The Book That THEY Do Not Want You To Read, Part 1

by Andy Ritchie

  Nothing had changed...there was the track, the barbed-wire fence, the fields, the odd sheep, the dull blanket of grey cloud...and, oh yes, there was a spaceship hovering silently about ten feet above the ground, some thirty feet further up the track.

  That, I think, was when I quickly went from apprehensive, straight past concerned, way beyond worried, and right to the far end of being really shit-fucking-scared!

  By now, I was crouched in a ditch that runs along side the track, peeking through the tall, wavy grass at the underbelly of this...thing, clenching my buttocks hard together and trying to convince myself that I wasn't actually terrified, that I wasn't actually cowering like a child, eyes wide and disbelieving, pathetic little whimpering noises coming from my lips. Unfortunately, I was well beyond convincing.

  The air was alive with a strange crackling noise, the same sort of crackling you get when you walk under electricity pylons, only this was stronger, as if pure energy was being discharged from this...vessel, holding it aloft, motionless and vaguely menacing.

  I hid...sorry, I remained concealed in the ditch for what seemed like hours but was probably no more than 30 seconds, wondering what to do next, wondering if I would be given any say in what would happen next, waiting for something, for anything to happen.

  The only thing I really wanted to happen was for this floating thing to just go away.

  But it didn't.

  It just stayed there, still motionless, still menacing.

  And the longer it hung there, motionless and menacing, the more I found myself wanting it to actually do something because the suspense, and the heightening terror that came with that suspense, were becoming unbearable.

  Of course, I wasn't sure what I actually wanted it to do (apart from go away!). In fact, by this time, I wasn't sure of anything at all except that, if it wasn't going to go away, then I wanted whatever it was going to do next to be nice.

  Yes, nice would be good.

  What I didn't want was anything bad. For example, I wouldn't have been too happy if a snake like tentacle with a particularly nasty looking eye on the end of it had suddenly appeared from some silently materialising porthole, venturing down to study me with an expression (if a single eye was capable of an expression on its own) which is only ever associated with dark and evil creatures bent either on global domination or on sucking the blood from the body of its victims through a straw inserted into the top of their head. The victim's head, that is.

  Oh yes, I'd seen all the sci-fi horror films involving strange craft arriving from outer space, be it the 1950's classics like 'It Came From Outer Space' or ‘Invaders from Mars’, or the modern movies like 'Independence Day' and ‘Mars Attacks’. I knew that, more likely than not, some vile smelling and unbelievably ugly blob-monsters would want to take me into their ship, plunge strange and frightening things into my body, pump me full of all sorts of weird drugs and chemicals, then drain my life-force away for their own insidious purposes, before finally chopping me into little pieces and having my remnants cooked for supper with some sauté potatoes and a sweet white wine from a vineyard on Alpha Centauri...

  On the other hand, it was just as probable that a beam of incredibly intense white light would appear from out of nowhere, carrying in it an ethereal alien form which would take over my body and then force me to murder my housekeeper (if I had one), the next person who happened to drop in for a visit, and finally, Mrs Bell, the nosey old biddy who lives next door; and then, in classic horror movie style, it would exit my body just as the police break down the door, leaving me weak and bemused and trying desperately to explain why I'm eating a kebab out of the eyes of my victims...

  The possibilities were endless, but even so I still managed to explore most of them in the short time I kept myself hidden, a fact which I found more than a little unnerving.

  Yes, I'd progressed through scared-fucking-shitless and was now lounging about in the totally-freaked-out-and-about-to-soil-my-trousers stage.

  But, strangely, a part of me had gotten just a little tired of being utterly terrified out of my tiny mind and had now become a little bit curious about what it was I was supposed to be utterly terrified of...after all, none of the things that I had imagined could possibly happen to me had actually happened to me in the minute or so that followed the spaceship's astonishingly quick descent...and so I was able to pluck up just enough courage to lift my head out from between my legs (where it had just happened to have ended up) and take a closer look at the source of my anxiety.

