by Ray Garton
Just the same, he kept his distance.
The night settled slowly and comfortably over David’s house and yard, over the quiet hill in back. There was no breeze to stir the scrub pines into which the crooked trail disappeared, and they remained perfectly still, standing like guards over the hill’s surroundings.
The peacefulness was suddenly broken by the hollow, metallic scream of the back screen door as David and his dad came out into the back yard. They’d turned out all the back lights so the yard was dark. They went around to the side of the house that was darkest and looked upward.
The night sky was filled with Christmas; the stars sparkled like silver glitter scattered by God and the moon hovered among them like a great radiant snowball.
Hidden by the cover of night, crickets chirped and frogs croaked.
Dad touched David’s shoulder. “C’mon,” he whispered. It was a night for whispers.
They moved over to the bench that Dad had built for just such occasions—they called it their “night bench”—and lay on it like stacked wood, their heads together, gazing upward.
“There!” David exclaimed, pointing at a bright spot of light shooting across the sky. “Wow, a fireball!”
“Bright one, too.”
It arced gracefully, then disappeared, as if it had never been.
David snuggled closer to his dad. “Look,” he said quietly, “there’s Mars. See? Right over there.”
Dad followed the direction of David’s finger and spotted the planet, shining brightly against the black velvet of night.
“It’s pretty close,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s at the perihelion right now. It’s only 30 million miles from Earth.”
“Only 30 million,” Dad said. “No wonder it looks so close.”
David turned to see Dad smirking at him. “Cut it out, Dad.” He laughed, punching him lovingly on the shoulder.
An owl hooted from the trees on the hill and from the distance, the lonely call of a whippoorwill sounded.
Three meteorites cut across the sky like missiles, almost as fast as a blink.
“Here they come,” David said, almost reverently.
After a few moments, they began coming in heavily, one every few seconds, a silent, graceful ballet of light. The meteorites arced before the still, watchful stars, shooting downward to the earth to meet a fiery end.
“There’s more this year than last,” David said, never turning his eyes from the sky.
“Looks like the heaviest shower of the year.”
The owl hooted again as more meteorites burned through the night.
“Mom’s missing a good show,” David said with a smile. They’d left her in the house on the phone, talking to one of her classmates about the day’s test.
For a few moments, the sky was inactive. The stars continued to glimmer, as if waiting, along with David and his dad, for more. The peace was broken by what began as a tiny flicker. It quickly grew brighter and brighter, grew bigger as it plummeted out of the sky. Its light became so bright that it illuminated the whole back yard like a floodlight.
“Holy shit!” David shouted, jumping to his feet.
Dad got up beside him, gawking upward with his jaw slack. “Jesus, that’s bright!” he breathed.
The huge meteorite moved like a living thing across the sky, pulling its long, diminishing tail behind as it flew. It brought with it a faint, distant rumbling sound, like thunder, but more intense, more explosive.
“Hear it?” Dad asked.
“Yeah!” David gasped, his face glowing in the light from the sky. “That one’s not gonna vaporize! It’s gonna make it through the atmosphere!”
“It’s got a hell of a tail!”
Its brightness grew into a cool, shimmering ball of white. The sound rumbled louder, building to a crescendo. Then it faded and was gone. The back yard was dark once again. The sky was still. A few small pinpoints of light shot from one end of the sky to the other, hardly visible compared to the monstrous meteorite that had just disappeared.
David and his dad remained still as stone for a moment, their eyes glued to the sky, their mouths open in awe, their arms held tensely a few inches out from their sides. Then they lowered their eyes and looked at one another, smiling, enchanted, silently sharing the magic of what they’d just seen.
Ellen Gardiner stood at the back door and watched her husband and son through the screen, her arms folded over her breasts, a loving smile playing on her lips. After hanging up the phone, she’d intended to go outside and watch the shower with them, but she’d decided not to break the spell between them.
David was definitely his father’s boy. Their relationship often seemed more like that of two playmates rather than a father and his son. Sometimes, just sometimes, deep inside, Ellen felt a pang of sadness that her relationship with David wasn’t more like George’s. It wasn’t jealousy, really—more like a kind of regret mixed, perhaps, with just a pinch of envy. She often thought, however, that maybe it was better that way. Sometimes it seemed that George and David were almost too close; perhaps there wasn’t enough distance for George to notice when something wasn’t right. Someone had to keep a level head, a watchful eye.
Like last year when David was having those nightmares. Ellen had been worried for a while, thinking that perhaps she and George were doing something wrong, that they were somehow responsible for whatever was bothering David. She’d quickly changed her mind, however, after looking through all the comic books and magazines David read. They were filled with such horrible stories! They even made her—an adult who should know better—squirm. And the magazines contained stills from horror movies that looked more like photographs from a coroner’s files: spears through heads, throats slashed open, entrails dangling from sliced-open abdomens. She’d been appalled and had insisted he stop reading them. George had protested, though, saying he’d had similar tastes as a boy. So they compromised: Dr. Wycliffe. When it became apparent he wasn’t helping, David had stopped seeing him. Fortunately, the nightmares had gone away. But Ellen still wished he wouldn’t read that trash. And if the nightmares returned, she wouldn’t hesitate to be firm about changing David’s reading material. No matter what George said. Whatever happened to Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys?
