Mixterns (A Fantasy), Part II of II Parts

dontravis.com blog post #351

  

Courtesy of PNGtree.com

You guys are strangely silent. Maybe not into Fantasy. Or perhaps, your author’s not into it, and the posts show it. Whatever the case, you are now being exposed to the second and final installment to the story.

*****

MIXTERNS

          I didn’t hear them, but Brute did. He hopped off the couch and ran to the front door barking his head off. And from outside the door, came, “Yip, yip, yip!” He scuttled back to the couch and wiggled his way underneath it.

          Something brushed against the back door.

          “Go ‘way! I shouted.”

          “Go ‘way!” the thing echoed.

          I heard others at the windows. The creatures had surrounded the house. I snatched up the tactical flashlight, ran to the closest window, and pressed the lens against the pane before switching the light to strobe. By the flickering light, I saw a monster outside, but he wasn’t flinching, and his head wasn’t deflating. He wasn’t doing anything but peering in the window, his eyes covered by something dark. Sunglasses! Well, not like any I’d ever seen, but they must have done the same thing. When he swung an arm at me, I dropped the curtain and scrambled backward on my behind. I heard it scrape the glass, but the window didn’t break.

          I scrambled up and ran to my room. Without knowing why, I put on my Cut Scout uniform. Maybe my brains were scrambled from terror, but I felt more prepared. Until Brute started going crazy in the living room, that is. Then I heard a different kind of yelp.

         Racing back to the front room with my weapon—it wasn’t just a flashlight anymore—I found one of the creatures holding a terrified Brute by the nape of his neck. I’d have thought my buddy was dead but for his eyes frantically searching the room for me.

          “Leave him alone!” I yelled and rushed forward with the light strobing fiercely. I didn’t get       far. Something snatched the flashlight from my hand and lifted me off my feet with what felt like a cable wrapped around my chest. It took a second to realize it was another creature holding me against him. Before I lost reason to terror, I remember thinking the thing wasn’t flesh and blood at all. It was a machine, like in that old movie the War of the Worlds. But it wasn’t metal imprisoning me. Not flesh, either. Not human flesh, anyway. It was something in between.

          No matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t get free. Kicking the thing holding me didn’t seem to bother him. He marched out the back door, which they’d opened without kicking it in, and started for the potato field. Others fell in beside him, making me think of army guys marching in step. An occasional whine let me know the one carrying Brute was right behind me.

          In the trek across the yard and the field, I forgot to be scared, especially as we neared the big ship sitting partially buried in the mud. Big and black and mysterious, it had a ramp in the side where we seemed to be headed. Lord, were they kidnapping us? I mumbled the first prayer I thought of, which was the one about laying me down to sleep, as fear took possession of me again.

          Several of the creatures swarmed around holding what looked like tools, working at another hole in the side. One that seemed like a compartment of some sort. As scared as I was, a little common sense penetrated my brain. Something had happened to their ship. They’d crashed—it seemed more like a crash landing—and were trying to repair things. A thousand-million crickets seemed to be chirping like crazy as they chattered among themselves. A sudden bolt of lightning struck about a mile or so beyond old man Wilson’s farm across the road, and every one of the creatures ducked. The ones without the sunglasses—or whatever—held arms or tentacles to their heads. Then they went about their business again.

          Light! They couldn’t stand white light. That’s why all the lights around us were blue.

          We entered the ship and went straight to a big hall where one of the creatures sat in a big chair raised up like it was a throne or something. A few other creatures clustered around a nearby table studying something, maybe the operating manual for this big airship. The chirping noises stopped as they all turned to stare at us through huge uncovered eyes as we neared.

          The one holding me threw me to the floor before the throne; the other one dropped Brute. As my fearless protector scrambled over to cower between my legs, the creature holding my flashlight bowed before the one on the throne and handed over my weapon. The thing in the chair examined it briefly, accidentally turning it on. Everyone cowered before the flashing light, but the creature managed to get it turned off. Suddenly, he leveled a finger or claw or something in between at me and emitted a loud, scratchy sound My knees went weak, almost dumping me on top of Brute.

