by William Bebb
“What were the weird sounds like?”
“You'll laugh if I say. Let's just say they were weird,” the boy said, blushing slightly.
“We won't laugh. Please tell me. It could be important”
“Chickens.” The boy looked embarrassed as he spoke. “At first I wondered where chickens could be around the pumpkin patch. We don't have any and I didn't see any around. Then I looked at the crow and saw its beak open when the chicken noises came. When it closed its beak the sound stopped. I just thought it was sort of funny. I know it sounds crazy, but the crow was actually making clucking noises like chickens at first.”
“At first?”
“Well, this is the goofy part. After I stared at it and started laughing, I heard a high pitched whining sound come from the crow. It was only for a few seconds, but it sounded just like when you hear a song played backward really fast. You know, like Alvin and The Chipmunks when they sing. That was when my dad came up and shot it.”
Craig choked on the coffee he was drinking as she looked at him and asked, “What made you shoot it?”
The man's face flushed as he coughed and held up a hand, in a stop gesture. After catching his breath he spoke as if embarrassed. “I thought the boy was goofing off. I just wanted to get his attention. I saw him staring at the damn bird and not helping out. So, I decided to remove the distraction is all.” He got a worried look on his face before asking, “Crows ain't on that endangered species list are they?”
Mendez laughed and smiled as she shook her head no.
“Darn near scared the crap out of me when he fired the gun,” the boy said, smiling.
“Language!” His sharp-eared mother called again from the other room.
“What happened after you hit the crow and what kind of weapon did you use?” Mendez asked, as she checked the recorder to make sure it was still working.
“Just my shotgun. I always take it out to the fields. We got some wild dogs that sometimes come out of the woods and the last thing I'd want is to get bit and catch rabies or something. As to what happened to the bird, I didn't rightly see. I was looking at Tommy after I fired. Heard the splash when it hit the water though.”
“Did you see what happened when it fell into the pond?”
“Yes ma'am, but I think the blast from the shotgun must have somehow messed up my eyes because that was the really weird part. It wobbled for a second before it tried to fly away and I swear it looked like smoke and sparks were coming out of it. Looked sorta like one of those arc welder doohickeys. The sparks were really bright even though it was a sunny day.”
“Then it fell into the pond?”
“Yes ma'am. I saw it hit.”
“The preliminary report we got from the police said something about it having lost a wing,” Mendez said, looking at the boy.
He looked at his dad nervously, before turning to the dog and stroking its head.
Frodo licked the boy's hand and drooled as he smelled the roast in the oven.
Craig cleared his throat and drank the last of his coffee.
“Did it lose a wing or not?” She asked again.
Craig looked at the recorder and then at her before shaking his head.
She reached over and stopped the recorder. Looking at the father and son, she knew they were hiding something.
“The recorder is off. What is it? This could be very important. Just tell me the truth.”
“I told you we should have given it to the cops,” the boy said, as he stared defiantly at his dad.
“Just tell me, Mr. Owens. What did you do?” She asked gently.
“My son found the wing after we'd called the cops and told them about what happened. He wanted me to call them back or give it to them, but I kept it. I thought it might be valuable to someone. It was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen.”
“It's here? Can you show it to me?” She asked eagerly.
“Dad, I don't want to go to jail,” the boy said, looking like he was on the verge of tears.
“No one's going to jail. But I really need to see it.”
“That's just it. It's gone. When he showed it to me I could tell it wasn't a real bird's wing. It had feathers or something that felt like ‘em, but it was way too heavy for its size. I took it to my work shed and looked it over before putting it inside my old cash box.
I was going to take it to a friend of mine, Dr. Norris, the next day but-” The elder Owens stopped abruptly and shook his head as Agent Mendez nodded and leaned forward. “It was gone when I went out to get it.”
“Someone stole the cash box?”
He shook his head again and swallowed with difficulty before turning to his son. “Bring it in from the back porch.”
“Yes sir,” the boy said, getting up and going to the back door.
“I don't rightly know what happened to the wing, but the box is still here.”
The boy came back inside a moment later carrying a medium sized gray metal cash box and set it on the table. His dad turned it so the back was facing the agent. A small rectangular hole a few inches across and a couple high had been cut thru the metal. The edges of the hole showed where the paint had been burnt. He opened the box and inside there were some old partly burnt receipts but nothing else.
She felt the thickness of the metal and wondered who could have used a blowtorch to cut through it.
“Did either of you tell anyone else about the wing? Maybe someone who had access to a blowtorch?”
Both father and son shook their heads in unison. Then the father said, “Besides, no one needed to cut through it. The box wasn't even locked.”
They all stared at the hole in silence except for Frodo. The dog was sitting in front of the stove whining wistfully at the delicious aroma of roasting meat.
From the living room, Maggie's voice broke the silence. “That crazy woman's coming on after the commercials! Craig, you guys take a break and come watch, she's a hoot talking about ghost’s right here in Ragland!”
Shannon's eyes shot open wide as she stood up and quickly walked down the hall toward the living room.
The boy and his dad followed.
“That crazy woman, her name isn't Allison by any chance?” Shannon asked, standing in the middle of the living room staring at the flat screen TV mounted on the wall.
