This Town Is Not All Right

by M. K. Krys

  “I’ve never skateboarded in my life. Is it hard?” Arthur asked.

  “At first. But it’s also fun. I could show you?” Beacon offered.

  “Oh, no. I wouldn’t be good at it.”

  “Well, you won’t know until you try, right?”

  “Uh, maybe some other time,” Arthur said.

  “Okay.” Beacon slumped back onto the bed, searching for something to say. “So you live with your grandma?”

  “Yeah, ever since my parents died when I was eight.”

  He said it so boldly, as if it were just a fact. Which, of course, it was. But death was a subject Beacon’s family tiptoed around. The elephant in the room everyone pretended they didn’t see.

  “How—how did they die?” Beacon said. He felt himself go hot all over saying the words aloud. But if Arthur noticed, he didn’t mention it.

  “Car accident. We were leaving this cattle-ranching expo. It was raining and dark, and there’s this big stretch of highway that wraps around the mountain where you can’t see much up ahead. All I remember is going to sleep in the back of the car and waking up in a hospital bed with Grams there.” He shrugged limply, though Beacon could see the brightness in his eyes. “They died on the scene.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Beacon said.

  It felt kind of weird to be the one delivering the apology. He was so used to being on the receiving end. Being the one to shrug awkwardly, look away, and mumble a “thank you.” Was “thank you” even the right response? Beacon never really knew.

  It seemed like he had more in common with Arthur than he thought.

  “My brother died last year,” Beacon found himself saying. He’d never said the words out loud before. Not bluntly, anyway. He always found a way to get around saying the D word, as if by not saying he was dead, it would make it less true.

  “He drowned,” Beacon said. The other D word.

  Now that he’d said it, he couldn’t stop. The rest of the story just came pouring out like a dam had broken inside him.

  “We were on this family trip up at Big Bear, a couple hours from home,” he continued. “We’d rented this apartment a few streets away from the beach instead of staying in the hotel where we usually do. To save money or whatever. We were kind of annoyed about that because our usual place was right on the beach, and that meant we had to pack up early for supper and stuff, and I dunno, somewhere along the line I guess we got the idea to sneak out at night and go swimming.”

  He could still hear Everleigh’s whispery voice as if it’d been yesterday. Come on, Beaks. Dad will never know. It’ll be fun! He could see Jasper’s eyes, shining with excitement in the dark. Smell the sunscreen on his skin. The smell would forever make him ill.

  Arthur hadn’t said anything yet. Beacon wondered what he was thinking but couldn’t bear to look up and see his reaction.

  “The waves were huge,” Beacon continued. “Jasper said we should go back, but Everleigh dived in.”

  Don’t be such babies! Her delighted laughter tinkled in Beacon’s ears, making a shiver ghost over his back.

  “She didn’t come back up right away. There was a strong current, I guess. Jasper dived in after her. Everleigh ended up swimming back on her own, but . . .” Beacon shook his head. “The Coast Guard didn’t find him until three hours later. By then it was too late.”

  He’d never told anyone the story. His chest felt tight and fluttery. He peeked up, expecting Arthur to ask him why he hadn’t gone after them, too, to accuse him of being weak and afraid, but Arthur just said, “That’s awful.” He didn’t seem the least bit bothered that Beacon had only known him for about five minutes before he’d unloaded his entire life story on him, either.

  “Yeah,” Beacon agreed. “That’s why we’re here. For a new start, I guess. Everything in LA reminded us of him. Our dad wanted to go somewhere he’d never been. I think that’s why my sister hates this place so much. Because it’s like we left him behind, you know? Like we’re trying to forget about him or something.”

  Arthur nodded. After a minute, he said, “So where’s your mom?”

  “Died when I was a year old. Embolism. I don’t even remember her, so it’s not as bad as losing Jasper. I know that sounds bad.”

  “No, it makes sense,” Arthur said. “Can’t miss someone you’ve never met.”