          Another creature, bent and leaning on a stick of some kind, addressed the creature cricketing at me. The king or chief or ship’s captain or whatever he was stopped chirping and looked at me. He extended a long, cable-like arm and raised his chin—if he’d had one. I blurted the only thing I could think of.

          “I’m T-Tommy.”

          “I’m T-Tommy,” he parroted.

          I shook my head and managed to keep from stuttering. “Tommy.”

          He leaned back and pursed tiny lips. “Tommy.” He folded his long whip-like arm and touched his chest. “Akachetto.” He waved his arm toward the others and said something that sounded like “Mixterns,” so that’s what they became to me.

          He chirped some more, and others came bearing what looked to be stretchers. They folded back metallic blankets to expose two of the creatures with withered heads. I caught my breath and exclaimed, “Dead?”

          “Dead” he parroted, pointing first to me and then to the forms lying before him. “Tommy. Dead.”

          My heart about jumped out of my chest before I figured out he was trying to ask a question. I nodded and said. “Accident. It was an accident!”

          “Accident.” He chirped back and forth with the old one before nodding at Brute. One of the creatures snatched him up before I could protest.

          “No!” I yelled as they handed my pet to the old one. He pulled out something that looked like a hypodermic, except it had no needle. He pressed it against Brute’s neck, and the thing made a hissing sound. Brute yelped and went limp. One of the others—guards, I guess—handed Brute to me.

          The touch of his soft, fur, the half-closed lids on his once-bright eyes released me from my paralysis. “You killed him! You killed my dog!” Tears came flooding, making speech impossible.

          “Bobby dead Mixterns,” the thing on the throne said. “Akachetto dead dog.”

          At his bidding, the guards shoved me in a far corner of the big hall and stood by as the minutes and hours tolled. I sobbed over my dead friend until exhaustion brought me a troubled peace.

          Loud, excited chirping roused me. Mixterns came flooding into the ship, jabbering at one another like crickets gone wild. At last, Akachetto took his place on the throne and one of the creatures bowed before cricketing at him rapid fire. Akachetto nodded and pointed in my direction. The guards came for me while the rest scurried about like they were on a mission. And I guess they were. The problem with the ship was probably fixed. Now we’d soar off into space, and I’d never see Mom or Dad again. I tuned up for a little crying before the two guards prodded me to my feet and herded me through the ship, me still holding my dead friend. Then I saw the ramp. Were they gonna let me go? Before they shoved me through the hatch, the old one with a cane appeared with his syringe in hand.

          I jerked away. “You can’t kill him twice!” Leave him alone.” Oh, Lord! Was he gonna use it on me and leave our bodies in the potato field?

          The old one ignored me and pressed the thing to Brute’s neck. It hissed again before I managed to tear away and run down the ramp. I didn’t stop until I got to the windbreak, then I turned, expecting to see the creatures coming for me.

          But they weren’t. The ramp was folding in upon itself, and the hatch was closing. They were leaving. I felt movement in my arms. I glanced down through the still-dark night and saw Brute give a big yawn. Then he reached up and licked my face.

          “Brute! You’re not dead!”

          Joy flooded my whole being. My friend was back. They’d undeaded him.

          I glanced up as a loud hum built. The earth shook as the craft pulled itself out of the mud with a big sucking sound. It hovered a moment a few feet off the ground before moving straight up in the air and then simply vanishing.

          Putting Brute down, I skipped around to the back door, which still stood open. I examined the door and the frame but didn’t find any damage. How’d they get in?

All of a sudden I was so tired, I almost didn’t make it to the couch. I’d barely stretched out with Brute snuggled against my belly when I passed out.

          I woke at the sound of my mom’s voice “Tommy! Tommy! Let us in.”

          “He’s barred the door. Smart kid. I’ll go around back,” my dad said.

          I still wasn’t completely awake when he came into the room and headed for the front door.    “How you doing, sport?” he asked, as he let my mother in.

