Charity groaned aloud as she read the name and number off her cell phone's screen. The vibrant ringing of the phone beat out the melody to
Mozart as she debated whether to answer the call. It was Joe, again.
He has probably gotten pictures of Bigfoot and cannot wait to get verification. Sighing to herself, Charity pushed the talk button and held the phone to her ear.
"Aliens!"
Charity held the phone a few inches away from her ear and snorted in disgust. She could hear him launching into one of his verbal frenzies.
"What is it this time, Joe?" Charity interrupted him.
"Aliens, Char, aliens! They appeared right in the middle of the living room, well, actually, I think they came out of the fireplace, but this is huge! You have gotta' come over, Char. I'm going to need your help with this,"
Charity reached to pinch the bridge of her nose. He was going to need her help all right...right to the doctor's office for an increase in his medication.
"Calm down, Joe. Remember to breath, you're going to start hyperventilating," Charity said, reminding herself to breath as well.
"Calm Down! Calm Down! I can't calm down, they're here right now," Joe's tinny voice screamed at her.
"Joe, slow down. Tell me can you see them right now?" She asked him softly.
"Well, yea. I've got some of them tied up actually."
The claxon of alarm bells went off inside Charity's head. Oh no no no! The mental image of a group of girl scouts knocking on Joe's door to sell cookies and naturally being mistaken for beings from another planet flew into Charity's mind. At least natural for Joe anyway.
"Joe, I'm coming right over." Charity was already outside of her house and unlocking the rust bucket of a truck she owned as she spoke.
"Good and Char, hurry."
Charity turned off the phone and shoved it into her purse. Joe finally did it. He has managed to kidnap someone and now there is nothing I can do to keep them from locking him up in some institute or worse they'll shove him into some jail cell with a big guy named "Bubba"
The rusty truck sped down the driveway into the road. Its rear bumper hanging perilously close to the ground as Charity steadily broke the speed limit in higher and higher increments. Scary scenarios played themselves out in her head as she drove. Many of them involving a police shoot out and ending with Joe dead.
The sun was setting behind Joe's old farmhouse when Charity pulled into the long driveway. It looked like the orange-yellow yolk of an egg trying to break and seep into the endless fields of corn. The farmhouse itself was white and as stolid as it always seemed. Joe's gray van sat in front of the porch and Joe himself was waiting for her. Charity's breath froze when she saw that he had the old rifle his father gave him one Christmas many years ago. Joe waved a look of happy relief on his face.
Charity turned off the truck and grabbed her purse. Inside was a can of pepper spray she could use on him if worse came to worst. Other than that, there was nothing she could do but try to talk him down.
"After a while, I started to think you didn't believe me and weren't going to come," Joe said, walking up to her.
Charity approached him warily, Joe was her friend but when he was off his medication, there was always cause for caution.
"Of course I'd come. Joe didn't I tell you that I'd always come if you needed help."
Joe's smile faltered. He waved his free hand feebly in a downcast motion. "I know how it looks, Char. I'm not off the meds. These really are aliens."
Charity studied him. Joe seemed calmer now, his appearance was well kept, not disheveled or wild the way it would be when he didn't take his pills.
"All right then, show me." She said quietly.
Joe gave her a weak smile and turned to lead the way into the house. The first thing Charity noticed when she stepped inside the smell of ashes. It seemed to permeate the house. Joe had not turned on any of the lights yet and the interior was getting dark.
He led her to the living room. Here she saw the reason for the smoky smell in the house. It seemed as if something had exploded in the fireplace, spewing burnt logs and ash all over. There were signs of a struggle as well. Furniture was turned upside down and strange gash marks stretched along the walls.
"They were using these like weapons." Joe said pulling what appeared to be four sticks out of his jacket pocket. She held out her hand and Joe hesitated a moment before relinquishing the items. Charity examined one in the fading light.
It was about twelve inches long, black and polished to a high sheen. A disturbing thrill raced through Charity as she caressed the strange object. The base appeared to be a small-carved cylinder at the blunt end, about half an inch wider than the stick itself and Charity could find no seams where it had been attached, only smooth wood. Almost like a wand or something, she thought.
Charity frowned. Your starting to think like Joe there, Char. She carefully put it and the others into her purse, ignoring the longing look Joe gave her.
A sudden muffled whimpering made Charity jump closer to him. "What was that?"
It was Joe's turn to frown at her as if she were crazy. "It was one of them," he said.
"Where?" She whispered wide-eyed.
Joe reached over and flipped on the light switch. He stared pointedly behind her. Charity steeled herself against what she feared she might find before turning around.
Lined up against the wall were four people gagged with masking tape, their arms tied behind their backs, and each one dressed as if they were from medieval times.
Charity stared at the four people in shock. This was it, this was really it. Joe had four strangers tied and gagged in his own living room...and she was an accomplice. Charity shook her head to clear her mind of that particular thought.
