The Night the World Changed
by Matthew Gregory
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
The bumper sticker on Jason’s car read, “Beam me up Scotty, there’s no intelligent life down here.” His key chain had fastened to it, among other things, a small, black-eyed alien that displayed the peace sign with its long, green fingers. The library in his house was jam-packed with volumes consisting of all things alien and UFO.
Next to that, literally climbing the wall, was a DVD collection that rivaled the assortment of books, including everything from The Day the Earth Stood Still to Mars Attacks! And above all else, Jason was a regular participant in the Roswell UFO Festival, an event which highlighted the other three hundred sixty-one days of his year. Yes, he attended every day of the festival, like a joyously unrestrained kid turned loose in Disney World.
Needless to say, he was obsessed. Obsessed with anything and everything that might have something to do with an alien or, more specifically, an alien abduction. That, in particular, was somewhat of a fantasy for him. Something that compelled him into new heights of obsession.
He followed the reports closely and used such works as Fire in the Sky and Communion as a reference, just as a writer might use a dictionary or a thesaurus. He read all of the newspaper accounts, followed all of the stories that would sporadically be released and, deep down in his gut, he was a firm believer in the X-Files, for he was sure that through all of his study, he had only scratched the tip of the iceberg.
As the X-Files often said, “The truth is out there.” Jason had no doubt of that and, after seeing that phrase for the first time in 1993, that became the adage that defined his UFO mania. And with that, it suddenly became his life goal to prove it. Jason had to be abducted; there was no other way around it.
It fascinated him: not the anal probing and the cattle mutilations, mind you, but the idea that a human being could make contact with something that wasn’t of this world. To experience another culture so foreign to human existence that the mind could hardly conceive of it. To get the chance to leave this mundane planet and see other worlds, other technology that would make the most brilliant human brain seem so utterly inefficient. It was all so... wonderful.
Of all the movies in his collection, Jason had probably seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind at least two hundred seventy-four times, a number that was derived from the nick marks located around the DVD case placed there every time he watched the movie. Several incarnations of the VHS tape had long been worn out, so his count had to start over. It was the crowning achievement of all alien encounter movies, more of a testament to his existence rather than a piece of entertainment.
And if Jason ever had an idol in his life, then Richard Dreyfuss’s portrayal of Roy Neary was it. Everything else aside, that was what defined him, what shaped his character and made him into the unique individual that he was.
Now he didn’t have a replica of Devil’s Tower in the middle of his living room or anything like that, but he did have billboard-size signs in his back yard which read, “Aliens Welcome Here.” It was his own little way of reaching out, in hopes that one day he might fulfill his goal.
Even so, it was amazing that he was still married, after everything he had put his poor wife, Lucille, through. She was embarrassed by it all, almost to the point that she hated to leave the house, for when she did, people would invariably point and say, “There she is. The UFO lady! Welcome to Earth! Do you come in peace?”
His children thought he was funny, more like a cartoon character than a father. And his neighbors, well, his neighbors were rather suspicious of him. They watched him with careful, attentive eyes, unsure of what he was going to do next. And in the backs of their minds, they were sure that any day, Jason was going to get a visit from either the INS or the local mental hospital rather than an alien swooping down from the sky.
He didn’t care what others thought about him, though, for Jason was a man on a mission, a man with a dream. No matter what he had to do, he was going to make contact with an alien one day, and, if all went well, he would leave this world and show everybody that he wasn’t the crazy person they made him out to be. He would realize his goal, one way or another.
But as the months and years passed by and Jason remained here on Earth, with no sign of aliens anywhere around him, a nagging sense of frustration slowly began to set in. Why would they not come? Many other people had received this opportunity; why were they so lucky? Was it him? Was it something he had done? Was he not worthy?
He couldn’t stand it. He had to make contact. Maybe if he put landing lights in his backyard or, even better, maybe he could play the famous five notes re-mi-do-do-sol, which were used to say “hello” to the aliens in Close Encounters. He could hook his keyboard up to speakers and put them on his roof and blast the tune every night. Maybe that would increase his chances.