          “Fine,” I mumbled. Then I came awake. The Mixterns. I needed to tell….

          But my lips remained sealed. I’d probably dreamed it all. Bad dream. Nightmare. Except… it came out all right.”

          “Tommy,” my mother exclaimed. “Why are you in your scout uniform? And there’s mud all over your boots. Did you go outside?”

          “Yes’m. For a minute.”

          Despite that, I convinced myself last night had been a dream… until my dad looked out the window and exploded.

          “What the hell happened to my potato patch?”

*****

Okay, the ordeal is over, and I’m freed of my compulsion to try something new. Let me know what you think of the effort.

Dreamspinner’s publishing date for my next BJ Vinson book, The Voxlightner Scandal, is November 19, 2019. A buy link follows:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)

                                                                                                    

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

Mixterns (A Fantasy), Part I of II Parts

dontravis.com blog post #350

  

Courtesy of PNGTree.com

I’m not a Sci-Fi or Fantasy writer (although I’ve done a couple of short stories), but the yarn that follows inserted itself in my head, so there was noting to do but write it. That’s all I have to say on the subject. You can have the final say after you’ve read both parts of the story.

*****

MIXTERNS

          I must have been pretty grown up for my folks to leave me alone at home after dark. Alone except for Brute my gray Schnauzer, that is. My parents had gone to a birthday party at Aunt Mitzi’s and Uncle Darrell’s house in town, but I’d begged off. Wouldn’t be any kids there, and the gifts would be grown-up things. The TV in our living room was more interesting than a bunch of people talking about things I didn’t care anything about.

          The freak thunderstorm rattling the shutters took a little wind out of my sails until Brute plopped down on the couch beside me with his head in my lap. But just as Marshal Dillon was about to draw down on a sneaky bad guy, the television went black. I hadn’t even had time to recover from that before the lights went out too. My heart lurched as I sat in the dark, watching a dying spot of light on the TV set.

          I didn’t panic—maybe scared a little but didn’t panic. Heck, I was ten-years-old and a Cub Scout to boot. In a couple of years, I’d be a Boy Scout, and they were always prepared. I groped my way in the darkness, listening to the rain thump on the roof and rattle against the glass panes, until I reached the kitchen cabinet where dad kept the big tactical flashlight he’d bought for emergencies like this. Long and heavy as a club, it cut a big swath through the darkness when I managed to get it on. I liked to make it strobe, so that’s the way I set it, but the flickering light made walking back to the living room too uncertain. I made it quit.

          I no sooner sat down on the couch again than the telephone on the table in the hallway rang. I scooted over, wondering how come the phone worked when nothing else did. It was my mom.

          “Are you all right, Tommy?”

          “Yes, ma’am. Raining like blue blazes and the lights went off, but me’n Brute are okay.”

          “You know where the flashlight—”

          “Yes’m. I got it right here.”

          “Your father wants to speak to you.”

          After a moment he came on the line.

          “You okay, sport?”

          “Yessir.”

          “There’s been a flash flood at the creek, so your mom and I won’t be able to get back home for quite a while. Maybe not until morning. You all right with that?”

          “Y-yes, sir.”

          Was that something moving in the corner? I swung the flashlight around. Nothing there.

          “I—”

          A big crash followed by a bright light made me just about jump out of my skin. The phone went dead in my hands. Lightning. Close. I stood quietly as chill bumps puckered my skin. I swallowed hard and spoke into the dead phone. “Brute and me’ll be all right, Dad.”

          After I crawled onto the couch again and got over that scare, things didn’t seem so bad, even though the old house made noises I’d never noticed before. The rain passed, but the wind that came after it kept my mom’s rose bushes scratching at the front window like they were trying to get in. My heart stopped racing when Brute lifted his head and gave a big yawn. He was asleep before his head hit my lap again. Nothing to worry about.

