It Came from the Sky

by Chelsea Sedoti

  Newspaper Article

  The following excerpt was reprinted with permission of the Lansburg Daily Press.

  RADIO INTERFERENCE ON TURTLEBACK ROAD: PROOF OF ALIEN LIFE?

  By K. T. Malone

  October 7

  LANSBURG, PA—Friday evening’s Bingo Extravaganza was much like any other. The monthly event, held at the St. Francis de Sales Parish Hall, has long been a favorite among Lansburg residents, and October’s festivities didn’t disappoint.

  After Henrietta Callahan won the grand prize—dinner for two at Doe Lake Resort—the crowd dispersed. For many bingo players, that was when the evening took an unusual turn.

  Several Lansburg residents tuned into their favorite radio programs for the drive home, only to discover their radios no long worked properly. For a period of at least an hour, cars driving down Turtleback Road experienced radio interference such as static, distortion, or complete loss of signal.

  Ufologist Arnie Hodges has made Lansburg his temporary home as he investigates the recent phenomena in town. Hodges claims radio interference is a common sign of an extraterrestrial encounter and encourages everyone who experienced it to contact a hypnotist about recovering repressed memories.

  Though frightening to those involved, the event only had one injury: David O’Grady, farmer and longtime Lansburg resident, tripped and fell near the site of the radio interference. When asked why he had left the road, O’Grady said he’d been chasing a mysterious figure who bore a resemblance to past president John F. Kennedy.

  Event: Driving Practice

  Date: Oct. 7 (Sat.)

  I dragged myself downstairs in the morning, feeling the aftereffects of my race through the woods: I hadn’t gotten enough sleep, my legs were sore, and I was covered in bug bites. If Ishmael felt even remotely as terrible as I did, he didn’t show it. He was already at the breakfast table, energetically chomping through a bowl of cereal.

  Father sat across from him reading the paper, but tossed it aside when I entered the room. I noticed it wasn’t his usual sports section, but an article titled “Media Flocks to Lansburg.”

  “You need breakfast before we go?” he asked.

  I looked at him blankly. “Go where?”

  “Driving. Your first lesson is today.”

  Oh. Right.

  Exactly what I was in the mood for.

  Twenty minutes later, I sat in the driver’s seat of the Jeep. The vehicle felt approximately four times as large as it did from the passenger’s side. I wished desperately for a car that was less unwieldy.

  I hadn’t had a say in the Jeep, though. When Gram bought the Cadillac, she offered her beat-up Jeep Wrangler to Ishmael and me. Yes, I should have been grateful for a free vehicle. But besides the daunting size, the Jeep was in deplorable condition because Gram was, quite possibly, the worst driver in Pennsylvania.

  The men and women who frequented her poker games still teased her about the time she dropped a lit cigarette while driving and, in her distraction trying to find it, plowed into a bus stop.

  I didn’t find the story funny for two reasons:

  1. What if someone had been at the bus stop?

  2. I was deeply afraid of making an error just as grievous.

  “Did you adjust your mirrors?” Father asked, watching me from the passenger’s seat.

  “I believe so.”

  “You believe so?”

  “I have excellent visibility with the rearview mirror. The side mirrors… I’m unsure of the optimal position. For instance, how much of my own vehicle should I be able to detect?” My fear was making me obnoxious, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Surely the Jeep should only take up a small fraction of the frame, yet that’s what’s giving me perspective, and without perspective the mirrors are useless.”

  From the back seat, Ishmael loudly crunched through a bag of chips. “I’m so glad I came for this.”

  Father gave Ishmael a look. “I can still send you into the house.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be good.”

  “You should see a small sliver of the car, but mostly road,” Father told me, twisting in his seat to look behind us. “What about the maple tree? Can you see it in your right mirror?”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really, or no?”

  “Not really, Father. I see a fraction of it, but not the tree in its entirety.”

  “Gideon. You need to relax.”

  I scowled. “I’m relaxed.”

  Ishmael snorted.

  “Adjust your mirror to see the tree,” Father said.

  I did as he asked, taking longer than necessary.

  “Now turn the car on.”

  I shakily turned the key and my heart dropped. What if, upon coming to life, the Jeep malfunctioned and flew straight into the side of the house?

  That was an illogical thought. I knew it was illogical. Why did I forget everything I knew to be true when it came to motor vehicles?

  “You know which pedal is which, right?”

  I sighed. “Yes, Father. Of course I do.”

  The mechanics of the Jeep weren’t the issue. I understood the theory behind driving, and I had basic knowledge of how the vehicle functioned. (I’d only gotten one question wrong on my permit test, and it was a question about motorcycles that wasn’t in the DMV study guide.) It was just a machine, after all. But I still feared that somehow I’d get confused and press the wrong pedal. I worried my foot might slip as I tried to step on the brake and I’d plow into the car ahead of me.

  Knowing something was entirely different from doing.

  “I should change shoes,” I said.

  Father sighed deeply. “Why?”

