Written for No Theme Thursday where Kevin
has offered us some incredible images to
inspire and get our creative juices flowing.
Revamping of a 2020 tale, this is my story.
Tag: SciFi
AMAGANSETT BEACH
This piece was originally written in October, 2020.
It was recently revamped to complement a flash
I wrote three days ago called ‘Force Majeure’.
This story is based on true events
and the people are my family members.
The names of the characters have been changed ….
all except Susie. Her name remains unchanged.
🛸
Known for their dry wit and clever sense of humor, twins Ben and Jack couldn’t get anyone to believe they saw a UFO on the beach. No matter how hard they tried, everyone just laughed it off as a prank. The teenaged siblings, younger sister Jenny and their parents lived in a cottage one-half mile from the beach in Amagansett. Cousin Susie and her parents lived next door and the four teenagers were always together. It was a Saturday night and their parents were hosting the weekly bridge game. Everyone was slightly inebriated and laughingly dismissed the twin’s tall tale of UFOs.
It all began about two hours earlier. The foursome were on the beach listening to the radio, shooting the breeze and smoking cigarettes they snuck out of the kitchen cabinet. The sky that night was pitch-black, devoid of any stars or even a sliver of the moon. Their flashlights gleamed like little beacons as they sat in a tight circle on the sand.
“Twist and Shout” came on the radio and the girls jumped up to dance, trying to get the boys to join in. The twins just laughed and laid back on the sand, their arms folded under their heads. Looking up at the sky, Ben noticed an unusual light far off in the distance and pointed it out to the others. Holding their flashlights close to their faces, they started making up stories about the light being a UFO; the amber glow made their features look like they were extraterrestrials.
The teens decided the far away object in the sky was just a plane but there was something unusual about it. This ‘thing’ didn’t move in a forward direction as an airplane would; instead it gradually descended toward the water as it shifted slightly from left to right slowly approaching the shore. The closer the amorphous glow came to the beach the more it took on the appearance of a giant jellyfish.
The dim lights of the mysterious craft started getting brighter until they were so intense the four teens had to shield their eyes. The curious object began vibrating slightly; as the cousins peeked through their fingers, the vibrations increased and the ship started emitting shrill sounds. Covering their ears, they sought shelter behind an overturned rowboat. Realizing Susie was not with them, Jack looked back and saw her standing on the shore, arms outstretched and staring directly at the ever-increasing light.
The boys called out her name and yelled for her to come to them but their voices couldn’t be heard above the piercing noises of the missile. Susie stood in a trance, unable or unwilling to move as a shimmering halo surrounded her entire body. The strange craft hovered over her as long-reaching prongs crackled and sparked like electric tentacles. After about 30 seconds, the noises abruptly stopped and the lights dimmed; the missile spun around and shot off like a rocket in the direction from which it came. In an instant it was gone, swallowed up by the blackness of the night.
Susie fell to her knees, shaken and dazed but otherwise seemingly unharmed. The boys raced to their cousin, grabbed her arms and ran back to their hiding place. When Susie felt like she was able to walk, they made their way home; no one spoke a single word.
For a couple of days after the incident, the teens try to tell their parents what had happened. No one took their stories seriously and they eventually stopped talking about it. When a small article about strange sightings in the sky was written up in the newspaper, it was dismissed as a practical joke. As time passed, that night on the beach was never mentioned again.
Life went on as usual for the teens except for Susie. About six years after the incident on Amagansett Beach, Susie became ill with debilitating headaches and terrible pains in her stomach. After a series of tests, doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her yet she continued to suffer. One night while Ben, Jack and Jenny were visiting Susie, the conversation turned to that night on the beach. It was the first time in six years that the cousins spoke about that bizarre event.
Ben told the others of a strange recurring dream that had been haunting him. The room became silent as he quietly described legions of small humanoid creatures with conical heads working in some sort of laboratory. A few of the little men led Ben into a room; in the middle of the room was a large round cushion. Ben was stripped of his clothes, massaged with lotions and given a white robe to wear. He was handed a large vial of liquid and instructed to drink it, then he was told to lie down on the cushion. The last thing he remembered was one someone saying “Let the process begin”.