Maggie gave her a suspicious look, before answering. “I think so. I saw her earlier today, on the news talking about ghost balls out in the woods. She's a nut. Says a ghost ball might be coming anytime now. But with Halloween coming up I guess it's something fun to talk about.”
Father and son sat on the couch and both looked at the agent wondering why she was so interested. The commercial break was still on and Maggie gave her husband a questioning look. He shrugged back as the news came back on.
On the TV an old anchorman wearing an obvious brown toupee smiled at them and said, “As Halloween approaches there are reports of something spooky happening in the forests less than an hour east of Birmingham. Reporting live to tell us more is Candace Rogers. Take it away, Candace.”
The image switched to a shot of the reporter and Allison standing in front of some shadowy pine trees.
Candace smiled as strong winds blew her long blonde hair in several directions at once. “If this isn't the perfect weather for ghosts, I don't know what is. I'm standing on the edge of a small stretch of haunted woods just outside Ragland Alabama. And joining me is local ghost expert Allison Taylor. Mrs. Taylor, tell us do you think we might be able to see one of your ghost balls this evening?”
“Ain't my ghost balls,” Allison said, holding a fat black cat in her arms while leaning closer to the microphone and almost shouting to be heard over the increasing wind. “They just come and go nearly every mornin and evening for the last few weeks.”
“For those who may not have heard you describe them before, could you tell us what they're like?”
“Big silvery balls. Hard to tell just how big, cuz when I see them, theys way up the air. I
think they might be 'bout as big as beach balls, but I ain't sure. They go up and come down kinda slow and always make a noise that drives my cat, Michael Jackson, a little crazy,” she said, lifting her cat up for the camera to get a good shot of.
The cat had been unhappy being out in the windy darkness in the first place, but when the first splashes of rain began to fall and the high pitched whirring noises started to grow louder he'd had more than enough.
Neither of the women seemed able to hear it over sound over the strengthening wind and steadily growing number of lightning strikes and subsequent thunder rumblings.
The next time the microphone was held out to Allison, the cat took the opportunity to express his displeasure regarding the whole situation. It grabbed the foam ball at the tip of the microphone and yowled into it and his rear feet launched him at the startled reporter. Digging his claws into it, the cat held on as the reporter yelped in surprise.
Viewers at home were treated to an earsplitting screech and various thumping noises as Candace dropped the microphone and the cat that had been clinging to it.
The camera operator turned and zoomed in on the cat as it ran across the road and into the woods.
Michael Jackson was afraid and quickly heading for home.
Candace scooped up the microphone and started to speak. “Can you hear me? Sorry about that folks, but a haunted forest is apparently no place for a black ca-”
A brilliant flash of lightning cut off her words, but then Allison started yelling and pointing up over the tree line.
“There it is! Look!” She was shouting something else but the brilliant pulsing light and concussion from several bursts of thunder and strengthening wind drowned her voice out. The reporter and camera operator looked where the old lady was pointing.
A huge crooked multi-forked bolt of lightning lit up the sky filled with fast moving dark clouds. Unlike typical lightning strikes this one crackled and pulsed but remained intact. One end disappeared in the dark clouds and the other was attached to a brightly flashing silvery sphere that appeared to be a few feet across. It was several hundred feet over the trees throwing off small bolts of what looked like lightning as it quickly descended.
“What the Hell is that thing?!” Candace yelled over the wind and steady rumble of thunder.
“It's a ghost ball!” Allison screamed back, as the camera followed its descent into the trees.
Viewers at home watched in fascination as it came lower. The long bolt of lightning from the sky trailed it down as the miniature bolts the ball was shedding continued to reach down while it descended faster.
Several tree tops exploded into flames a second before the screen flashed a brilliant white light and faded to static as the remote news truck's transmission abruptly ended. The last sound before the signal was lost was that of a tremendous crash many viewers thought might have been thunder or a massive explosion.
A visibly shaken anchorman appeared on people's screens. He cleared his throat and listened to something being said in his earpiece before speaking, “We seem to have lost contact with our news crew. We'll have more information for you about what happened during the ten o'clock news. Thank you for watching and stay tuned for Wheel of Fortune, coming up next.”
“What a load of horse dookie. They must be getting hard up for real news down there. That was the most pathetic fake I've ever seen and I even ordered a tape of that alien autopsy video a few years back,” Mrs. Owens said, laughing as she got up from the recliner.
“It looked pretty real to me,” Tommy said, as he followed his mom toward the kitchen.
“Agent Mendez?” Craig asked. He almost reached out to shake her arm but then thought better of it. He wasn't sure if doing something like that might trigger her reflexes. Agents in movies and on TV always knew some sort of martial arts and he didn't want to accidentally provoke her. Especially since she seemed kind of out of it since his wife had shut off the TV.
She turned slowly and said in a halting way, “Mr. Owens...Um...I need to go...now.”
“Are you sure you feel okay?”
“I'm fine,” she answered, turning to the front door.
“What about your briefcase and stuff you left in the kitchen?”
“Yes, you're right. I need that,” she said in a stunned voice before turning back and slowly walking down the hall.