  “These soles are smooth. I don’t have any traction.”

  “Dude,” said Ishmael, “you’re not mountain climbing.”

  “But—”

  “Your shoes are fine,” Father said.

  “Just drive barefoot,” Ishmael suggested. “I do it all the time.”

  Father turned and looked at my brother. “Why are you driving barefoot all the time?”

  Ishmael shrugged.

  “Could we discuss that later?” I snapped.

  Father scrubbed his hand over his face as if he was just so, so weary. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

  I suspected he was correct.

  Interlude

  Mistakes I Made My First Time Driving

  1. Failed to use my turn signal on two occasions because I was too nervous to shift my hand on the wheel.

  2. Chose to make three right turns to reach a destination because I was too nervous to attempt a left.

  3. Slammed on the brakes approximately forty feet behind the next car while stopping at a traffic light because I was unable to properly gauge distance.

  4. Ran a stop sign because I was focused on the speedometer and wondering how to efficiently regulate my speed.

  5. Gripped the wheel so tightly that for the rest of the day my hands were sore.

  Event: Another Interrogation

  Date: Oct. 7 (Sat.)

  My relief at the end of my first driving lesson was short-lived. As I pulled into the driveway, my body still stiff with tension, I saw that another vehicle waited there: Chief Kaufman’s police cruiser.

  “Do you have plans with Kaufman today?” I asked Father, hoping she was there for a social visit.

  “Nope.”

  I felt a trickle of apprehension entirely separate from my apprehension about trying to park near the cruiser without hitting it—the last thing I needed was to get into a fender bender with a police vehicle. Had Kaufman gotten wind of my and Ishmael’s antics with the radio jammer? I was 71 percent sure we hadn’t left evidence behind, and with our masks, O’Grady shouldn’t have realized it was us. But still…

  “Who
’s that guy with the chief?” Ishmael asked suddenly.

  I was fully concentrated on putting the car in park, but from the corner of my eye I saw Father peer out the window. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” He opened the door before I had a chance to engage the emergency brake, which was not proper safety protocol.

  The man climbed from the passenger’s seat of Kaufman’s car at the same time I exited the Jeep. The first thing I noticed was his suit. It immediately put me on alert. In Lansburg, suits were reserved for weddings and funerals—with the exception of Adam Frykowski and his desperate attempt to appear more credible. The man with Kaufman didn’t need to try to appear credible. He was middle-aged, impeccably groomed, and exuded confidence. His suit, for the record, was tailored to perfection.

  “Morning,” Kaufman said. She nodded to the man. “This is Agent Ruiz.”

  My heart turned to ice. “Agent?”

  Ruiz reached out to shake my hand. “I work for the FBI.” (FBI: Federal Bureau of Investigation.)

  Oh no. They definitely knew about the radio jammer. Why else would an FBI agent be in Lansburg? How had they pinned it on Ishmael and me so quickly, though?

  Even Father seemed alarmed at this new development. He warily introduced himself to Ruiz, then said, “Maybe we should take this conversation inside.”

  I studied Ruiz as we made our way into the living room. He didn’t seem particularly hostile. If he’d come to accuse of us committing a federal crime, would he be so relaxed?

  “What’s this about, Lisa?” Father asked once we were all seated.

  “We have a few questions for the boys.”

  Ishmael smiled confidently. “Hopefully we have answers for you.”

  Ruiz pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket and looked at me and Ishmael. I braced myself. “I’d love to hear a little about the alien activity that’s been going on.”

  What?

  He wanted to know about the aliens? The FBI couldn’t be taking the abductions seriously, could they?

  While I pondered whether the hoax had gone so far that it had fooled the government, Ishmael talked and talked. As always when holding court, he was in his element. He took Ruiz through the timeline of activity, from the explosion in our field to the present. I dimly wondered if lying to a federal agent was a crime.

  Ruiz made notes and nodded often, stopping occasionally to clarify names and dates or get details about the people involved. Eventually, he asked, “How long have you known J. Quincy Oswald?”

  “I wouldn’t say we know him…” Ishmael said.

  My brother and Ruiz continued to talk, while I fought to keep a scowl off my face. Why was Oswald always popping up? Our entire hoax was becoming centered around him and his ridiculous alien juice. The FBI was getting involved now, and if the situation got big enough, NASA might even become interested.

  And who would be there to take the credit if NASA rolled into Lansburg?

  J. Quincy Oswald, of course. The great and powerful Oz.

  He was reaping the benefits of everything I’d worked for. He was going to go down in history as one of the first people who’d experienced true extraterrestrial communication—

  I stopped.

  I mentally shook myself.

  What was I thinking? I was acting like this was real, like the farm actually had been some sort of UFO landing pad.

  There were no aliens, I reminded myself. Or maybe there were. Maybe somewhere in the universe there was proof we weren’t alone. But not in Lansburg.

  “That’s it for now,” Ruiz said, flipping his notebook shut.

  I realized I’d missed a good portion of the conversation while fuming about Oswald.

