Night By Ron Sanders

Night © 2009 by Ron Sanders

On Wednesday night at 21:37:06, Pacific Standard Time, all the lights went out in the pinesmothered hamlet of Dearview, Oregon. Due to its elevation, and to its remoteness from city lights, the effect was startling: in an instant the dreamy community of thirty-seven, illuminated by softyellow and white electric light, became a black gothic bubble lit only by stars. It was too late in the evening to worry about juice for domestic purposes; most folks were fast asleep by eleven anyway. But there are countless wolves and bears in the area, and lately these large predators had been acting bizarrely—baying and snarling, running in and out of Dearview—much to the community’s consternation. A strong request was made to the County for an investigation, but bureaucracies are notoriously slow when it comes to the outskirts, and Dearview was put on hold. So men were stocking up on shotgun shells and flashlight batteries, women were keeping premises meticulously clean. The abrupt loss of electricity was like a trumpet call; on that chilly late October night, all Dearview’s thirty-seven nervous men and women hiked up to Balder’s as a unit. The Dearview system maintains dozens of security lamps, set up in seemingly random locations about the community and deep into the pines. These dully glowing lights remain on all

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night to discourage wild animals, and are powered by an independent generator that kicks in automatically in the event of a power failure. Balder was in charge of the Dearview main generator, a bulky monster housed in an offproperty outbuilding, and his twins Danny and Donna were in charge of solving every nonexistent Dearview mystery, of making certain the vaguest of complaints gets routed to the improper authorities, and of generally driving Balder crazy. The twins were chips off the old blocks: Balder and his late wife, as children, had been fans of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, respectively, and had passed on this love to Danny and Donna, both highly inquisitive, highly annoying children. Just as the crowd reached Balder’s property line the lamps came back on, though Balder hadn’t touched a thing. A resolution to price a state-of-the-art generator was quickly passed, and, after an impromptu discussion on the pros and cons of setting traps for large carnivores, the folks all called it a night, traded well wishes, and marched back down to bed.

On Thursday night at 21:37:06, Pacific Standard Time, all the lights went out in the pinesmothered hamlet of Dearview, Oregon. This time the residents were furious, and, by the glow of flashlights and lanterns, demanded Balder’s head. The emergency generator was slow in kicking in, and when it did the twins were quick to note the half-assed, flickering quality of the lamps’ response. Balder could only apologize and kneel to his work. Donna pointed out a lamp behaving differently than the rest—while it likewise fluttered and hummed, there was a steadier, pulsing aspect to its flashes. Curious as cats, the kids took off licketysplit. The crowd didn’t notice, and Balder wouldn’t have wasted his breath—when the twins’ minds were set there was no stopping them. They made a beeline for the spot. Odd—the lamps were expiring all around. Night’s train ran up the hill beside them, snuffing the lights one by one. More problems with the generator? And by the time they reached the sputterer it too had died. They stood small in the starlight, shoulder to shoulder. “It was just a goofer,” Danny mumbled. “Short circuit in the mainline.” “Look!” Donna indicated a lamp a hundred yards off; first glowing dully, then brightly. Another moment, and it began to blink. Odd. 2

“A code!” Danny burst out. “Dad’s goofing on us.” “No way.” “C’mon.” So they crept tree to tree, sneaking up on a mystery. The moment they reached the lamp the blinking ceased and the light went out. Once again they stood alone in the night; yet now much deeper in the trees, and that much farther from home. “That does it,” Danny whispered. “Let’s get out of here.” “Look!” Donna whispered back. “Look, look!” Another lamp was blinking, not so far off this time, and in a familiar clearing. Sneaking along with their chins to the ground, the twins melted in and out of the pines, finally stopping behind a short screen of boulders. This stammering lamp was creating an epileptic halo, sending ghostly figments across a stroboscopic field. They stepped out of hiding as the blinking grew feebler. Fading . . . fading . . . fading . . . the lamp’s light dwindled to a softly throbbing glow. The twins were just trading stares when, with a sudden leap and sputter, the lamp went out. They embraced in the retreating afterglow, their eyes gradually adjusting to a world illuminated only by starlight. Slowly the craggy, bat-like figures gathered around them, seven feet tall and taller, cutting out the night chunk by chunk. The tallest figure took a step forward and leaned down; two others simultaneously parted to form a break in the living ring. The leader took a measured pace toward the gap and looked back. There was no mistaking his meaning. He continued out into the clearing, stopped again, looked back again. After a minute the twins, still locked in a clinging huddle, slunk toward the gap. The ring relaxed and they tiptoed through. The leader folded forward like a rusty hinge. The others fanned back, leaving plenty of space. Now the tall figure, stooping, ran his hands back and forth above the ground in the manner of a man at a campfire. Little by little a soft violet glow formed in the hemispheric space encompassed by his movements. When the glow was a steadily bobbing field, a diaphragmatic disturbance appeared on its face, and a corresponding sound issued: “This,” came the eerie, metallic voice, “is our hearth.” Each syllable was matched by a tremor in the glow.

