#fridayflash

I was inspired to write this as a result of the local news story and my blog post a couple of weeks ago about a UFO sighting in Newfoundland.

…the Home of the Brave


“I just don’t get it,” Sharon said to her sister. “Why anybody would drive 3 hours to eat a sheep’s stomach filled with…nasty stuff… is beyond me.”

Mary Wallace looked through her digital camera, zooming into the lighthouse perched on a rocky outcrop. She snapped a photo. “The Robbie Burns supper helps Tom get in touch with his inner Scottish child. I think the 18 year old scotch is also bit of a lure,” she said, chuckling. “It makes the haggis more palatable.”

“Is he driving back tonight?”

“Yeah. He promised to limit himself to just one drink.”

They looked at each other and said in unison, “When hell freezes over!” The women laughed so hard that Sharon nearly slipped on the hardened snow beneath her boots.

Mary looked through her camera to where the bay merged with the ocean. A cargo vessel inched past, a small speck on the horizon. “I love this time of day. The sky’s filled with such beautiful colours. Like it had a life of its own,” she said.

“What the hell is that?” Sharon said, pointing to the west. Three dark objects arced slowly up from the surface of the water. One headed away from them, the second to the south-west and the third towards them in an easterly direction.

Mary zoomed in on the cylindrical object as it neared and gained altitude. She began snapping off pictures. It emitted orange flames tinted with red from its back end, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

“Jesus, Sharon. They looked like missiles or something.” The women watched in silence for another five minutes until the object disappeared into the darkening sky.

“Let’s get back inside,” Sharon said. “We’ve got to find the kids and call the police.”

* * *

The darkness fell upon them like an inky blanket. Mary had washed her youngsters and put them to bed an hour earlier. She poured herself a glass of whiskey and tried to watch a reality show on the television. Every minute her eyes were drawn to the clock on the mantle. Tom wouldn’t be home for hours.

Mary went to the kitchen and poured another whiskey, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in the sink. She put on her coat and boots and went out to the deck to have a cigarette. She leaned against the rail and gazed across the calm bay, wondering if the objects were really missiles. Were they launched from the islands off their coast?

In the deepest waters of the bay, where it met the unforgiving Atlantic, a convex dome of light appeared on the surface of the water. Minutes passed as she watched the light, the ignored cigarette expiring between her trembling fingers.

The dome suddenly burst open and a column of light pierced hundreds of feet into the night sky. Dozens of golden balls flowed from the top of the pillar, proceeding in all directions; they eventually leveled off at a constant altitude and bearing. The display reminded her of the fireworks Tom and the children had set off on New Year’s Eve.

New waves of orbs appeared from the top of the light column in thirty second intervals. Its colour slowly evolved from white to yellow, then orange and finally a blood red. The bay’s familiar marine odours were now overpowered with the smell of sulphur. Mary gagged with the stench, her heart now hammering within her chest.

She took a deep drag from what remained of her cigarette; its smoke slowly wafted from her nose and was spirited away by the breeze now blowing from the distant shaft of light. The objects slowly progressed, forming a golden net across the night sky. Mary now heard a humming noise, emphasized by an underlying mechanical pounding she felt through the soles of her feet. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing and hurried back inside the house.

Mary tried to call Tom but their line was dead. The power dimmed a moment, brightened briefly, and finally blinked out. She felt along the wall and furniture of the darkened room until she entered the pantry. The scent of cinnamon gave her temporary relief from the stink now permeating the house. She stood on her toes and reached to the top of the oak cabinet. Tom’s rifle was missing. Mary cursed and pounded the cabinet with her fist. It was only last week she had nagged him to store his rifles and ammunition more safely. He had bought a new metal cabinet and kept it locked in the basement. Her body was wracked with sobs as she crumpled to the vinyl floor.

After a few minutes she stopped crying and wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her shirt. She got to her feet and felt her way back to the kitchen. The growing temperature and stench made her feel nauseous. A pale red glow now filtered through the lace curtains, making patterns on the walls. Mary found a few safety candles and a box of matches in the cabinet above the fridge and placed them in a plastic grocery bag. She then removed a large knife from the wooden block on the counter and gingerly placed it in the bag.

The woman slowly walked up the staircase to the children’s bedrooms, trying to ignore the vibrations she felt as her clammy hand gripped the handrail. She would wake the children, light the candles and read them fairy tales for a while.