“It was a fake, what we saw on the TV, right?” The elder Owens asked nervously, following her.
*****
The thunderstorm was in full swing by the time Trevor and Alice finished with their purchases and headed toward the mega store's front exit. The evening's growing darkness coupled with the pouring rain made it difficult to see more than a few dozen yards into the crowded parking lot.
He looked at the four grocery carts filled with supplies then at the exhausted Alice before deciding what to do. “I'll run over and get the RV and pull up outside then we can just load it up without both of us drowning. Okay?”
She nodded and pulled the carts closer to her as he ran out into the storm. His shape was quickly lost in the sheets of rain.
A growing group of women, most with at least one child in tow, huddled around the exit waiting for the rain to ease up so they could leave. A few children shrieked as a loud peal of thunder accompanied the blinking of the florescent lights above them. Hoping the power would stay on, Alice felt the beginning of a headache and felt muzzy headed. It had been a long day and her hip was still sore where Colonel Wilcox had thrown her over a desk that morning.
She listened while the other women tried to joke about the weather. The comments didn't seem to come from any one person in particular. It was more a jumble of voices saying things like “Better get to work on that ark” and “I better not hear the weatherman say another word about drought or I'll strangle him,” or as several children joined their voices together singing, “Rain rain, go away. Come again some other day.”
The murmuring voices and high humidity made her feel more tired and sleepy as time seemed to lose its forward momentum. Leaning against a soda machine she shut her eyes and listened to the people talking, the monotonous downbeat of rain, and the occasional rumble of thunder.
Jerking awake, she found herself still in the entryway of the mega store. Alice yawned and looked outside. The rain was blowing sideways as the storm showed no sign of letting up. Glancing at her watch, she felt her stomach roll nervously as she realized Trevor had been gone for almost fifteen minutes. He's not a young man. Maybe he slipped and fell. He could be laying out there, in the rain, waiting for me to come help. I'll give him five more minutes, and if he's not back by then I'll go find him.
Sloshing through the enormous impromptu lake caused by a clogged storm drain, Trevor was terrified. He'd found the door to the RV hanging open and after a quick search realized Anniston was gone. There had been no signs of struggle and he hoped the old man had just gone for a walk. Trevor knew the likelihood that he'd go for a stroll, in the downpour and leave the door to the RV wide open, was nearly nonexistent but the idea that Wilcox or some of his people had captured him was too horrible to contemplate. He cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled into the wind, “Professor! James! Where are you?!”
There were hundreds of cars and trucks in the parking lot and walking quickly around them he realized this could take hours and Alice was still waiting for him. He checked another row of cars for any sign of the old man and had resigned himself to failure when he spotted a flashing blue light at the edge of the lot. Breaking into a run, he wished he'd thought to bring his pistol along.
A small truck, with a rotating blue plastic bubble light on top, was parked in front of an ATM. A man in a yellow rain poncho with the word SECURITY written in big letters on the back was kneeling beside someone who was laying on the pavement.
At first Trevor didn't even recognize Professor Anniston. He was sprawled out in a puddle of water a few inches deep. Even when he heard his voice it took a few seconds to realize the very drunk m
an was indeed his employer and old friend.
“I said, were all bloody well fucked! Quit trying to hush me, osficer! I'm a respected crypto- uhh cryptolooloologist! I have seen the end of the world coming. And it's just like all those damnably stupid movies from the 1950s said- little green men are coming to wipe us out, oh excuse me I mean wipe out just ninety-eight percent of us. And believe me when I tell you I mean really very very little!”
Trevor ran over as the security officer radioed for assistance, “This is Davis. I got a drunk over here by the ATM machine trying to drown himself in a puddle. Someone call the cops to come get this guy out of here.”
“That won't be necessary, officer. He's my dad. I'm sorry about this, he's just a bit senile. Come on dad, we gotta get you back home. Mom's worried sick about you,” Trevor said, lifting Anniston up into a sitting position.
“Trevor, my boy!” The old man shouted with a goofy grin on his face. “I'd ask you to have a drinky winky, but my bottle seems to have sprung a leaky weaky. It's all gone. Course, soon enough we'll all be gone. You, me, him, everybody; every-bloody-body. Well, except the Amish. Everyone loves the Amish, even little fuckers from who knows where. Hells bells, even I love Amish cheese.”
“Dispatch, this is Davis, cancel the cops. Someone has come out to claim the drunk,” the officer said, into his shoulder mounted microphone. Turning back to Trevor he shouted, “Get this old drunk out of here now!”
“Yes sir. Thank you,” Trevor said, as he draped the old man's arm over his shoulder and walked him quickly away.
“Yes indeed, thank you ossifer. You- you're a credit to the whole fucked up human race. Toodelooo!” Anniston shouted back over his shoulder.
“What's wrong with you?” Trevor asked, helping the old man into the RV a minute later.
“Why, absolutely nothing my lad. I feel rip roaring fine, in fact. Where's Alice anyway? I feel like showering that sweet little lady with some passionate kisses. She's got a way about her. Don't know what it is about her!” Anniston said, and broke into a loud rendition of a song Trevor was having difficulty identifying.