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The twins’ jaws dropped. Their eyes met, and returned to the glow. It was a strange trip to listen to a visual: “This field is the source of all our energetic endeavors. It is the quality that made it possible to cross the galaxy and to seek contact with your remote race. The voice you are hearing does not, of course, speak in our natural language. The hearth transposes, verbally and idiomatically. Likewise your vocal tones will automatically be translated in real time.” The long robed arms spread. “I am Elgnor. Please. Try for yourselves.” The twins jostled and jounced. Donna, the ballsier, articulated: “What—what do you want from us?” Elgnor nodded appreciatively and straightened. “Merely your attentiveness, and your patience.” He gestured globally. “Long have we marveled your species’ drive, your curiosity, your ingenuity.” He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace conservatively, philosophically. “Only your penchant for aggressive violence has prevented our making contact.” He raised a hand. “Please.” It was his most oft-used word. “We are a shy people, and you are, cosmologically speaking, a young race. With age comes wisdom.” He leaned down purposefully, and the twins recoiled at his features: Elgnor’s countenance struck them as altogether horrifying; a face that was one long scaly proboscis, with a moist, lampreylike aperture of a mouth. “Yes,” Elgnor breathed, and leaned back. “As we anticipated.” The glow, sensitive to its hailer, retracted. “But you must realize your features are no less repulsive to us—more so, in fact, due to their gross primitivity. Yet yours is a healthy reaction that only a mature approach can address.” He squared his shoulders. “Our first step in contact is with you children. This is because children are alert, honest, and, perhaps most important, innocent. Innocence is a precious quality. It is our hope that you will mentally assimilate our position, and prepare your elders for a meeting here, with the natural shock thereby softened.” The twins hugged and danced in anticipation. “Okay, okay,” Danny said. “We’ll tell Dad, and he’ll listen; he always does.” “But how about you guys?” wondered Donna. “Will you be okay? Should we bring you some blankets? Do you need any food?”

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“Yeah, yeah! We can get burgers and weenies, and there’s plenty of sausage and ground turkey in the deep freeze.” “Please!” Elgnor gasped, drawing back. “You have no idea . . . the ingestion of animals is offputting—is nauseating—is absolutely mortifying to a race as evolved as ours.” The hearth appeared to roil and seethe. “This point is central regarding our tentative approach to contact. So very primitive . . . we can only beg that you never again broach this repellant subject.” “We’re sorry,” Donna said. “How’s about some popcorn or granola bars?” “We’ve got vegetarian pizza!” Danny chimed. “And biscuits and candy bars and soda and—” “Thank you, dears.” Elgnor raised his hands. “That will not be necessary. We only ask that your elders bring no illuminative or incendiary devices. Our race evolved in near-total darkness. As a consequence we cannot bear direct light. Observe.” He leaned in. It took all their fortitude, but by now the twins were prepared. They curiously studied that fright mask for anything resembling eyes; only a pair of pinpricks broke Elgnor’s elongated muzzle of a face. He drew back. “Okay,” Donna said. “You can count on us. We’ll talk to Dad, and he’ll tell the others. You don’t need to worry; he’ll keep the excitement level down. Dad’s a total bore.” “Bless you, dears!” Elgnor silently clapped his hands. The hearth leaped and subsided. “We must hive on the emergence of your sun. But we will encounter you all, right here, this time on the morrow.”

The official reception committee was the entire community of Dearview. The townspeople hiked up in a single, phalanx-like wave, carrying shotguns, lanterns, and flashlights, and boy, were they pissed. Once again, all the security lamps were out. Their sole beacon was a soft violet glow. They were met by a pacifistic, seated semi-circle, with Elgnor at the fore. “Okay,” called Billy Bob, “who’s the dickhead who cut the power right in the middle of Football Fantasies?” He flicked on his powerful flashlight, jabbing the beam one by one in their guests’ faces. Immediately the strangers fell over and covered their heads, wailing in the creepiest manner. No way had the twins’ description prepared the good citizens of Dearview for the hideousness caught in that hard white beam—the men snarled and cursed, the women piped and 5