Oh well, she thought, he gets good grades, he’s bright and healthy. It could be worse.
She watched with a smile as they marveled at an unusually bright meteorite, standing and pointing at it excitedly. She saw its light, but never took her eyes from them. The love between the two of them was far more spectacular than any meteor shower. When she thought of some of her friends—the problems they had with their children, the bitterness in their homes—she thanked God, or whatever was out there, for what she had. She wouldn’t change it, or let it be changed, for all the wealth and fame in the world.
She pushed the screen door open and it screeched loudly, catching their attention. They turned to her and smiled. George waved and David began hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.
“Mom!” he shouted. “You missed it!”
“I saw it from the back door,” she said.
George swept his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. “God, it was incredible, Ellen.”
“Time to go to bed, David,” she said gently, knowing he wouldn’t like it.
“But it just started, Mom!”
“I know, but you have school tomorrow.”
“So do you.”
“That’s why,” she said, putting an arm around him, “we’re all going to bed.”
George joined his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. “Not me!” he said with conviction.
David stood firmly next to his father. “Me neither!”
Ellen laughed and took his hand. “We’ll see about that.”
Mom pulled the covers up to David’s neck, tugging them over his shoulders a little, making him cozy and warm.
“How do you think I’m ever gonna become an astronaut if y
ou won’t let me stay up late?” David asked her, still put out at having to come inside and go to bed.
“Astronauts need sleep just like everyone else,” she replied, leaning down and kissing him.
Dad perched himself on the foot of the bed, a copy of Fantascene magazine open on his lap, his forehead tense as he read.
“Did you finish all your homework?” Mom asked.
“Did you finish yours?” David asked, squirming under the blankets.
Mom made her fingers into claws and began tickling David’s ribs over the covers. “Yes, I finished it, smart aleck!” she growled. Then she gently put a hand on the side of his smiling face and said, “Now go to sleep.”
“ ’Kay. I’ll try.”
She stepped over to Dad and plucked the magazine from his hands, tossing it onto David’s desk.
“Hey!” Dad exclaimed. “Gimme that!”
“Your bedtime, too, fella,” she said as she left the room.
“You can read it later, Dad,” David whispered. “It’s a good one.”
Dad moved to David’s side and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay.”
“Hey, your base commander came to our school today.”
“Mad Dog Wilson?” he said and laughed. “Same old thing, huh?”
“Yeah. Public relations for the base, I guess.”
“You guess, huh?”
“We talked about the new radar a little. I got to explain how it works.”
“Good for you. Just stick with me, kid. I’ll show you the ropes.”
Distant thunder rolled ominously through the sky and David’s eyes grew. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Thunder. Jeez, Dad, you must be getting pretty old. You’re losing your hearing already.”
Dad kissed him and said, “Goodnight, wise guy.” He stood and went to the door.
David leaned over the foot of the bed and turned on the small planetarium that was on his toy box. When Dad flicked the light off, the room became a window to outer space. The ceiling and walls were suddenly covered with pinpoints of light arranged to form a vast night sky all in one room.
Dad started to close the door, stopped, and stepped back inside. “Almost forgot,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He held up a shiny new penny in a plastic case. “Here, a fifty-eight-D in mint condition.”
David sat up in bed. “Wow!” Spots of light sparked off the shiny penny. “Thanks, Dad!”
“Sure.” He looked around the starry room a moment until he spotted David’s shirt hanging on the back of a chair by the desk. “I’ll leave it for you here in your shirt pocket.” He dropped the penny in the pocket and went back to the door.
“Thanks,” David said. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Champ. Good night.”
He slowly pulled the door closed until all the light from the hall was blocked from the room, leaving David to gaze at the stars and constellations around him. After a moment, he swept the covers back and got out of bed, then went to the window where his telescope waited, staring blankly out at the night.
He slid the window up and looked through the telescope, trying to find the meteors, hoping he’d be able to follow their rapid course. They moved too fast for his telescope, though, so he stepped around it and sat on the windowsill.
Although none were as bright as the one he and Dad had witnessed earlier, he could still see them, flitting through the sky like distant thoughts being rejected by God. The thought made him smile.
David hoped to be out there one day, to see firsthand what there was to see, to perhaps be the first astronaut ever to make contact with another intelligence . . . whatever kind of intelligence there was in space. He stared through his window at the endless sky, which came to life now and then with more meteorites, and imagined himself in a sleek spacesuit, at the controls of a ship, traveling swiftly and silently through space . . .
A flicker of lightning brought him from his reverie. It was followed by the rumble of far-off thunder. A storm was coming in.
He pushed away from the sill and crossed the room, getting into bed, still clinging to his thoughts of the future, of space travel and discovery.