The muffled sounds were coming from a redheaded youth to Charity's immediate right. He was looking up at her with a sort of desperate hope, begging her to let them all go free. Another youth, smaller than his companion had wild black hair and glasses. He watched a spot on the floor intently. There was an angry, determined look about him. Beside him an elderly woman with her hair coming loose from it's once tight bun merely looked Charity in the eye firmly. The last person, a man perhaps in his mid to late thirties lay almost exactly at Charity's feet, a black cloak spread out underneath him. His shoulder length black hair hung across the man's face partially concealing his features including a rather large hooked nose.
He appeared to be unconscious, but a dark smattering of blood oozed from his forehead and his skin was alarmingly pale. Charity feared he might be dead.
"That one's been passed out since I first found him," Joe said noticing Charity's direction of interest. "He and another one were the first to appear. I heard a crash coming from in here and came in to investigate. That is when I saw this one fighting with another one. They were using those sticks on each other, beams of light were shooting all over the living room, 'kinda like Star Wars you know,"
"There's another person?" Charity questioned softly.
"Well, he shot that dark one and ran outside. I grabbed my rifle and went out after him," Joe shrugged his shoulders, "but it was like he disappeared. When I came back inside these other ones were here and I just knew, Char, these are aliens."
Charity turned to glare at Joe, "They look like people to me Joe,"
"They're wearing disguises, come on Char, look at the way they're dressed. It's like they ended up in the wrong time period," Joe said.
"So now they're from the future, is that what you're telling me Joe?"
Joe frowned at her again and for a moment, Charity could see the shadow of doubt cross his face. "Well, I don't think they're from the future...but they definitely aren't normal!"
Charity turned to look down at the small group. They did look strange, but certainly not otherworldly.
"Why don't we just ask one of them? There's probably a certainly good explanation for everything."
Joe didn't look like he quite believed her but muttered his consent anyway. Charity gave him a weak smile before turning back to the group. She bent down next to the redhead teenager. Deciding he looked scared enough to rat out Al Capone himself.
"Yeowch!" He cried out as she ripped the duct tape off his mouth. The youth took several deep breaths glancing around the room fearfully. "Please don't hurt us. I just want to go back, please let us go-"
"Slow down; slow down, no one's going to hurt you. We're going to get everything straightened out, okay?" Charity told the boy. She felt weird trying to calm down teenager who was only six or so years younger than she was. When did I become the mature one? Charity thought quietly.
"Yea...eah, ok-okay," He responded.
Charity picked out a British accent from the few words he spoke. Clue one, she thought, aliens from outer space do not sound like Englishmen.
"My name is Charity, this is Joe," she said motioning to where Joe was standing, "Can I ask you what your name is?"
"Uh, it's Ronald...Ron," he said nervously.
"Ron, good...Umm, my friend Joe is a little mixed up-"
"He's crazy." Ron interrupted.
Joe stepped towards the youth in a threatening manner. "Joe!" Charity yelled at him. Joe muttered something about aliens and mind control, but stepped back to his original spot.
She turned once more to the teenager. "Joe is unsure about exactly who you are and how you all came to be in his living room. I was wondering if you could explain."
Ron licked his lips and glanced at the boy next to him, who seemed to have been watching them. He was scowling at Ron.
"We're, uh...we-"
"Are you exchange students or something?" Charity asked.
"Yeah!" Ron pounced on the easy explanation. Charity did not believe him but she was ready to supply the boy with the answer to every question she asked him if it would convince Joe to let these people go.
"You're from England? Are you people theatre students? Is that why you're dressed so strange?"
"Yeah, exchange students, from Britain-" the teenager nodded eagerly, swallowing every spoonful Charity fed him.
Charity sat back on her heels. She motioned to each of the adults. The man had fallen forward from the wall a little and his head lolled about like a rag dolls. Charity sincerely hoped he was not dead.
"...And these two are your?"
"Huh? Uh, my professors! They're my professors," He stated.
Charity smiled at the youth. She stood up and went back to stand in front of Joe. "See Joe, a perfectly reasonable explanation."
"Then why did they show up in my house?" He asked her, his arms folded across his chest.
"We didn't know anyone lived here. It was a mistake!" Ron yelled from behind Charity.
Charity smiled, again. "It was a mistake," she said parroting the boy, "you should really put a fresh coat of paint on the house Joe. People are starting to think it's abandoned."
Joe frowned, that look of self-doubt crossed his face again. Charity almost had him convinced that these were indeed people and not aliens.
"What about the beams of light I saw coming from those stick things?"
Charity didn't miss a beat, "Theatrics, props. They were probably rehearsing the parts for some play and didn't realize anyone lived here." It mattered not that Charity was having trouble believing the story herself, only that she convinced Joe it was true, after that the police could straighten things out.