The silence in the room was broken when Jack declared in a disbelieving voice “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s not possible! I’ve been having the exact same dream!” In a trembling voice Jenny tearfully described her dream of being artificially impregnated and giving birth to numerous ‘alien’ babies. Susie gasped and turned ashen. It was then that she realized she had been having the same dream as Jenny. This was too incredible! The four cousins were shaken to the core by this revelation and had no idea what to make of it. One thing was for certain: they were convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that whatever occurred that night on the beach was causing them to have these dreams.
Susie was overwhelmed by all the talk about the dreams and began to cry. Suddenly she clutched her abdomen and started moaning loudly in extreme pain, begging to be taken to the hospital. Her cousins immediately drove her to the emergency room. The doctors ordered X-rays, an ultrasound and CT scan for Susie; all the tests came back normal and she was sent home. In a voice no stronger than a whisper Susie told her cousins that even though the doctors could find nothing wrong with her, she knew she was very sick. Susie was in a very bad place physically, mentally and emotionally and no one knew what to do to help her. She just wanted to be left alone and to never talk about that horrible night again.
Over the next few months, Susie’s health worsened. At the age of 21, her periods stopped and she went to see her gynecologist; he determined that Susie had at least one miscarriage. She was aghast at what the doctor said and insisted that was impossible because she had not had sex in more than four years. The gynecologist assumed Susie was in a state of denial and referred her to a psychologist but she refused to go. Once again Susie was admitted to the hospital for a dilation and curettage to clear her uterine lining, a common procedure after a miscarriage. Two nights later she died in her sleep at home; an autopsy revealed no known cause of death, no medical reason why she should have died. Susie was just three weeks shy of her 22nd birthday.
Ben, Jack and Jenny were devastated by their cousin’s death; they made a pact that they would never again discuss their dreams or anything about that night on the beach. Eventually things returned to normal and the dreams stopped. The siblings all got married, settled down and raised families and that terrifying night years ago was all but forgotten.
Now here they were, just one month after Ben and Jack’s 75th birthday and reports were surfacing of luminous globes suspended over the waters of Amagansett Beach. Susie’s tragic death and sixty years filled with unanswered questions came rushing back. Despite all the unexplained happenings that Ben, Jack and Jenny experienced, word of these new sightings now left them with an inexplicable compulsion to go back to where it all began.
Is it their need to learn the truth or are they being summoned? Ben, in his typical rational and logical way made the final decision: in memory of Susie and for their own peace of mind they would never return to Amagansett Beach.
In memory of Susie M. (1949-1970)
NAR © 2023
This is the song that was playing on the radio that night on Amagansett Beach – the Beatles singing “Twist and Shout”.
TO THE MOON, ALICE!
Reposting this from 2021. Initially I thought it would be
a good companion piece for today’s “Moon River” post on
At The Movies in The Rhythm Section.
Then I saw Fandango’s comment when this was
originally published (see bottom) and I got all verklempt.
A giant ‘thank you’, Fan; it really is a fine little story,
isn’t it?
❤︎
For as long as I can remember my Uncle Bobby was my idol – the self-proclaimed “Poster Boy for Home Depot”. In fact, I can’t recall a time when he wasn’t fixing this or repairing that. He was the neighborhood handyman, the guy everyone called to replace a broken window or unclog their toilet. He could paint a room like nobody’s business, his cutting-in seams done to perfection without the use of that “sissy painter’s tape”. Yep, he was like a magician, my Uncle Bobby was, and I loved following him around on his odd jobs, delighting at his request for me to hand him a Phillips head screwdriver or a roll of duct tape.