  I knew deep down that it was a spaceship.

  This wasn’t some top secret government aircraft made out of new super-alloys and bits of carbon-fibre, and incorporating the latest SCRAM engines that enable them to travel into the outer atmosphere (I’ve heard all about these things on the Discovery Channel!)

  This was a real, honest-to-God, shoot-me-if-I’m-lying spaceship!

  How was I so sure?

  I don't know, really. Perhaps it was because it looked just like a spaceship should look, only more realistic. I can't really put my finger on what made it different from anything I'd seen in films, but there was definitely something about it which gave the impression that it could travel across the vastness of the universe, in just the same way as you or I would pop down to Asda for the groceries.

  It was sleek and silver, just as you'd expect any self-respecting alien spacecraft to be, completely devoid of windows, doors, markings, or little stickers with the words 'I Love Andromeda' on them. It was shaped like a teardrop, thin and pointed at the front, bulbous and round at the back, with no wings or rudders or anything you would normally associate with an aeroplane; in fact there was absolutely nothing sticking out of it at all!

  To give you an idea of how big it was, I'd say it was about the size of a house - not a particularly big house you understand, more like an old couple's bungalow than a family semi, but it was big enough to be mighty impressive, especially when you consider it continued to just hang there, unmoving and still ever so slightly menacing, almost unreal against the gloomy backdrop of the gathering dusk.

  But above all else, the strangest thing about the whole scene around me was the fact that, apart from the crackling of the energy that seemed to electrify the very air about me, everything was silent.

  I mean everything.

  There were no bird calls from above, no sounds of cars or bikes on the road, not even the sound of the wind buffeting the grasses.

  It was as if the entire world was now holding its breath.

  I wondered vaguely what the spectating insects were making of all this.

  What was going to happen next?

  Would a ramp seamlessly appear from the underside of the craft and reach silently to the ground?

  Would a huge robot called Gort descend alongside a space-suited Michael Rennie, as happened in the black and white classic 'The Day The Earth Stood Still'?

  Would a heat-ray suddenly rise up from the top of the ship and blast me into oblivion?

  Would the spaceship itself morph into something else, take on the shape of a...

  All of a sudden, part of the bottom of the ship started to somehow dis-engage itself from the rest and slowly drop to the ground...

  I can’t really say what happened in the next 20 seconds or so because...well, I got so bloody scared that I ducked right back down into the ditch, pulled my knees tight under my chin, squeezed my eyes tight shut and prayed that whatever was happening, or was going to happen, would simply not involve me!

  ‘Good evening.’

  Yeah, those were the first words spoken to me by an alien — bit of a let-down, eh?

  And yet, strangely comforting because they were a lot better than ‘Soon the human race will be our slaves!’ or ‘Die, Earthling, Die!’.

  I didn’t really want to die.

  I raised my head a little and opened one eye, still convinced that I’d be confronted by some grotesque, inter-galactic monstrosity that just wanted to see me blubber before
it blasted me into a zillion pieces.

  But I was not confronted by some slavering insectoid touting a ridiculously powerful cosmic sidearm.

  Instead, there was a man, in a suit, carrying a small, metal case.

  He was quite a big man, maybe six foot four, six foot five, heftily built as well. Not fat, just pretty muscular. His clothes were very fashionable, a well-cut grey suit, white shirt, understated tie, and a nice pair of black shoes.

  You notice things like this when you’re terrified, maybe because you think this is the last thing you’ll see before you die and you want to make sure you’ve got all the details just right for when you have to recount the circumstances of your death at some heavenly dinner party.

  Then the strangest thing happened.

  I felt disappointment.

  Weird, isn’t it?