  “Exactly,” Beacon said. Although it wasn’t the full truth. He did miss the thought of her. Of what it might be like to have a mom. Which qualities he had that might have come from her, besides the color of his eyes.

  He didn’t think he could have said any of this stuff to his friends back home. Sure, they’d all acted super sorry for him after Jasper died. But it didn’t take long for them to seem annoyed that he wasn’t himself again yet. As if he’d had a certain amount of approved time to grieve, and after that, his sadness was just annoying. So he’d pushed all the hurt deep down and put on a happy face. Everyone liked it better that way. Liked him better that way.

  But nothing seemed to faze Arthur. He didn’t seem to care what anyone thought about him. At first Beacon had thought that he was weird, but now he was starting to think they could be great friends.

  A mosquito buzzed around Arthur’s ear. He slapped it, then went over to the window and yanked down the pane. “Bugs get pretty bad out here,” he said.

  Beacon squinted past Arthur at the pink light outside the window, then looked at his watch. His heart dropped.

  “What time is it?” Maybe his watch was broken, he thought, even though that didn’t explain the sunset outside the window.

  Arthur looked at his own watch. “Six fifteen. Why?”

  Six fifteen. At night. Beacon felt light-headed. It was breakfast when he’d gone out in search of Everleigh. He’d spent way more time walking in the woods than he’d thought.

  “I gotta go,” Beacon said, jumping off the bed. “I was supposed to be back for dinner already.” He grabbed his skateboard and flew out the door. He pulled out his cell and dialed his dad’s number, but the call wouldn’t go through. Zero bars of reception. Great. He jammed his phone back into his pocket and picked up his pace.

  It was much darker on the way back, and even though Arthur had pointed him in the right direction, all the alien talk didn’t help his trek back through the woods. He jumped at shadows and gasped at the sound of twigs and leaves crunching under his own feet. Before moving to Driftwood Harbor, Beacon had only been inside a forest once, on a school trip. It had been full daylight, and he’d been surrounded by twenty other chattering students and his teacher. He hadn’t realized then how creepy a forest could be. Or just how masochistic hikers were for enjoying it.

  By the time he finally found the road, full night had come. Streetlamps cast pale yellow circles of light onto the gravel. He could barely see the outlines of the town up ahead through the thick, soupy fog. And where was everyone? The town was so quiet. Yet he had the eerie feeling he was being watched, like a bug under Arthur’s microscope. Every nerve in his body felt electrified. When the peaked roof of Blackwater Lookout came into view, it was only the last scrap of his pride that stopped him from breaking out into a run.

  He glanced at his watch: 7:00 p.m. He was in so much trouble. Maybe Canada was a good idea after all. In fact, he could hitchhike there now.

  Beacon stepped inside quietly. Maybe he could make it to his room before anyone noticed.

  “Beacon?” his dad said, popping his head around the corner. “I was getting worried.” There was a deep line carved into his forehead.

  Beacon felt terrible. He knew better than to disappear after what happened with Jasper. He knew that his dad would jump to the worst conclusions.

  “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

  He wanted to explain about the weird loss of time, but he knew that would only make him look like he was making up excuses.

  “I tried t
o call, but there was no reception,” Beacon said.

  “Donna said service could be hit or miss around here . . . ,” his dad said. He frowned, instead of giving Beacon the usual lectures about responsibility. “Well, wash up. We’re already sitting down for dinner.”

  * * *

  ...............................

  Everleigh was sitting at the table when Beacon followed his dad into the kitchen. He was glad to see his sister there, even if she did look like she’d rather be anywhere else. Some days she never left her bedroom at all. Those were bad days.

  He dropped his bag and board by the door and took a seat.

  Donna glanced over from the stove. “Ah, the prodigal son returns,” she said.

  Whatever that meant.