squealed. But it was those very women who wore the pants in the group, and who had the good sense to back their men off. Ellie and Jeannie took their husbands by the ears, Mary slapped the light right out of Billy Bob’s hand. “We’re so sorry!” Jeannie cried. “It was all a mistake, believe us.” “Like hell,” said Jeff Bob. “And I don’t need no light.” He drew a line in the dirt with his shotgun’s barrel. Elgnor slowly rose to his feet. He waved about blindly for a moment, then, guided by the hearth, felt his way over to Jeff Bob and leaned down. Jeff Bob grimly raised the shotgun. Elgnor’s hand, following the movement, gently grasped the barrel. “Please,” he said, sitting with care while simultaneously pulling down the barrel. He placed the barrel in his mouth, eased it up his proboscis, and clasped his hands behind his head. “You!” Ellie cried, grabbing Jeff Bob’s biceps. “Can you face one crisis in your life like a man?” Jeff Bob, with his neighbors’ eyes dead on him, gradually relented. “Awww, shit. I can’t do him if he’s not resisting.” Elgnor relaxed and extricated himself. “A mature decision, dear.” “Don’t call me ‘dear’!” Elgnor cocked his head. “Forgive me. We were under the impression that this is an expression of deepest warmth and familiarity.” “Do I look like a fruitball to you?” “Yes!” spat Ellie. “Yes, you look like a fruitball!” She wedged herself between them, facing Elgnor while keeping her eyes low. “You must be Mister Elgnor. The twins told us all about you. I hate having to apologize for Goober’s big mouth every time we go out, but I’m getting good at it by now.” She turned and addressed the crowd like a schoolmarm. “These folks are our guests, and this is a mighty important occasion. The least we can do is have the courtesy to hear them out.” Ellie turned back. “Mister Elgnor . . .” and she gave a little bow and smiled, “. . . please.” “Thank you, dear.” Elgnor indicated by a circular gesture that the Dearview committee should all get comfortable. Once they’d complied, he returned to his place and sat with legs crossed and hands hovering above the glow. “This is our hearth. It provides what its hailer requires.” Ernie Bob jerked up a hand. “I’ll take a high-definition big screen with all the goodies!” 6

“Please,” begged Elgnor. “The hearth does not grant wishes; it takes care of business.” He looked into the crowd and, through the hearth, sought the correct terminology to best describe the abstruse. Picking his words carefully, he resumed: “The hearth is our soul. It is a flame, yet it is not a flame. It does not burn in the regular sense, though it leaves a residue not unlike that left upon carbonization.” Elgnor measured his next words so long time seemed to freeze, and when he spoke again his voice was mausoleum-cool. The glow pulsed in sync: “Mark well these words. Where the molecules of this residue are disturbed, the hearth is revitalized . . . and our presence renewed.” The silence was profound, the earth a bed of brambles, the night an icy shroud. It took Sam Bob to break the tension. “Okay,” he called, “who cut the green cheese?” The Earthlings all laughed snot out their noses. Elgnor spread his hands. A thin smile wrinkled his long, questing muzzle. “Please?” “Oh, relax,” Jeannie sobbed. “This is just the way we communicate down here, Mr. Elgnor. These are all good old boys, God bless ’em, and they just want you fellows to feel at home.” Elgnor nodded uncertainly. “Yes, dear.” When the circle had settled back down he said, “Think of it! Here, at your bidding, is an astonishing repository; the wealth of the universe. It is our gift to your planet, on the sole condition you use it wisely.” He sighed. “We too were once a backward species; disputing, competing, warring amongst ourselves. We also took flesh, we too bore arms. That was many ages ago. We grew, we studied, we adapted. We learned the positive, accretive value of peace, and the negative, regressive value of conflict. The hearth grew with us; it is inherent in all sentient aspects of the cosmos, only needing a wise hand for its wielding. It is, by that measure, as much yours as ours, as much ours as anyone’s. The hearth speaks, but not in a tongue. It tells us that your people are on the verge of readiness, of greatness, and that we are to be the harbingers of your awakening.” Elgnor now clasped and studied his hands. “As the children have informed you, we are counseled by the hearth to proceed incrementally. It would be a mistake to bluntly drop in on your world powers, so we are feeling our way, as it were. These fine youngsters have shown us your sweet curious nature, and you fine people have shown us your willingness to be friends. We only ask that you feel your way with us. Come,” he said, “and lay down your arms; they are of no import this night.”