  I'm not exactly sure why I felt disappointed, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I had created in my mind a certain level of expectation about what, if anything, was going to come out of the craft (ten-headed monster, floating pink cloud of intelligence, something like that), and the appearance of what looked to be nothing more than a large, well-dressed man, meant that those expectations had simply not been met. He didn't even have piercing red eyes, you know, the type which boil your brain from the inside!

  For the next few seconds he just stood there, looking around him in the same way a tourist looks around when he steps off a plane at a foreign airport. Then I saw him take a deep, whooping breath which he held for a moment...and the world, including me, held its breath in sympathy.

  Then he grimaced.

  Then he coughed.

  Then he shook his head from side to side, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Whatever it was he had breathed in, he was obviously not happy with it.

  He took another deep breath, surveying the countryside around him with blue eyes which were astonishingly bright and alive, and the frown then disappeared from his face to be replaced by an expression of quiet satisfaction. A thin smile had crept cautiously onto his lips.

  He was incredibly handsome, sickeningly so, the type of man other men wish they looked like. He looked both young and old at the same time, a sort of cross between Tom Cruise and Sean Connery, but with the body of Arnold Schwarzeneggar thrown in for good measure. His hair was dark, thick and looked well conditioned, his blue eyes possessing a piercing, inquisitive quality which would no doubt turn all women to jelly (my eyes are brown and tend to turn women bitter); his lips were full and red, and his skin had just the right level of tanning to make him look healthy as opposed to a candidate for skin cancer in years to come.

  I’d opened my other eye by now in order to study him more intently, but I had not yet gotten up off the ground. I was still...how shall I put it...concerned that this visitor might suddenly produce from his pocket some ultra-powerful ray gun and transform me into nothing more than a scorch mark on the grass, just for the hell of it.

  ‘I hope my arrival did not scare you unduly,’ he said suddenly, returning his gaze to me.

  I’m afraid I just sat there, dumbstruck, not able to think, not able to speak...a bit embarrassing, really.

  I noticed that the sounds of the evening, the occasional call of a bird, the annoying buzz of flying insects, the forceful gusts of the blustery wind, all had returned with a vengeance, as if the world which had been holding its breath for what had been quite a long time was making a fuss about breathing again.

  It was only now that I became aware of the absence of the sound of crackling energy, and I stole a look beyond the alien to where the spaceship had been floating.

  It had gone.

  ‘It’s not sensible for the ship to stay any longer than is necessary...for obvious reasons.’

  His voice was soft yet strong and, in a peculiar way, strangely calming and reassuring.

  Still, I just sat there, staring at him and he, to his credit, seemed to be willing to allow me the time to pull myself together...but not, I suspected, too much time...

  ‘Are you injured?’ he asked, leaning over me a little further, a look of concern etched across his perfect features. His English was, like the rest of him, perfect. It had no obvious accent and nor did it have the plumminess you associate with posh people.

  Finally, I managed to get a grip of myself.

  ‘No, no,’ I answered, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  There you have it. Five words that will go down in the annals of history as the first words spoken by a human to an alien: ‘No, no, I’m fine, thanks.’

  Pretty shit, aren’t they. Not exactly memorable...but hey, they were the best I could do in the circumstances!

  ‘Can I help you up?’

  He offered me his hand, but I decided I’d better decline, firstly because I still had my pride and felt I was perfectly capable of getting to my feet unaided, and secondly, there was still a nagging doubt at the back of my mind that if I touched him, I would somehow be absorbed and turned into a human slave, programmed to do his bidding.

  So I got to my feet and dusted myself down, gathering up my camera bags and tripod as I did so. I was conscious that my pants were wet from the ditch, but decided not to make an issue of it.

  For a few moments we just stood there, both, I guess, feeling just a little bit awkward, sort of like the husbands of two schoolgirl chums at a Friends Reunited gathering.

  But the awkwardness didn’t last long. He spoke next.

  ‘My name is Tukaal.’

  He offered me his hand...to shake, that is...not as a gift...he didn’t detach it from his arm or anything...