  She joined them at the table. There was a two-second pause, where they weren’t sure if they should say grace or sacrifice a fish or whatever it was mariners did before meals. But then Donna dived in for a dinner roll, and everyone else followed suit.

  “So, how was everyone’s first full day in Driftwood?” their dad asked. “Everleigh, I hope you didn’t spend all day underneath the hood of that car. And yes, I know about that,” he added.

  “Not all day,” she said defensively.

  “Yeah, she took bathroom breaks,” Beacon muttered. Everleigh opened her mouth to show Beacon her chewed-up food. Gross.

  “And how about you, Beaks?” his dad asked.

  Beacon scooped some creamy mashed potatoes onto his plate. (Turns out Blackwater Lookout Bed-and-Breakfast was going to be a Bed, Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner place until they got their own house.)

  “I met a boy named Arthur in the woods today,” Beacon said.

  “In the woods?” their dad repeated. “What were you doing there?”

  “I went for a walk. Anyway, Arthur said he’s the president of this alien conspiracy club called YAT. He was carrying around a device to detect frequencies or something.”

  Beacon’s dad choked on his mashed potatoes.

  “What a freak,” Everleigh said around a mouthful of food.

  “Everleigh!” their dad said once he’d managed to swallow his bite and wipe his mouth. “We don’t call people freaks.”

  Everleigh rolled her eyes and chewed on a lobster tail.

  “He’s actually pretty cool,” Beacon said. “He built all this stuff, like night-vision goggles, and he knows a ton about the weird crash that happened in the harbor here in 1967. Some of it is pretty interesting.”

  “A bunch of silly nonsense,” Donna said.

  “I’m with her,” Everleigh said, scraping food onto her fork.

  “Arthur said tons of people saw the craft go down. Dozens of separate reports. But they never found any trace of it,” Beacon said.

  “Craft? Did you join his club, or what?” Everleigh said.

  “No!” Beacon felt his cheeks get pink. “I just think it’s interesting is all.”

  “If you ask me, it’s a bunch of hooey,” Donna said. “The old boys were probably drinking at the tavern when they said they saw that ‘craft.’ Dollars to doughnuts nothing happened. Giant waste of time. That boy should find a new hobby.”

  “I agree with Donna,” their dad said. “Beacon, promise me you won’t go creeping around through the woods again. You could have gotten hurt.”

  “I wasn’t ‘creeping around,’ Dad!”

  “It’s dangerous, and I don’t like it. Promise me, Beacon.”

  Beacon rolled his eyes. “Okay, whatever.”

  “Whatever what?”

  “No creeping around in the woods.”

  His dad stared at him for a moment, as if he were going to make him pinkie swear or something. Beacon wished he’d never brought up Arthur or his stupid club.

  Donna set down her fork and wiped her thin lips with a napkin. “Does anyone want pie?” she asked, and Beacon was glad the conversation was over.

  * * *

  ...............................

  After dinner, the family played a game of Scrabble in front of the fireplace. Even his sister joined in, instead of retreating to her room to listen to music and wallow in self-pity. It should have been a great night. But Beacon was somewhere else. He lost the third game in a row, and not by a small margin.

  “Thinking about your first day of school tomorrow?” his dad asked.

  “I think he’s thinking about aliens,” Everleigh said, doing jazz hands.

  Beacon rolled his eyes.

  But the truth was, he was thinking about them. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. Everything didn’t add up. Arthur had said there were dozens of separate reports about the crash. They couldn’t have all been drunk that night, despite what Donna had said. The government had even confirmed a crash in the leaked documents. So why was she brushing it off? And then there was Jane and the sea, and how quickly the sheriff had closed the case. Not to mention the car breaking down exactly where Arthur said other cars broke down all the time, and the freaky time loss in the woods. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something not right going on in Driftwood Harbor.

  A computer was open for use by guests at the inn, but Beacon waited until everyone went to bed before creeping down the hall to use it. He’d already taken enough heat about the alien talk at dinner. The last thing he needed was for anyone to find out he was researching the incident.