Mozart as she debated whether to answer the call. It was Joe, again.
He has probably gotten pictures of Bigfoot and cannot wait to get verification. Sighing to herself, Charity pushed the talk button and held the phone to her ear.
"Aliens!"
Charity held the phone a few inches away from her ear and snorted in disgust. She could hear him launching into one of his verbal frenzies.
"What is it this time, Joe?" Charity interrupted him.
"Aliens, Char, aliens! They appeared right in the middle of the living room, well, actually, I think they came out of the fireplace, but this is huge! You have gotta' come over, Char. I'm going to need your help with this,"
Charity reached to pinch the bridge of her nose. He was going to need her help all right...right to the doctor's office for an increase in his medication.
"Calm down, Joe. Remember to breath, you're going to start hyperventilating," Charity said, reminding herself to breath as well.
"Calm Down! Calm Down! I can't calm down, they're here right now," Joe's tinny voice screamed at her.
"Joe, slow down. Tell me can you see them right now?" She asked him softly.
"Well, yea. I've got some of them tied up actually."
The claxon of alarm bells went off inside Charity's head. Oh no no no! The mental image of a group of girl scouts knocking on Joe's door to sell cookies and naturally being mistaken for beings from another planet flew into Charity's mind. At least natural for Joe anyway.
"Joe, I'm coming right over." Charity was already outside of her house and unlocking the rust bucket of a truck she owned as she spoke.
"Good and Char, hurry."
Charity turned off the phone and shoved it into her purse. Joe finally did it. He has managed to kidnap someone and now there is nothing I can do to keep them from locking him up in some institute or worse they'll shove him into some jail cell with a big guy named "Bubba"
The rusty truck sped down the driveway into the road. Its rear bumper hanging perilously close to the ground as Charity steadily broke the speed limit in higher and higher increments. Scary scenarios played themselves out in her head as she drove. Many of them involving a police shoot out and ending with Joe dead.
The sun was setting behind Joe's old farmhouse when Charity pulled into the long driveway. It looked like the orange-yellow yolk of an egg trying to break and seep into the endless fields of corn. The farmhouse itself was white and as stolid as it always seemed. Joe's gray van sat in front of the porch and Joe himself was waiting for her. Charity's breath froze when she saw that he had the old rifle his father gave him one Christmas many years ago. Joe waved a look of happy relief on his face.
Charity turned off the truck and grabbed her purse. Inside was a can of pepper spray she could use on him if worse came to worst. Other than that, there was nothing she could do but try to talk him down.
"After a while, I started to think you didn't believe me and weren't going to come," Joe said, walking up to her.
Charity approached him warily, Joe was her friend but when he was off his medication, there was always cause for caution.
"Of course I'd come. Joe didn't I tell you that I'd always come if you needed help."
Joe's smile faltered. He waved his free hand feebly in a downcast motion. "I know how it looks, Char. I'm not off the meds. These really are aliens."
Charity studied him. Joe seemed calmer now, his appearance was well kept, not disheveled or wild the way it would be when he didn't take his pills.
"All right then, show me." She said quietly.
Joe gave her a weak smile and turned to lead the way into the house. The first thing Charity noticed when she stepped inside the smell of ashes. It seemed to permeate the house. Joe had not turned on any of the lights yet and the interior was getting dark.
He led her to the living room. Here she saw the reason for the smoky smell in the house. It seemed as if something had exploded in the fireplace, spewing burnt logs and ash all over. There were signs of a struggle as well. Furniture was turned upside down and strange gash marks stretched along the walls.
"They were using these like weapons." Joe said pulling what appeared to be four sticks out of his jacket pocket. She held out her hand and Joe hesitated a moment before relinquishing the items. Charity examined one in the fading light.
It was about twelve inches long, black and polished to a high sheen. A disturbing thrill raced through Charity as she caressed the strange object. The base appeared to be a small-carved cylinder at the blunt end, about half an inch wider than the stick itself and Charity could find no seams where it had been attached, only smooth wood. Almost like a wand or something, she thought.
Charity frowned. Your starting to think like Joe there, Char. She carefully put it and the others into her purse, ignoring the longing look Joe gave her.
A sudden muffled whimpering made Charity jump closer to him. "What was that?"
It was Joe's turn to frown at her as if she were crazy. "It was one of them," he said.
"Where?" She whispered wide-eyed.
Joe reached over and flipped on the light switch. He stared pointedly behind her. Charity steeled herself against what she feared she might find before turning around.
Lined up against the wall were four people gagged with masking tape, their arms tied behind their backs, and each one dressed as if they were from medieval times.
Charity stared at the four people in shock. This was it, this was really it. Joe had four strangers tied and gagged in his own living room...and she was an accomplice. Charity shook her head to clear her mind of that particular thought.
