The Traveler

[Naveed]

My most recent story:

Traveler

The stars were bright that night, as they often are out in the country. The lights were also bright and those you don't often see out here. Sure there is the occasional plane or two, but something was different about these ones. They were the blue so bright that they made the treetops light up with an unusual glow. I followed the glow for some time with my binoculars, watching it float through the trees leaving reflections, similar to prison bars, on the lake. Out of the blue the whole world became white. When my eyes cleared from the blinding flash, the odd lights were gone.

Out of my own curiosity I headed towards the sillouhette of the mountain against the stars where I had last seen the object. I thought it was a small plane that had crashed and figured I'd better go lend a hand if anyone was hurt, and since I didn't have a phone to call for help.

I had moved out in the country to get away from the bustle of city life and to forget Margret. Margret had meant so much to me, but that damn disease took her life. I watched her turn from the bright beautiful woman I had married forty years ago, into the mummy that she looked like on the day she died. The chemo is what caused the transformation, but it had been the cancer that killed her. After she died, I didn't want to see anyone else, yet alone talk to anyone. We had no living relatives, no children, no real friends to have conversations with, just Duke, our little beagle I had bought for Margret on our thirty-ninth anniversary. His black floppy ears, rapid fire kisses, incessitently wagging tale, and bright brown eyes always gave Margret a smile. He hurt just as much as I did when she died, you could see it in his stance. So when she died, Duke and I moved out here, and got rid of the phone. The only people we saw were Hank over at the general store down in town when we would drive the Jeep down to get food, and Mildred over at the drugstore when I went to pick up my arthritis medicine.

I took Duke with me into the woods that night. His tale wagging endlessly as it always did during our afternoon walks along the lakeshore. When we entered the tree line a wall of silence was waiting to greet us. It struck me as kind of odd, but nothing really worried me about it. It took us about a half-hour to reach the area where I had last seen the lights. Thats when Duke started barking. I eased my flashlight around scanning the treeline and the floor of the clearing we had come too. Nothing was there, but still Duke continued to bark, his tale wagging as fast as a jack-rabbit now. I tried telling him to hush, but he wouldn't listen to me.

Now when you've seen a plane crash in the woods and go over to where it was, but don't see it there, it kinda makes you wonder where it went right? Well I'll tell one thing, there wasn't even a line in the dirt, or a single broken branch in the clearing. It was as if something had come along and just winked (whatever it was) out of existence. We stood there staring at the bald patch of ground for about ten minutes before I decided it'd be good for us to head in. Duke didn't stop barking till we were about twenty feet away from where we had stopped.

Duke and I were almost home when it happened, his tail bent over and he began to whimper about something, then he tried to speed up. He struggled with me, trying to make me move faster than my old bones could handle. Then the arthritis clamped onto my hands, and I lost my grip on his leash. Duke ran off into the trees. "Duke!" I called out, but he didn't hear me over the Cougar's deadly scream. I ran off to the direction he had gone, a wild beam of light strayed around the trees, as I scanned the area with my flashlight. Then I spotted the sleak feline form of the jaguar, and the limp, spotted brown and black form of Duke laying beneath it. I pulled out my pistol that I always carried with me into the woods, and shot the jaguar straight between the glowing orbs in it's head. Kneeling down I saw the miniature lake of blood forming from the wounds in Duke's neck.

I buried Duke the following morning. It was raining, and the arthritis hurt, but I couldn't bear to leave the once loveable lump of joy, that had shared the pain of Margret's death with me, out for another day. That afternoon I sat, staring at the paper memories in my scrapbook. Pictures of Margret and Duke. Then I cried enough to fill my bathtub. First my wife and a year later my dog, what more could life take from me. Painfully the arthritis proceeded to remind me, the use of my hands.

About six o'clock that evening I took my arthritis meds, and went to go sit on the couch to watch some television, hoping to distract me from the old pain, and the new pain of Duke's death. I came to an hour later. A knock on the door and some barking was what woke me up. I'll never forget what happened next though; I opened the door, and there was Duke, just as bright and bouncy as the day I first brought him home from the pet shop. Next to him stood the oddist, most blue person I had ever seen in my entire life. Even his wavy white hair had a distinct blue tint to it. It had to have been nearly a minute that I stood there, with my mouth hanging down to my feet. I kept telling myself, "This has to be a dream." , till the pain in my hands proved that it was as real as the rain pouring outside.

Duke came running up to me, his tail going a thousand times faster then I ever thought possible. Kneeling down I let him slobber all over my face. Then I looked up at the strange man, I didn't what I should do, but somehow Duke was alive and I knew he had something to do with it, so I did what any kindly old man would do when a strange blue man brings his best friend back to life; I invited him in for coffee.

After I had dried Duke off, and given my short blue visitor a towel to dry himself off with, I put a pot of coffee on. Then I asked my guest if he would like cream with that. He just responded by shaking his head. When the coffee was done, I lead him over to the kitchen table and he sat down. I poured him some coffee and I sat down across from him and tried starting a conversation. I say tried, because he really didn't say anything, but more or less used body language.

About ten pm, I noticed he was looking tired, so I offered him my bed upstairs. I figured he was most definitly not from around here and since there was no motel around for miles and it appeared that he had come on foot. He gratiously accepted my offer, which I could tell from his smile of relief on his face. I took the couch that night with Duke, and we all went to bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help, but think that my blue-skinned visitor seemed somewhat nervous. He was always kinda looking around and his leg shook every once and awhile, like he was worried about something.

