to shush.
He looked scared to death. He didn’t seem like the type to scare easily. We all stopped where we were and went totally silent. Except for Wolf Song. He must have gotten dust in his lungs because he had another coughing jag.
Science pushed a bottle of water at him. Wolf Song chugged it down, coughed a few more times, then got himself under control.
By then, we had all figured out why Science had gone sheet-white. A muscular, full-grown male mountain lion was pacing back and forth out in the open space. It growled and bared its teeth at a man holding a whip. It was agitated. The man looked pissed.
My knees shook. I fought against fainting. Breathe in, breathe out. I was trying to decide where to go. Back in the truck? Or was it better to stand still, not make any sudden movements?
The man was making a lot of sudden movements. He snapped the whip right over the mountain lion’s head. He yelled, “Change back, Freddy! Change back! I mean it!” Crack! Again, the whip rushed through the air. Whoosh! Crack! Right against the animal’s side. It must have struck him. The animal let out a whimper. But alphas don’t whimper for long. It charged, its massive paws grasping at the air and ground to propel itself forward.
Oh my God, we were going to witness this guy being viciously attacked by a mountain lion! Gruesome thoughts went through my mind. I pictured all the nature shows I’d ever seen of lions ripping the flesh off their prey and chewing on their insides, blood staining their teeth and dripping down their chins. They were without conscience or remorse. They killed to assert their position at the top of the food chain; they killed to survive.
In my mind, I imagined the wild animal catching our scent as the wind whipped our hair around and blew in his direction. Ferocious and territorial, he’d rip his claws out of the guy he’d taken down and head toward us at top speed. My imagination went wild with horrifying visions.
I couldn’t move. My body became paralyzed. My mouth went dry as dirt. I had to remind myself to breathe.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
What the hell was that?!? I practically jumped out of my skin.
Out there in the desert, Moonjava was taking big strides toward the guy and the mountain lion. Wielding an assault weapon, he just kept on shooting, aiming pretty darn close to them. He shouted at the guy, “You can’t have that big cat out here! This is hiking territory! Get him out of here or I’m going to have two heads on my wall: yours and your pet’s!”
The guy held up his hands. He said, “OK. OK. Don’t agitate him. We’re leaving.”
It was weird. The mountain lion cooperated. He let the guy put a collar around his neck. They walked over to a carnival-type truck with pictures of wild cats and bears and snakes painted all over it. The cat walked up a ramp into the back. The guy hopped into the driver’s seat and took off down the road, dust billowing around the vehicle, eventually swallowing it up at the horizon.
Moonjava walked back over to us. He said, “I’m sick to death of this. That guy and his wild cats—they’ve been responsible for a lot of dead livestock around here. My family’s one of their victims. We try to put the fear of God into him every time we see him.”
Violet turned to me. She said, “Welcome to the Wild West. You’re not supposed to keep wild cats. It’s against the law. Unless you apply for a special license to run a sanctuary for them.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Same for everything else native to our region: bears, snakes, you name it. But ‘sanctuary’ is defined all too loosely by some of the people claiming to run one. Too many people just want big pets—sometimes to cuddle them, sometimes to charge money to see them.”
Cuddle a bear or mountain lion? People did that? Now, that was a whole new level of crazy.
After we calmed down, we remembered why we were there: to take photographs of the UFO site. This appeared to be a prime location for all kinds of unusual things.
We walked around, snapping pictures.
Eventually, Science called us over to look at something.
He had found an oval pattern in a grassy area where most of the grass had been flattened. It looked like something oval had parked there ... or someone had created the pattern on purpose.
Science said, “We should take a lot of pictures. I mean, it’s shaped kind of like a flying saucer. We could write about how a saucer is always a possibility.”
Starshine started screaming at the top of her lungs. She pounded her feet on the ground, hopping around like she was barefoot on hot cement.
Violet reached her first. She put her arm around Starshine, tried to calm her down.
A shot of adrenalin raced through me. I immediately feared she’d been bitten by a snake.
Science started laughing. He asked Starshine, “Is this what you’re screaming about?”
There, under a cactus, was a pile of torn women’s clothing. On top: a flowered blouse with a red bloodstain. It looked like someone had been shot.
Why was he laughing? What was wrong with him? I thought back to the cave—the bloody teeth and fingernails, the serial killer hiding out, hoarding his stash of grotesque trophies.
Starshine stopped screaming. She said, “Yes! Someone’s been hurt ... or murdered.”
Science poked around in the clothes with a stick. He reached down and grabbed something. When he stood up, he held out a gold metal lipstick tube, thick red goo dripping down the sides. He said, “Blood turns brown after being exposed to air for a while. This is bright red. Melted lipstick. BwaaHaaaHaaa!”
Starshine turned nearly as red as the lipstick. She said, “Yeah, well, ripped, discarded clothing doesn’t bode well, either. Looks like foul play to me.”
Science said, “Yeah ... or someone camped out here to watch the stars, dropped some clothing on the way out, and some animal ripped it up.”
We all snapped pictures of the clothing: blue-jean miniskirt, white cardigan sweater, and the flowered blouse. Maybe the aliens had beamed the woman up and this was all she left behind. The photographs would go in our newspaper article. Even skeptics liked reading conspiracy theories.
We walked around for about an hour. We didn’t find much else: a bunch of empty soda cans that Science insisted we place in a plastic bag and take home for recycling, paper trash including a bunch of flyers for the UFO Festival, tiny animal bones and a couple of snake skins. (Those gave me the creeps.) We also found some living things that we left alone: rabbits and a cute little lizard scurrying over a boulder.
I volunteered to organize the newspaper article when I got home, if everyone wanted to send me their photographs and ideas. No arguments there. I actually got volunteered to write the entire article. I asked Science to write up something on the physics of rocket ships visiting us from outer space. He said he’d be happy to. I gave him my email address. No way did I want to spend hours researching technical information.
When I got home, I walked around my trailer to
Kai’s front yard, just to see if she was around. Still, nothing. No sign of her. I started wondering how many days I should let pass before I could knock on her door and not be out of line. I really needed to get her cell phone number and email address.
Back home, my mom was smoking cigarettes and drinking wine. I got really mad at her. I shouted, “Mom, you can’t smoke in here! This place is way too tiny and the ventilation sucks! My room smells all night long from whatever dinner we cook. I’m going to be smelling cigarette smoke all night tonight!”
She said, “This is my house. Where else am I supposed to go to relax?”
I felt totally exasperated with her. Hello ... I’m her kid ... She should be protecting me from secondhand smoke. Was she totally lacking the mom gene?
I said, “Why don’t you go outside? It never rains here. It’s always nice and there’s always a breeze out front. Why don’t you buy a lawn chair like a lot of people in this neighborhood have? Then you could just sit out there and smoke and I don’t have to die of lung cancer!”
Honest to God, as she dropped her cigarette into her wine glass, she replied, “Oh, Shade, you’re always so dramatic!”
I said, “Seriously, I’m dramatic? Who just ruined their wine in order to put out their cigarette in the most spiteful way possible?”
She stared at the wine glass, as though surprised by what she’d done. Ah, jeez, she was drunk. She didn’t even have enough control over her actions to be spiteful.
She managed to remember one thing, however. She said, “Hey, we’re supposed to do something together this weekend. You want to go for a walk through Roswell or something?” She slurred her words. Roswell sounded more like Roshwell. Ah, yes, Roshwell, the place where drunken aliens land. Not to be confused with Roswell.
Shade and the Skinwalkers Page 6