Uncle Bobby was a no-frills kind of guy; what you saw was what you got with him. He was my dad’s brother, living with us in the spare room of our old rambling Victorian house. He must have replaced just about every board of the huge porch that wrapped itself around the house. My mom would complain that the decking looked like a patchwork quilt with no two pieces of wood being exactly the same. Uncle Bobby would always say the same thing: “Don’t worry ‘bout nothing, Margie. They’ll all weather with age and you’ll never be able to tell ‘em apart.” But they never did and the porch truly looked like a jigsaw puzzle.
The biggest problem with Uncle Bobby was the fact that he couldn’t really fix anything that required true skill, like a washing machine or a radio or a power lawnmower. Whenever he attempted such jobs, he’d inevitably have a couple of pieces left over even after he finished putting the whole thing back together! He’d toss all the unused parts into a ten-gallon drum in our basement (which was also his workshop). Funny thing was everything he was asked to repair would work fine for a while, then breakdown after several days anyway. Uncle Bobby would explain that he “fixed the dang thing but it was just its time to go”. I think I was the only one who knew about his stash of leftover essential pieces which doubled in size on a weekly basis.
Truth was Uncle Bobby had more crap in our basement than Carter had liver pills and he was slowly but surely inching his way over to the cramped corner where my mom had her washing machine. She finally put her foot down one day and demanded he either clean up his crap or build a wall around her laundry area so she wouldn’t have to look at all his crap. Rather than clean up the place, Uncle Bobby built mom a wall. Even she had to admit it was the best looking wall she’d ever seen, with a door and everything!
Believe it or not, Uncle Bobby was a genuine ladies’ man and he “cleaned up real nice” as old Mrs. Jenkins liked to say. He’d wash up in the basement using Lava Soap, shave with menthol Barbasol and splash on the Aqua Velva then head out to Kelly’s Place for ribs and a few beers. All the girls liked Uncle Bobby but his favorites were the Andrews twins, Patty and Paula. They didn’t seem to mind the perpetual ring of dirt under Uncle Bobby’s fingernails; no matter how many times he washed his hands that grime stayed put. He said it was “the mark of a hard-working man”.
Uncle Bobby loved watching those old black and white tv shows like Flash Gordon, Superman and The Twilight Zone. He had a real fascination with outer space and anything that could fly. That’s probably why he loved “The Honeymooners” – that classic Jackie Gleason comedy show; he’d laugh his head off every time Ralph Kramden roared his trademark tagline “To the moon, Alice!”
I’ll never forget that one Christmas when I got a remote control airplane; I think Uncle Bobby spent more time playing with that damn thing than I did. He was happy as a pig in slop the day he found a used one at the church tag sale. He’d tinker with that thing every chance he could, making it fly higher and faster. He’d inevitably forget to include a piece or two which he’d just toss into that catch-all drum of his.
So one day out of nowhere right in the middle of dinner Uncle Bobby announced he had his mind set on building a rocket ship. Well, I think everyone thought it was an asinine idea except me and they all laughed it off as him just joking around as usual. But I knew Uncle Bobby better than anyone and he was dead serious. He told me he was gonna use all the bits and pieces and spare parts he’d collected over the years. And what he didn’t have, he’d scavenge for in dumpsters, rubbish piles outside people’s houses or the garbage bins behind Home Depot. Those places were like a magical treasure trove for Uncle Bobby and he always came home with something. “You never know when this might come in handy” he’d declare, proudly showing me a discarded catalytic converter or a manual typewriter.
Well, true to his word Uncle Bobby started construction on his rocket ship the morning of April 1st and the neighbors howled that it was the perfect April Fool’s Day joke ever. But it wasn’t no joke to Uncle Bobby and he worked on that craft every day. He pitched a tent in the backyard, rolled out that giant ten-gallon drum and went at it like a man possessed. And I was his helper; my special assignment was to find him a really good helmet and a cooler which I filled with Hawaiian Punch, bologna sandwiches and Twinkies.
By July 4th Uncle Bobby’s rocket ship was finished. To be honest it looked like a pile of junk but he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever made. He painted it red, white and blue and named it “Independence Day”. By now word had gotten out and the whole neighborhood was there to watch Uncle Bobby attempt to take off into the wild blue yonder. Sporting his best overalls and the cool viking helmet I found for him, he climbed in, waved goodbye and slammed the door shut.