          With nothing else to do, I fiddled with the flashlight, making it strobe, widening the lens so half the room was alight and then narrowing it down so I could pretend a laser was boring a hole in the wall. Eventually, it dawned on me that I’d better save the batteries. When I shut it off, everything was as black as I’d ever seen it before. Long before my usual bedtime, my batteries needed recharging, and I dozed. I must have, because I came awake with a start when the bang came. Bang… it was more of a crash. Or a crash bang. From outside somewhere.

          When I turned on the tactical flash, Brute was standing on the couch, looking out the west window. “Yap!” he barked. Then he followed with some yips before hopping off the sofa and going to stand on his hind legs at the window. I was right on his heels, but the glass reflected back in my eyes, so I killed the flashlight. As soon as I recovered my night vision, I saw a bluish glow coming from the potato field my dad left fallow this season.

          “What’s that?” I asked.

          Brute answered with a bunch of yips and yaps.

          Before long, curiosity won out over fright, and I pulled on a jacket against a night colder than it oughta be and took the flashlight outside on the front porch, Brute hard on my heels. The storm had passed but lightning still played in the distance. Peering through the moonless night, I made out something big and indistinct in the far field. The glow came from there. I couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be shapes moving around in the blue light. Maybe someone needed help. But who? There ought not be anyone in our potato field. The only thing I could think of was an airplane crash.

         With a glance at the boiling clouds overhead, I abandoned the porch and walked through a stiff headwind toward the distant glow. I hadn’t even reached the edge of the yard before I came to a dead stop. Something in the windbreak line of elms caught my eye. A shape. Like a man… sort of. My heart went crazy when he moved forward. Brute went down on his forelegs, his rear end in the air, and growled.

          The hair on my neck prickled when the thing—it sure wasn’t a man—made a noise like a cricket, except a lot louder.

          I managed to get my words out without stuttering. “Who’s there?”

          “Who’s there?” came back at me.

          “I-I’m Tommy Schmidt. I live here.”

          “I-I’m Tommy Schmidt. I live here,” the thing said.

          “No, you’re not! I’m Tommy.”

          “No, you’re—”

          “Stop that!” I yelled. Freaked, I switched on the flashlight, but in my excitement, I set it to strobing, surprising me as much as it did the man… the thing. The flickering light exposed a big head and huge eyes over two holes where a nose should have been. The next blink of light showed the thing’s head wrinkling, like it was collapsing. With a horrible shriek, the creature fell to the ground and lay still.

          “Good Lord, Almighty, what happened?” I muttered aloud.

          I about jumped out of my boots when another voice came back at me. “Good Lord, Almighty, what happened?”

          Brute was halfway back to the house before I had time to swing the strobing light to another big-headed, pale man… creature… thing, who flung hands or claws to his face as his head seemed to collapse too.

          Other shapes moved, but they seemed to be retreating. So did I, catching up with Brute on the front steps. We almost tripped one another getting through the door. I slammed it, latched it, and for good measure, lowered the bar that Dad had installed when we had a rash of robberies in the area a year back to hold it fast. Then I locked the back door—wishing it had a bar too—and latched all the windows, closing the curtains as I did so.

          After that, I collapsed on the couch and held a terrified Schnauzer tight against my chest until my heart quit thumping and some of the panic ebbed.

          “What were those things?” I asked aloud. Brute didn’t bother to answer, he just burrowed deeper into my armpit.

          Fear shrank and curiosity grew. I got off the couch and went to the west window. Pulling the curtain aside enough to peek outside, I saw that blue glow in the distance. Then something blotted out the light, and I made out the faint shape of a creature’s head right outside the glass pane. Except I couldn’t see the big eyes. Something was covering them.

          Giving a yelp that matched Brute’s yip, I dropped the curtain and ran back to the couch, curling into a ball and clutching a shivering dog close against me.

   

 *****

There you have it. The first half of the story, at any rate. See you for the finish next Thursday.