  “Thanks, boys,” Kaufman said.

  “No problem,” Ishmael replied. “Let us know if you have any other questions.”

  “Yes. We’re happy to help,” I added hollowly.

  We saw them to the door and said goodbye, but my trepidation didn’t depart with Kaufman’s police cruiser.

  As soon as Father left the living room, I turned to Ishmael. Keeping my voice low, I said, “What was that about?”

  “What do you mean?” he threw himself down on the couch and picked up the remote.

  “Why is the FBI here?”

  “You heard him. They want to know about the aliens.” Ishmael scrolled through channels until he landed on a rerun of Pitch, Please where contestants pitched a show that would follow a group of flat-earthers on a journey to discover the edge of the planet.

  “Since when does the FBI investigate aliens?”

  My brother didn’t look away from the TV. “I dunno. I’m not, like, an expert on what the FBI does.”

  A thought struck me. “Do they know this is a hoax? Is that why Ruiz is here?”

  “No way. We’ve covered our tracks.”

  Had we? So well that trained investigators couldn’t uncover errors we’d made?

  “I don’t like this,” I said. “Something isn’t right.”

  Ishmael waved me off with his usual cavalier attitude. “Seriously, dude, you worry way too much.”

  Event: Another Interrogation (Cont.)

  I did not worry too much. I worried the exact, reasonable amount. Without worrying, you might not plan for every possible contingency. But how do you plan for an FBI agent showing up at your house?

  Later that evening, I was still dwelling on the encounter. I couldn’t concentrate on the book I was reading about Ptolemy’s contributions to astronomy, and even my favorite astrophysics podcast was unable to hold my attention.

  I ended up in my lab poring over newspaper articles, blog posts, YouTube videos, and forum comments about the Lansburg Lights. So many websites mentioned the phenomenon that it was becoming hard to sift through. I tried to imagine the materials through Agent Ruiz’s eyes. Did he see an interesting mystery? Legitimate alien activity? A clever hoax?

  One thing was certain—it was no wonder he’d asked about J. Quincy Oswald. Oswald was referred to in countless news sources. Some articles mocked him. Some praised him. But all were eager to see what would come of his “extraterrestrial fountain of youth.”

  I, meanwhile, was hardly mentioned at all. (Twice, to be exact. And only one of those articles referred to me by name.)

  Tightness began to form in my jaw. It felt like something had been stolen from me.

  I tried to remind myself that I shouldn’t want my name in articles. It would mean I’d been busted, that the hoax had failed.

  Maybe my plans were flawed from the start. Maybe it was absurd to do an experiment I could never take credit for. I assumed knowing I was successful, and having a sociological report to impress MIT, would be enough. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, like Oswald, I wanted complete praise and recognition.

  I took a deep breath. I needed to get a grip. It had been a long day. Surely the situation would look better after I’d gotten a good night of sleep.

  Before leaving the lab, I pulled out my phone and sent an impulsive text.

  GH: Thinking of you.

  I immediately regretted it. I never sent sentimental messages like that. What would Owen think? But a moment later my phone buzzed with his response.

  OC: Hang out soon? I miss you.

  A smile slipped onto my face. Just like that, life seemed manageable again.

  Outside, I stopped for a moment to take in the dark sky. I spotted the Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, and counted the six stars that were visible to me. (In ancient times, the Pleiades served as an eye test—a person’s vision was determined by how many of the seven stars they could see.)

  And what was beyond the Pleiades? What secrets was the universe hiding in places that our most powerful telescopes could never reach?

  Was there life out there? Or was the human race steadily hurtling toward its downfall, its Great Filter, lik
e others that had come before? And if we were on the eve of destruction, did it even matter?

  We humans imagined our lives were so meaningful. Not just our day-to-day lives, but the bigger picture. The disasters, the wars, all the victories and tragedies, large and small. Our homes, our towns, our countries felt meaningful. Earth felt meaningful.

  But in reality, Earth was only a speck. The entirety of it could fit into the red spot on Jupiter. And that was just in our solar system. What if we took into account everything outside the Milky Way?

  When it came down to it, it was possible that humans were nothing more than the starfish of the universe.

  Yet I couldn’t stop trying to be more.

  I pulled myself out of my musings and continued toward the farmhouse, wondering if other people had the same thoughts or if I too was truly alone.

  When I passed the crater in the field, something caught my eye—a twinkle in the moonlight. I stepped closer and saw a discarded soda can. Probably left by someone who’d snuck onto the farm to see the sight of the initial extraterrestrial contact. I wondered if Father had caught them and chased them off, or if Mother had to call Chief Kaufman to make them leave.

  A flush of shame crept over me. I’d created so much trouble for my family. But it was too late to turn back now.

  I picked up the soda can and kept walking. As I passed the barn, I heard voices from inside, and a light flickered between the rotting, wooden slats. I paused. The barn was rarely occupied. Mostly it served as storage for the thousands of dollars of myTality™ products Mother accumulated.