Turning on his side and snuggling into the pillow, David watched the stars on his walls and slowly, comfortably drifted off to sleep.
C H A P T E R
Four
David sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly jarred from his sleep by a shattering crash of thunder and the howl of wind raging around the corners of the house.
The planetarium was still shining stars onto his wall.
The alarm clock beside his bed read 4:40.
He had left the window open and rain was blowing into the room, bringing with it a biting chill.
David suddenly felt rather dizzy. He realized, looking around him, that the planetarium by his bed was slowly beginning to turn, sending the stars around and around the room. He rubbed his eyes, still puffy with sleep, and blinked them several times, puzzled. He hadn’t flipped the rotate switch, and yet that was what it was doing. He sat up straighter in bed as the stars began to move faster and faster, creating a tornado of light around him. Soon they were no longer specks but silent streaks whizzing over the walls and ceiling.
A bright flash of lightning filled the room with white and startled David; he pressed himself against the headboard and lifted a hand before his eyes. The lightning seemed to last a long time, much longer than usual.
“Jeeeeez,” he breathed.
Catlike hissing and spitting sounds made David look over the foot of the bed. The planetarium was spinning madly, shooting sparks and puffing smoke in little clouds. The room was suddenly black and silent except for the sounds of the storm outside.
David kicked the covers aside and hurried to the window. He gripped the sash to pull it down when the rain stopped—not gradually, as rain usually does, but all at once, leaving behind it an eerie stillness.
Pushing the window all the way open again, David looked outside and listened. Only the sound of water dripping softly from the trees could be heard. The moon and stars were gone, hidden behind dark storm clouds. It was so dark, David could barely see anything outside; the hill was just a dim shape in the distance.
As he gazed out the window, David realized how tense he felt. Beneath his white pajamas, his limbs were rigid as sticks and there was a tightness in his chest that came only with . . . dread. Something was not right.
The silence outside was too heavy, too thick, worse, even, than the silence that followed Mrs. McKeltch’s “One, two, three, four, five!”
David leaned toward the window, palms flat on the sill, and waited, although for what he did not know. The whole night seemed to be waiting . . . for something.
And then it came, a sound so sudden and loud that it ripped the silence jaggedly in two—a horrible, throbbing sound so deep and massive that David could not only hear it, he could feel it in the very marrow of his bones, in the windowsill beneath his hands, vibrating the air around him. David was so terrified that, for a moment, he could not move a muscle. His hands felt like lead weights when he finally lifted them from the windowsill and reached over his head, grabbed the sash, and pulled it down.
It would not budge.
With a frightened groan, David tried again, putting all his weight into it, lifting his feet from the floor, hanging, for just an instant, from the sash.
The window was sturdy as stone.
He dropped his hands to his sides and turned away from the window, then started to hurry down the hall and wake his parents, when the room slowly began to fill with a soft light. Brighter and brighter . . .
David looked out the window again and his jaw hung loosely, his eyes became so wide that they felt like they might pop from their sockets.
There were lights cutting through the cloud layer, solid bars of light that landed on the ground in bright circles, flashing with a strobe effect, each appearing then disappearing in a heartbeat, beams of bluish
-white dancing in a strange, hypnotic rhythm so precise, so perfect, that it seemed important, significant.
David gawked at the lights darting over the ground until something above caught his eye, something descending from the sky, easing through the thick clouds, something glowing and huge, so huge that its size alone filled David’s stomach with an icy ache. Its light diffused outward through the storm clouds, giving them a shimmering glow. It was a sphere that seemed, at first, to be as big as a building. But as it continued to descend, more and more of it became visible and David realized that it was far bigger than any building he’d ever seen.
The sphere—metallic, glowing a bright bluish-silver—began to shift its shape. As if it were an enormous water balloon, it flattened itself into a disc, like a giant, glowing Frisbee. It wobbled slightly and changed again, first into a bottle shape, then, smoothly, it became more rectangular, like one of those jars Grandma Gardiner used to can peaches in every summer. It thinned out then, elongating itself into a spear shape, falling lower and lower until it disappeared behind the hill. It continued to glow, its light reflecting off the clouds overhead, and when David placed his hands on the sill again, he could still feel the vibration of that awful, gut-wrenching thrum.
Then they both faded, the light and the sound.
The night, once again, was silent.
An explosion of lightning was followed by thunder, more distant now. With a howl of wind, the rain began to fall again, as if it had never stopped.
Blinking his eyes with shock, David leaned forward, sticking his head out the window a bit, looking all around, his heart pounding like the footsteps of a giant in his chest.
Nothing. Only the yard, the hill, and the storm.
David pulled his head back just as the window slammed shut loudly. He jumped back with a startled cry, then stood like an ice statue, staring with wildeyed fear and wonder at the night, waiting for something more to happen.
The rain fell with a vengeance.
Lightning brought an instant of distorted daylight.
Thunder purred sedately, more evenly than before.