Dreamspinner’s publishing date for my next BJ Vinson book, The Voxlightner Scandal, is November 19, 2019. A buy link follows:  http://www.dsppublications.com/books/upcoming-releases-c

Now my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

My personal links: (Note the change in the Email address because I’m still getting remarks on the old dontravis21@gmail.com. PLEASE DON’T USE THAT ONE.)

                                                                                                    

Email: don.travis@aol.com.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982

Twitter: @dontravis3

Buy links to Abaddon’s Locusts:

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-486-b

https://www.dsppublications.com/books/abaddons-locusts-by-don-travis-487-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Abaddons-Locusts-Vinson-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B07JLHKJLY

Apple: https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/abaddons-locusts/id1439968525

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/abaddon-s-locusts

Google: https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=R0Z0DwAAQBAJ

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/abaddons-locusts-don-travis/1129769593

See you next week.

Don

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

The Warren Trading Post Caper (Part Three)

The Warren Trading Post Caper has taught me a valuable lesson. If you’re going to post a serialized story to your blog … finish the thing before you put up the first installment. As I said last week, this tale has taken on a life of its own. The story went from two-parter, to a three-parter, and now to a four-parter. All unintentional, folks.

Last week, we ended the story when Detective Walter Black of the New Mexico State Police confronts Frank Lund and Big Hat after interviewing Lund’s wife, Marlene, who although confused, insists she was abducted by aliens.

                                                                       *****

                                       THE WARREN TRADING POST CAPER (Part 3)

The investigation seemed to be going nowhere, which was ridiculous. You don’t beat a hole in an adobe wall, haul off a thousand-pound safe, abduct a woman, and leave no clues behind. Detective Black wasn’t doing his job so far as I was concerned.

Of course, Marlene wasn’t being much help. Whenever asked about the ordeal, her eyes went out of focus and she insisted she didn’t remember anything. Black sent her to a state shrink of some kind, but he didn’t help much. In fact, he set me back on my heels. He was skinny – emaciated, really – and had a big head sort of like an alien. One of those aliens from “up there.”

My wife stayed home in Albuquerque for three solid months under the care of a therapist and was making progress … until the phone calls started. I took the first one at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Awakened from a sound sleep, I wasn’t too sharp as I fumbled for the phone beside the bed. Silence greeted my slurred “hello.”

“Hello!” I repeated in a firmer voice. “Who’s there? Do you know what time it is?”

Silence.

I sat up on the side of the bed. “Hello! Answer me or go to hell!”

A strange whine came over the line. Faint at first, and then increasingly loud. I slammed the old fashioned Princess phone down with a bang.

“What’s going on? Who was that?” Marlene scooted up against the headboard, the covers held tight against her chest. Two marks like snakebite fangs we’d discovered on her left shoulder after the abduction almost seemed to glow in the semi-darkness. She’d taken to insisting we sleep with the bathroom door open so the nightlight spilled into room.

“Wrong number, I guess. At least nobody spoke.”

“I-it’s them!” Her voice was almost a shriek. “They’re coming for me again.”

“Nonsense. It was some drunk trying to call home.”

The phone rang again. It seemed shriller than usual in the quiet room. Darlene leaned across me and snatched it up.”

“What do you want?” she yelled. “Leave me alone!” Five seconds later she re-cradled the phone and flopped down on the bed in a fetal position.

I spooned up against her. “Who was it? What did they say?”

Her body shook. “It’s them. They want me to go back to the trading post.”

I got out of bed and reached for my robe. “You aren’t going, but I am.”

“No!” The word came out as a wail. “They said me. Alone.”

I grabbed the phone and started dialing the number Detective Black had left me. Marlene snatched the instrument from my hand.

“Don’t. Please. I don’t want that man prying around in my life again. Just hold me, Frank. Make love to me.”

Making love wasn’t my priority right at that moment, but she held onto me so desperately, I couldn’t help but respond. In a few moments, I was thinking of nothing but the handsome woman beneath me responding to my attentions. In an unusually aggressive but very pleasing way.