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Grudgingly, shyly, the people of Dearview dropped their possessions. Seated in that broad circle round the hearth, guests and hosts accepted a staggered arrangement, so that each held strangers’ hands. “Through our touch and through our common need,” Elgnor intoned, “hand to hand and world to world—one to one we warm our souls before the universal hearth. We give as we garner; as a single, communal cell do we all reap the harvest of peace.” “That’s beautiful,” Mary bubbled. “I—I feel like I’ve known you wonderful people all my life.” “I, too,” Elgnor breathed, “am moved.” Monica leaned in guiltily, her brows caving, her voice desperate. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, Mr. Elgnor, but is it possible you could fix us up with one of those new washer-dryer combinations like in the Sears and Roebuck catalogue?” Jeannie swatted playfully. “Oh, shush you, Monica May! Mr. Elgnor has more important things to worry about than your dirty laundry!” Monica withered. “I . . . guess.” She tentatively placed a hand on Elgnor’s upper thigh. “We Earth folk can be real friendly.” Ellie pulled away Monica’s hand and placed it on her own lap. “We can do it,” she said. “We can bridge the stars. There’s this energy, running right through me.” “You know,” Jeannie whispered, her eyes welling, “I’ve never really taken the time to appreciate the beauty of nature—I mean, away from all the annoying stuff of civilization. There are just so many stars.” “Yes there are, dear; yes there are. More than you could possibly imagine.” Mary reached across Danny to squeeze Elgnor’s forearm. “You’ve done us a great favor, sir. It’s almost as if we silly Earthlings, with all our screaming, blinding contraptions, could see better without our eyes. You are luckier than we.” Monica was weeping softly. “I’m just so ashamed! She’s right. If only we could see like you.” “But you can, dear. Utilizing the gentle glow of our hearth, and connected as we are in this common ring, all you have to do is lean back your head, close your eyes, and in a matter of seconds all will be revealed. Are you ready, dears? Everybody, on my count, close your eyes—one, two, three . . . now!” 8

Clues in the Dearview Hoax are rapidly coming to light. Investigators have discovered many fresh bones—human, canine, and ursine—that are completely stripped of flesh. These bones were not gnawed clean, they were sucked clean, by some device of unknown origin, and this, more than anything, reveals the amateurish nature of the Hoax. There is nothing at all funny about this foolishness—just the notion of practical jokers looting graveyards for prop material, as well as recklessly butchering wild animals, has brought about a howl of public outrage, rather than the perpetrators’ hoped-for chuckles of amazed congratulation. Can a well publicized practical joke produce a fad epidemic? It is beginning to appear so. We now have all these college students sabotaging power stations in remote communities, ostensibly to duplicate the conditions of the Dearview phenomenon. These stunts are not amusing, are most certainly not valid “scientific experiments,” and are immature, dangerous, and illegal acts. And the inevitable “vanishing” of these pranksters fools no one, nor do the “mysterious” piles of polished bones found at every site. The fad is out of control. “Dearviews” are cropping up all over the country, with at least three instances reported across the Atlantic. Eventually these “vanished” merrymakers will come out. But their goofy grins and high-fiving keggers will be short-lived: in many areas, tampering with power flow is a felony punished by mandatory prison terms. Although student complicity in the original incident is adamantly denied by all suspect parties, the Dearview community’s earlier call for an investigation into the unusual behavior of local carnivores supports the concept of pranksters disturbing faunal patterns while in the act of setting up their operation. Whether they lured the residents of Dearview into “vanishing” with cash, or with some other incentive—or whether the residents are in some unknown way actually part of this nationwide ruse—is a mystery that will only be solved when the prank has run its course. There is one other curious element of the hoax: an odd violet residue, most likely left at the sites by students with access to campus laboratories. This powdery substance glows gently when shaken, and while scientists are not familiar with its supposed purpose (other than, presumably, to further befuddle the public), they acknowledge it is harmless, and easily within the productive capabilities of students holding even a basic grasp of chemistry. The stuff, scavenged by rubbernecks from hoax sites, was hurriedly approved and marketed to meet public demand. Along with the 9

popular bleached plastic bones and “invisible suits,” genuine Dearview Dust will be making its mass debut tonight in thousands of Halloween celebrations—the same night all these “vanished” jokers are expected to come out of hiding. So when you see our sweet sons and daughters filing along in crosswalks tonight, dressed in their cute little Invisible Suits, and in their regulation Bigfoot, Oprah, and Swamp Thing costumes, just be glad they’re carrying those adorable Dearview Break ‘n’ Shake Purple Powder Glowsticks. Give them a honk and show your brights, folks. Let ’em know the night has eyes.

Thanks for reading Night, one selection from the Mad From The Farting Crowd collection, a work in progress. In the meantime, why not blow your mind with my utterly unique novels: Microcosmia Signature Freak and Carnival and take a trip through the literate maelstrom known as For Readers Only. And please don’t forget my lush morbid verse: Moth In The Fist— all available as free downloads right here at pdfcoke. http://ronsandersatwork.com/ [email protected]

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