We awoke the next morning about nine o'clock. The rain had since stopped sometime in the middle of the night, and my guest seemed in a hurry to do something. He hinted to me that he wanted to borrow some tools, and I told him he could have them since I never had any use for them anymore cause' I developed the arthritis in hands. When I told him this, his eyes went bright and he ran into my kitchen. He came back out and handed me my cup of coffee, and then proceded to pour this greenish powder into it from a little packet he had with him. Looking down I could see the green swirl into the black as he mixed it with a spoon. I hesistated for a moment, but he insisted that I drink this new concoction, so I did. Not even a minute later my last reminents of the arthritis pain from the day before was gone. Oddly enough it still hasn't returned to this day.

He stayed till about noon, and then left after I had thanked him again for returning Duke to me. Nearly six hours later he returned with the tools I had given to him. Although the pain in my hands was gone I insisted that he keep them, but he refused my act of hospitality. So I thanked him again for Duke, and returning the tools. Then Duke and I watched from the porch as he head off into the woods, the direction when had gone originally two nights ago when I had seen the lights in the sky.

That night those same lights returned, starting in the spot that I had last seen them. Then I watched with all the amazement of a school boy watching his favorite baseball hero hit a home run, as the blue lights spun around a shape similar to an oversized frisbee that seemed to float out of the clearing I had been in the night before. Oddly enough it occured to me that maybe my visitor was more then just not from around here, but not from the very planet from which Duke and I lived on. I also wondered if I would ever see him, the strange little blue man, again.

Nearly a two weeks had gone by, and the pain in my hands still hadn't returned. Duke and I did our afternoon walks along the lake shore, his bouyant attitude driving his tail around like always. I took up carving and began work on all sorts of little projects, including a little man that I painted blue. Two more weeks later however, we had nearly forgotten about the strange blue man that had brought so much happiness back into our lives. Until one day in November, when I received a knock at my door while I was sitting at my desk carving a small replica of Duke to put on my fireplace mantle next to a picture of Margret.

I answered the door to two, quite tall, pieces of aspargus. At least that was what they reminded me of. There skin wasn't green, but their hair stood up like the tops of that foul vegetable, and these two gentlemen seemed just as unpleasent. Their faces were rather slim, reminding me of those tiki statues you see in National Geographic. They were also dressed like penguins, in over pressed suits. The pair of them reminded me of the villians in the old detective movies I used to watch as a kid growing up.

"Where is the Blue One?" The said in unision, in an unearthly low voice.

"I have no clue who you're talking about I replied." I had a bad feeling that they wanted to harm my strange visitor from a month before.

"He was not with you before?" They asked.

"No, I told you I have no clue who you are talking about." Then they held out a picture. it showed the same little blue man I had nearly forgotten about. The very same one who had brought Duke back to life and cured me of that disabling arthritis.

"Never seen him."

"Sorry to have disturbed you sir." They replied, "If you do see him, please call this number." They handed me a small, plastic three sided pyramid with a number on it."Thank you for you cooperation." Then the promptly turn around and left and I went back to my carving. Moments later, my cabin began to shake with a low rumble. Looking out my front window I saw a jet-black triangular shaped aircraft come out of the lake and take off into the sky.

"I wonder if they knew I don't have a phone?" I thought to myself.

Also expect a edited version of "Sometimes the just won't Die" soon as well as a follow up story to StjwD, co-written/edited by my friend Jeff.

[Naveed]

Whats does every one think?

[Naveed]

Hmmm...maybe I should stick with horror stories.

[Atlantis Rises]

Firstly, how did the man kill the Jaguar with the gun if his hands hurt badly with arthistis? He couldn't even hold the dogs leach. And how come he and the dog were able to make it all the way up the mountain without pain if his arthistis is so bad? Secondly, if I had an encounter with an alien, and I invited it into my home, I wouldn't be able to sleep for 11 hours. Plus, if my dog just died and was brought back to life, I couldn't sleep either Thirdly, how come these strange "MIB" aliens spoke perfect English when they spoke to this man? And wouldn't they know that the man couldn't "phone" them with an intergalatic number? Ha-ha on the last line.

These are just a few of the things I saw when reading your story. In addition, Cougars are mountain dwelling animals more than Jaguars. Overall, very imaginative.

Edited February 22, 2004 by Atlantis Rises

[Naveed]

lol, well it's not exactly a full proof story. I had to write something for my class so I did, but it's not exactly my best work. It's just what I felt inspired to write at the time.

Also it appears my friend didn't edit the jaguar part all the way. He changed the majority of the spots where I said jaguar to cougar, but missed a couple.

I still think I'm going to stick to horror above light hearted alien encounters. I tend to make things make more sense in those anyways.

[riffraff]

Analysis or critiqueing? isn't me

i thought it was pretty good and un-canned

l

? carving (a good learned craft)....whittling (a pastime)

as making/creating an image of Duke was more a labor of love,

i would be more comfortable (in a subconscious level)

iffen you were whittling Dukes' likeness.

small point, observation= but wasn't Hemmingway a

stickler in presenting a concise image via a photograph of words??

Asparagus types indeed...or green jack frost clones

keep doing

[Naveed]

Wow, the responses I got in my writing class on this story were all very good, except for one person who didn't like the whole story in general. Out of all the stories in the class this week, everyone liked mine the most. Only few little things need cleared up, but thats it.

[doomgirl]

sounds good to me Naveed