  The computer was dusty and archaic, shaped like a box, like the old TVs you saw only at yard sales. He pressed the clunky power switch, and yellow light glowed dimly from the screen, illuminating the dark room.

  He pulled out the chair tucked underneath the desk. The old wood creaked as he sat. He went stiff, waiting to hear movement in the house or to see a light flick on in the hallway. But everything was quiet and dark. Everything but his heart, which crashed as hard as the water against the cliffs outside.

  With clammy hands, he dragged the old mouse across the pad and brought up the search engine. He’d looked up Driftwood Harbor before, but that was back when he thought the world was a bit more straightforward than it was looking tonight.

  He typed Driftwood Harbor UFO incident into the browser.

  Then he waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Beacon was pretty sure he could run back to LA and fire up his desktop before the page loaded.

  Finally, the results appeared. He opened the Wikipedia page.

  On the night of October 16, 1967, at about 11:20 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, multiple independent witnesses reported seeing an object crash into the waters of Driftwood Harbor, Maine.

  The initial report was made by local resident Paul Gephart. Driving through Driftwood Harbor, on Highway 3, he spotted a large object descending into the waters off the harbor. Gephart contacted the Coast Guard detachment in Portsmouth.

  A sharp scratching noise made Beacon jump. He wheeled around, only to realize it was just a tree scraping against the window. Jagged shadows danced on the walls. He blew out an uneasy breath, then huddled into himself for comfort.

  US Coast Guard quickly arrived at the scene. Concerned for survivors, they launched a rescue mission, but the object began to sink and quickly disappeared from view. No survivors, bodies, or debris were ever discovered, and by the next morning, the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) had determined that all commercial, private, and military aircraft along the Eastern Seaboard were accounted for.

  It didn’t make sense. The water must have been shallow by the harbor. If something crashed there, they should have been able to locate pieces of the craft. But nothing? Not a single trace?

  Beacon closed Wikipedia and scrolled through the search engine results, bypassing anything that looked a little too official. He wasn’t interested in what the government had to say about it. He finally opened a website called buried-truth.org.

&n
bsp; On October 16, 1967, local residents of Driftwood Harbor saw unusual lights in the sky before they descended toward the icy waters of the harbor.

  There was a large subtitle in Comic Sans font that said EVIDENCE!!!! with a bulleted list underneath. Beacon leaned forward eagerly.

  Object Floats on Water: As if seeing the falling craft weren’t shocking enough, witnesses were left gaping when instead of crashing into the water, the object floated on top of it. In a chance encounter, local police deputy Donalda Pound had also witnessed the event. According to Pound’s testimony, she reported seeing a yellow light moving over the water. Several times over the course of the event, the strange vessel submerged under water, only to reappear again farther from shore. When the Coast Guard attempted to respond to the apparent emergency, the craft could not be located. It had disappeared!

  Russian Submarine: Divers performed an extensive search of the area. When they didn’t find a single piece of debris to prove there had been any craft in the water, the case was closed. However, a Russian submarine was seen in the harbor the night of the crash. What was it doing there???!!! What aren’t they telling us?

  Satellite Imaging: Satellite imaging from the night of the crash shows two objects moving underwater at a high rate of speed, from the shores of Driftwood Harbor all the way to Russian waters, where they disappeared entirely. What was happening under there that they don’t want us to know???!!!

  CONCLUSION: The military launched an investigation and located the craft underwater. While doing surveillance on the craft and plotting their next move, a second vessel appeared. During this time, Russia sent their own submarine to investigate. But before either government could get their personnel anywhere near the vessels, the two UFOs surfaced and disappeared into the skies!!!

  That seemed like a bit of a stretch. Beacon didn’t really know what to believe anymore.

  He scrolled down, skimming over old newspaper articles and official documents. Finally, he squinted at an ancient black-and-white photo of a police officer.