#####

The eerie phone calls came again the next night. I answered the first and got the whining sound once again. Faint. Loud. Then faint again before the connection was broken. Marlene took the second one, listened momentarily, and then reacted in the same terrified way. Followed by demanding and giving tremendous sexual release.

I called Detective Black from my office the next morning without letting Marlene know what I intended. He questioned me carefully about the dates and times of the calls and promised to get back in touch with me.

The following day, he phoned me at the office.

“Anonymous cell phone,” he said without preamble. “Untraceable, although I can tell you some of the calls came from the vicinity of your home, and others went through cell towers that were consistent with being near the Warren Trading Post.”

“So we’re at a dead end?”

“At present. We can install some equipment at home so you can record the calls. We might be able to tell something from a recording.”

Marlene must have suspected I had contacted Black because she surprised me by putting up only a token resistance to the idea. The very next night after two technicians attached a little device to the bedroom phone, the phone rang at two in the morning. I answered and got the whining noise. A little more aggressive this time. She answered a second call, listened for a moment, and then handed the phone to me. All I caught was a dead receiver, but Black’s little device allowed us to listen to both the whine of my call and a strange, halting, metallic voice on hers that told her to “Come home now.”

“Why won’t they leave me alone? Oh, God! What did I do to deserve this?” She flew into my arms, the terror replaced by want. “Frank, make love to me! Make me forget!”

That night, it was not Frank Lund who made love to his wife. It was his wife who turned into a nymphomaniac siren and wore me plumb out.

*****

To be continued… once again. I can hardly wait to see how it comes out. I still don’t know. Haven’t finished it yet.

As always, thanks for reading. And take a look around the blog site while you’re here.

New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

The Warren Trading Post Caper (Continued)

This thing has taken on a life of its own and demanded a longer telling. The story has turned into a three-parter. Sorry about that. Last week, we ended the story when Frank Lund called the County Sheriff’s Office after finding his wife’s remote trading post in the western part of New Mexico looted and his wife missing.

*****

THE WARREN TRADING POST CAPER (Part 2)

The county cops immediately called in the state police, and within an hour a detective by the name of Walter Black drove into the parking lot and got out of his unmarked car. After perfunctory introductions, John and I escorted him inside the trading post where he inspected the gaping hole near the spot where the missing safe had sat. He looked over the scene much more dispassionately than either one of us.

“You say your wife is missing, Mr. Lund?”

I confirmed this fact and said she wasn’t answering her cell phone before I provided a description of Marlene Warren Lund, a five-foot, two, 110-pound blonde with sky blue eyes and fetching dimples. In response to a question, I advised that I had last spoken to her at 5:00 a.m. this morning on the rather disjointed telephone call that sent me racing to the trading post. I had not seen her since the prior Sunday when I left for Albuquerque. I informed the detective  the missing safe was a large container weighing approximately 1000 pounds, big enough to accommodate all of the pawn items the trading post held.

In the midst of his interview, the state’s forensics team arrived, and one of its members pulled Black aside. A few moments later he returned with a quizzical look on his face.

“Either of you know anything about some sort of craft flying in this area last night or early this morning? A helicopter, maybe.”

Both John and I shook our heads. “Don’t know anything about it,” I said.

“You know anyone with a chopper or a small plane?”

Neither of us had personal knowledge of such craft, but John mentioned that the gas plant owned a helicopter. About that time, the head of the forensics team chased us outside. Black warned us not to leave the area, and then went around behind the trading post to take a closer look at the outbuildings. I leaned against the fender of my car and worried about my wife while John took out a can of tobacco and rolled a cigarette. After I declined his offer of one, he lit the crude affair with an old-fashioned wooden match and settled back to wait with me. John wasn’t much of a talker, but somehow his presence was welcome. He was a connection to Marlene’s past and that was comforting.

Black came from around behind the main building talking earnestly on his telephone. As he drew near, it was apparent  he was concentrating on trying to run down the aircraft, or whatever it was, that someone had reported seeing near dawn this morning. Judging from his end of the conversation, things weren’t going well. All anyone had really seen were lights flashing in the general area.