The muffled sounds were coming from a redheaded youth to Charity's immediate right. He was looking up at her with a sort of desperate hope, begging her to let them all go free. Another youth, smaller than his companion had wild black hair and glasses. He watched a spot on the floor intently. There was an angry, determined look about him. Beside him an elderly woman with her hair coming loose from it's once tight bun merely looked Charity in the eye firmly. The last person, a man perhaps in his mid to late thirties lay almost exactly at Charity's feet, a black cloak spread out underneath him. His shoulder length black hair hung across the man's face partially concealing his features including a rather large hooked nose.
He appeared to be unconscious, but a dark smattering of blood oozed from his forehead and his skin was alarmingly pale. Charity feared he might be dead.
"That one's been passed out since I first found him," Joe said noticing Charity's direction of interest. "He and another one were the first to appear. I heard a crash coming from in here and came in to investigate. That is when I saw this one fighting with another one. They were using those sticks on each other, beams of light were shooting all over the living room, 'kinda like Star Wars you know,"
"There's another person?" Charity questioned softly.
"Well, he shot that dark one and ran outside. I grabbed my rifle and went out after him," Joe shrugged his shoulders, "but it was like he disappeared. When I came back inside these other ones were here and I just knew, Char, these are aliens."
Charity turned to glare at Joe, "They look like people to me Joe,"
"They're wearing disguises, come on Char, look at the way they're dressed. It's like they ended up in the wrong time period," Joe said.
"So now they're from the future, is that what you're telling me Joe?"
Joe frowned at her again and for a moment, Charity could see the shadow of doubt cross his face. "Well, I don't think they're from the future...but they definitely aren't normal!"
Charity turned to look down at the small group. They did look strange, but certainly not otherworldly.
"Why don't we just ask one of them? There's probably a certainly good explanation for everything."
Joe didn't look like he quite believed her but muttered his consent anyway. Charity gave him a weak smile before turning back to the group. She bent down next to the redhead teenager. Deciding he looked scared enough to rat out Al Capone himself.
"Yeowch!" He cried out as she ripped the duct tape off his mouth. The youth took several deep breaths glancing around the room fearfully. "Please don't hurt us. I just want to go back, please let us go-"
"Slow down; slow down, no one's going to hurt you. We're going to get everything straightened out, okay?" Charity told the boy. She felt weird trying to calm down teenager who was only six or so years younger than she was. When did I become the mature one? Charity thought quietly.
"Yea...eah, ok-okay," He responded.
Charity picked out a British accent from the few words he spoke. Clue one, she thought, aliens from outer space do not sound like Englishmen.
"My name is Charity, this is Joe," she said motioning to where Joe was standing, "Can I ask you what your name is?"
"Uh, it's Ronald...Ron," he said nervously.
"Ron, good...Umm, my friend Joe is a little mixed up-"
"He's crazy." Ron interrupted.
Joe stepped towards the youth in a threatening manner. "Joe!" Charity yelled at him. Joe muttered something about aliens and mind control, but stepped back to his original spot.
She turned once more to the teenager. "Joe is unsure about exactly who you are and how you all came to be in his living room. I was wondering if you could explain."
Ron licked his lips and glanced at the boy next to him, who seemed to have been watching them. He was scowling at Ron.
"We're, uh...we-"
"Are you exchange students or something?" Charity asked.
"Yeah!" Ron pounced on the easy explanation. Charity did not believe him but she was ready to supply the boy with the answer to every question she asked him if it would convince Joe to let these people go.
"You're from England? Are you people theatre students? Is that why you're dressed so strange?"
"Yeah, exchange students, from Britain-" the teenager nodded eagerly, swallowing every spoonful Charity fed him.
Charity sat back on her heels. She motioned to each of the adults. The man had fallen forward from the wall a little and his head lolled about like a rag dolls. Charity sincerely hoped he was not dead.
"...And these two are your?"
"Huh? Uh, my professors! They're my professors," He stated.
Charity smiled at the youth. She stood up and went back to stand in front of Joe. "See Joe, a perfectly reasonable explanation."
"Then why did they show up in my house?" He asked her, his arms folded across his chest.
"We didn't know anyone lived here. It was a mistake!" Ron yelled from behind Charity.
Charity smiled, again. "It was a mistake," she said parroting the boy, "you should really put a fresh coat of paint on the house Joe. People are starting to think it's abandoned."
Joe frowned, that look of self-doubt crossed his face again. Charity almost had him convinced that these were indeed people and not aliens.
"What about the beams of light I saw coming from those stick things?"
Charity didn't miss a beat, "Theatrics, props. They were probably rehearsing the parts for some play and didn't realize anyone lived here." It mattered not that Charity was having trouble believing the story herself, only that she convinced Joe it was true, after that the police could straighten things out.