Well, the damn thing sputtered and smoked and made all kinds of weird noises but it suddenly started shaking and actually took off. It was kinda wobbly at first but it just kept on going higher and higher until it disappeared into the clouds. We all stood there with our jaws hanging open, expecting to see the ship come crashing down any second – but it didn’t. We stayed out there for a long time, then gave up and went inside thinking Uncle Bobby would probably just waltz back in when he was good and ready with some great adventure tales to tell.
Damn thing was, we never did see the rocket ship or Uncle Bobby again. Boy, I sure do miss him!
Here’s to you, Rocket Man! Hope you had a great journey, wherever you are. 🚀
NAR © 2021
| Please join me today At The Movies. https://rhythmsection.blog/ |
TRYPOPHOBIA
“Coroner? What do we need the coroner for?” asked Police Sergeant Jefffries. “It’s obvious this poor slob jumped off the roof. Just look at him!”
“Not so fast, Jeffries” snapped Police Captain Russo. “Take a close look at the extensive amount of pimples on this guy. There’s something very strange about them.”
Averse to showing fear but knowing his boss was expecting him to man up, Jeffries crouched down and examined the various array of pustules. God, how he hated those disgusting zits!
“You know what I think, Cap? This guy was some sort of perv into kinky sex and weird stuff. Maybe this is some rare strain of an STD.” Jeffries looked up at his superior hoping to have made a good impression.
“Jeffries, sometimes I wonder how you ever made it onto the force” replied Russo sarcastically. “If you hope to be Lieutenant someday, you better prove you have what it takes. There’s something nefarious going on here and I can see it with my own two eyes. Have this entire area cordoned off and call the coroner pronto. I’ll bet you a week’s worth of doughnuts he’ll agree with my assessment.”
Humiliated again, Jeffries was beginning to think he really wasn’t cut out for this line of work – always tripping over himself and looking like a fool in front of the captain.
When Dr. Rusikoff, the coroner, arrived he took one look at the body and started barking orders: “Get this man in a body bag ASAP! Hold on … make it two bags; I want this guy double wrapped and hauled off to the morgue! I’m gonna call ahead. This body needs to be incinerated immediately. Jeffries! Make yourself useful and get a crew to scrub down this sidewalk with the strongest disinfectant you can find.”
Jeffries felt like a lackey but did as he was told. After the street was cleaned up he asked the coroner “Dr. Rusikoff, what’s going on here?”
The coroner looked at Jeffries as if he was an idiot. “Isn’t it obvious, Sergeant? Those aren’t pimples; they’re sacs and they didn’t appear naturally. These ghastly things were caused by some sort of aggressive virus manufactured in a lab. Both Russo and I could clearly see organisms moving around inside just waiting to bust out. I heard about this same thing happening in Gongabu in the Kathmandu Valley. Believe you me, Jeffries, it was a nightmare of epic proportions.”
Captain Russo ordered everyone back to the station. “Not you, Jeffries. You’re done for tonight. Report back tomorrow.”
Talk about getting cut off at the knees! “I’m such a loser! I need a drink, a decent lay and some excitement in my miserable life” Jeffries thought.
He began walking aimlessly about and found himself outside ‘Bar Kathmandu’, the sleaziest dump he’d ever seen. Jeffries drank way too much and woke up the next morning with a killer hangover and a stabbing pain in his neck. That pock-marked hooker must have slipped him one hell of a mickey. Stumbling to the bathroom, he looked into the mirror and let out a blood-curdling scream; he was completely covered in throbbing pimples. Just before his head erupted Jeffries saw thousands of tiny grotesque creatures breaking through their sacs and scurrying off.
Who will their next host be? They may be heading in your direction! And for fuck’s sake, stay out of ‘Bar Kathmandu’!
NAR © 2020
The Elephant's Trunk 