  ‘Jethro. Jethro Postlethwaite,’ I replied, hesitating before I took hold of his hand because of that nagging doubt which still lurked at the back of my mind. ‘But most people call me Jeth.’ I added that last bit because I had this sudden fear that he would spend the rest of the day calling me Jethro Jethro Postlethwaite.

  ‘I know this is rather forward of me, Jeth, but I couldn’t trouble you for a lift, could I?’

  He smiled. He had wonderful teeth, the sort of teeth that no-one ever really has and are only available from dentists to people with a lot of money.

  I, on the other hand, must have been wearing an expression that was somewhere between incredulity and downright bewilderment.

  ‘I need to get into an urban area, you see,’ he explained further.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ I asked, surprising myself with the ease with which I responded.

  ‘I need to get to Manchester to meet someone.’

  How do you respond to a statement like that? The guy has just stepped of a spaceship having probably travelled thousands of light years across half a galaxy, and he says he needs to get to Manchester to meet up with someone. Just what do you say?

  Well, I said the first thing that popped into my head (not always the best thing to do, but something I tend to do a lot).

  ‘Why didn’t you get your spaceship thing to drop you off in Manchester then?’

  He raised an eye-brow in the style of Roger Moore, then waited for the obvious to sink in.

  Unfortunately, it took a while for the obvious to sink in, probably because I wasn’t thinking straight, or maybe because it wasn’t so obvious to me, so he decided to help me out a bit.

  ‘If I had been dropped off in the centre of a bustling city like Manchester at around 8.00 p.m. on a Friday evening...’

  Then the penny dropped...and the noise of it landing resonated with the sound of my own stupidity.

  ‘...then you and your ship would have been seen by hundreds of people...’

  Christ, I felt like a real muppet. What a bloody stupid thing to say. How had I not realised that...

  ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ he said, casually, ‘we usually do make a landing in the centre of a bustling city, just to make sure we actually get noticed...but not today.’

  ‘And I guess you wouldn’t choose a provincial town like Manchester, would you?’ I added, trying despe
rately to sound at least a little bit intelligent.

  ‘Actually, we had originally planned to land on the White House lawn in Washington D.C., but circumstances have dictated a bit of a change of plan.’

  ‘Change of plan?’ I enquired.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes. That’s the reason why I need to get to Manchester.’

  Suddenly, something very, very obvious dawned on me. Something so obvious, in fact, that its sheer size had made it difficult to see.

  This was an almighty wind-up.

  Somewhere nearby, probably in a neighbouring field behind a clump of tall grass, some giggling, smirking television presenter was preparing to leap up with a cameraman and a sound recordist to inform me that I’d been framed, and that all this was just some hysterical gag and the guy in a suit was an actor from Lincoln, and that I’d been a real good sport...

  ‘This is a set-up, isn’t it?’ I asked accusingly, stepping away from him and looking around for any signs of hidden cameras, microphones or TV presenters.

  ‘All this shit, all the spaceship stuff, all the crackling electricity, all that, it’s just special effects, isn’t it, holograms and shit...and all that stuff about the White House lawn and needing to go to Manchester...that’s all designed to see how much of a thicko I am, isn’t it...how much of a line you can feed me before I finally get the picture...’

  I laughed contemptuously.

  ‘Come on,’ I shouted, ‘you can come out now, you’ve had your fun...’

  No-one emerged from behind clumps of tall grass.

  ‘Come on, I’ve had enough now, come out and tell me what a top-notch guy I’ve been and then I can smack you in the face...’

  No-one emerged from behind anything.

  ‘Come on, you dicks...’

  Still no-one...and the doubts were starting to circle above me like vultures.

  Then something else dawned on me.

  This wasn’t an almighty wind-up. There was no TV presenter behind the wall, hidden cameras in the trees, anything like that.

  This was real.

  ‘I bet you think I’m a right pillock, don’t you,’ I said sulkily.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he replied with what seemed like genuine warmth.