But that only got him into trouble with the sheriff’s department, so that idea, as good as it sounded at the time, was unfortunately short-lived. And with that, Jason’s chances of being abducted became even slimmer. In fact, it was almost to the point to where he was about to give up hope, for the harder he wished for it to occur, the more elusive it seemed to be. Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen.
* * *
But then, just when all seemed impossible, Jason’s chance finally came. At last, he achieved the very thing he had spent almost every waking minute of his life dreaming about. His visit finally came, but even so, it came at a time when Jason least expected it. And that made it all the more intriguing.
It happened one dark summer night, which was a night not unlike any other. Jason was fast asleep in his bed, visions of distant planets and wondrous aliens dominating his dreams, just as they always did. The neighborhood was quiet, with only the occasional squalling of a stray cat or barking of a restless dog filling the still night air. That is, until the brilliant light flashed suddenly in Jason’s back yard.
It was enough to wake him up, but not enough to make him understand why he had been pulled hastily from his slumber. So with that, he lay in his bed, eyes focused intently on the ceiling. For a few brief moments, he thought about getting up, about wandering around the house in search of... no, he was too tired to do that. It was the middle of the night.
He looked over at his clock and saw that its red hue displayed the time of three forty three in the morning. The worst possible time to wake up, for he would no sooner get back to sleep and he would just have to get right back up. And that would only make him more fatigued than if he would just stay awake. He knew that to be a fact, because he had played that game many times before when he would rise at every bump in the night and stare hopefully at the sky.
Regardless, Jason wanted to go back to sleep. He didn’t care how he would feel in the morning. Maybe he would just sleep in; he certainly had enough sick days at work. But then, a crashing sound sprang from his back yard, causing the animals of the neighborhood, the dogs in particular, to stir.
Now he was forced to get out of bed, if for nothing else than to inspect the source of the sound. For all he knew, a thief could be attempting to break in. So with that in mind, he slid out of bed and grabbed a baseball bat from his closet. Edging close to his bedroom window, he pulled the curtain back and peeked out into the back yard.
Lucille stirred in bed and, in her semi-conscious state, she mumbled, “What are you doing, honey?”
Jason never looked at her, instead, he kept his eyes focused on the back yard, straining them in an attempt to see something, anything out of the ordinary. With a soft, reassuring voice, he replied, “It’s nothing, dear. Go back to sleep.”
She quickly obliged, but she no sooner turned over when Jason suddenly dropped the bat to the floor, causing a crack to echo throughout the room. He couldn’t help it, though, for he had spotted something that sent chills of exhilaration racing all throughout his body. In his back yard, moving around carefully with small electronic devices in their hands, were three tall, gray-skinned creatures with large, oval-shaped heads and enormous black eyes. They were aliens, he was sure of it.
“What was that?” gasped Lucille suddenly, this time a little more awake, thanks to the noise Jason had made.
He quickly turned his eyes from the window and gazed at his disoriented wife. “Nothing. Sorry. I just dropped the bat.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing with a bat at...” She turned and looked at the clock. “At three forty-seven in the morning?”
For an instant, he was at a loss for words, but then he thought of something brilliant. “I had a dream of playing in the World Series, and I was so inspired that I wanted to practice my swing for the softball match at the company picnic next weekend.”
His wife looked at him like he was the weirdest creature on the planet. “Whatever. Just be quiet.”
As she lay her head back down, Jason returned his hopeful gaze back to the window and to the yard beyond. “Sure thing, dear.”
His heart sank, though, for as soon as he returned his eyes to the back yard, they were met by nothing but the usual. His kids’ swing set was there, the picnic table was there, the storage building was there, but no aliens. Where did they go? Surely they hadn’t left already? He would have heard something.
Then, he became paranoid. Was he hallucinating or worse, still dreaming? He reached down and pinched himself. Ouch! No, he was awake.
Copyright © 2025 by Matthew Gregory