After the detective reentered the trading post, John bestirred himself to speak. “Big Hat ain’t gonna take this too good. He’s gonna come flying when he hears about it. You better get ready.”

I knew all about Big Hat. Or at least the tall, good-looking Indian that hung out under the gigantic Stetson. His name was Charles Menda, but nobody ever called him anything but Big Hat. Even Marlene called him that when they were going together. They’d been an item for a couple of years before we hooked up. As a result, Big Hat wasn’t too kindly disposed toward me.

“You keep that guy away from me, you hear?”

John gave an uneasy chuckle. “I don’t keep him away from nobody. He don’t ask my permission.”

Black came outside and beckoned me over. “Mr. Lund, the Albuquerque Police tell me your wife is at home.”

“At home? And the police are there. Is she all right?”

“Seems to be unharmed. Confused, but unharmed.”

“How did she get there? Her car’s in the garage out back.” Another thought struck. “And why are the police there?”

“I asked them to check the house. The detective I spoke to said she’s confused about what’s happened. Said she seems disoriented.”

“I’ve got to go to her.” I turned to John. “Can you get someone to seal up the hole in the wall?”

Black spoke up. “You stay right where you are. I’m having her brought here.”

“Why? She’ll be better off at home.”

“This is where the crime was committed. So this is where I want her.”

Black was adamant, so I switched from protesting to making arrangements with John for his brother-in-law, who did some construction work on the nearby reservation, to patch the hole in the trading post’s wall after the forensics team turned the building back over to us. After that, I tried to phone the house in Albuquerque, but got no answer. Apparently, Marlene was already on the way.

#####

My wife and the Albuquerque police and Big Hat all got to the trading post at the same time. Marlene got out of the police cruiser and sort of wobbled over to me. When I enfolded her in my arms, she began crying.

“It’s okay, honey. You’re safe.” I noticed Big Hat watching from the cab of his truck.

“It was horrible, Frank. Horrible!”

“What was?”

Black stepped up and stood uncomfortably close. “Mrs. Lund, I’m Detective Walter Black of the State Police. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything until after I interview you. We can go to your living quarters at the rear of the store where you’ll be more comfortable.”

I insisted I was going with them, but Black was just as insistent that I wasn’t. He and his badge outweighed me and my wedding license. They entered the building without me.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Big Hat got out of a blue Dodge Ram pickup outfitted with a host of steel boxes. He was a mechanic who apparently hauled his tools around with him.

That huge brown Stetson floating toward me atop a lean, six-two Indian seemed to exude suppressed violence. “Lund, I find out you had anything to do with this, I’ll take you down personally.”

I drew up to my full five foot-nine height and poked a finger at him. “She’s my wife, Big Hat, and I’ll thank you to keep out of our business.”

“She might be your wife, but she’s my friend. What’s going on? Tell me right now.”

John stepped between us. “Take it easy, man. We don’t none of us know what this is all about.” He shrugged. “Other than taking out the west wall of the post and hauling off a big safe. Oh, yeah, and some lights hovering around somewhere about dawn this morning.”

We spent fifteen minutes arguing and making threats while John patiently filled Big Hat in on what little we knew. After that, a sullen silence grew as we waited another three-quarters of an hour until Black emerged from the post. Marlene wasn’t with him. Big Hat and I both started for the door.

“Hold on there,” the detective said. “Who’re you?” He addressed the Indian.

“My name’s Charles Menda, and Marlene Warren is a friend of mine.”

I forgot for the moment he was bigger and tougher than I was. “Marlene Lund, you lunkhead,”

He ignored me. “What did Marlene tell you?”

Black paused for a moment before answering. “That she was abducted.”

“Abducted,” I said. “Abducted by who?”

The detective speared me with his eyes. “Aliens.”

“You mean Mexicans?” Big Hat asked.

Brown lifted a finger skyward. “No, I mean aliens.”

*****

To be continued…again. Hope it’s been interesting enough to draw you back one more time.

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