by Ken Warner
“I don’t know,” she said. “But abduction lore has mentioned him since at least the early 1970s. Many abductees who have tried to look into the phenomenon have reported being accosted by this man. He threatens them, tells them to stop their research, or great harm will come to them.”
“He doesn’t turn up during the actual abductions?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Martha. “At least, I’ve never heard of that happening. He only seems to show up when people start nosing around too much. Like he’s trying to cover it up.”
“Has he threatened you?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I’ve never actually spoken to him. But I’ve seen him. He’s watching me. I’ve run away every time, but after this week, I see him more. I think I’m in danger.”
“We should call the police,” Sydney suggested. “Tell them what’s going on.”
“I’ve tried talking to the authorities,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They won’t listen. They think I’m a crazy old lady. I won’t waste my time with them anymore.”
“Then what do you want to do?”
She lifted her satchel from the floor and set it on the kitchen table.
“I want to give this to you. It contains interviews I’ve conducted in the last few months. Something is going on—something more than before. Since the invasion, the abductions have increased. And they’re getting bolder—it’s not just in remote areas anymore. I don’t know why, but something’s changed. They seem more urgent, more desperate now for some reason.
“I think the man in black is coming for me. Someone has to look into this and find out what they’re up to. And I don’t think I’ve got much time left. I don’t want this information to be lost—someone has to help these people.”
“I’ll talk to my boss,” said Sydney. “I think he’ll be very interested in exploring this.”
“Thank you,” Martha replied, smiling for the first time.
They exchanged phone numbers, and Martha said farewell before departing into the night. Sydney tried once more to suggest calling the authorities, but the woman wouldn’t hear of it. Sydney watched her disappear into the shadows. She looked around her backyard once but saw no one else.
Sydney sat at her table again and looked through the files in the satchel. Each one had a short bio about the victim, a photo, and a page outlining the events of their suspected abductions. The cases were all remarkably similar to Martha’s, except that many were not in remote areas. In each case, the person was driving or walking late at night when they saw strange lights shrouded in dark clouds. They tried to get away, but the lights always followed them. And then they woke up in their beds, with no memory of what else might have happened, only to discover that they’d lost significant amounts of time.
Out of the twenty cases in the satchel, only one person recalled events after the initial encounter. He had described meeting aliens who looked very much like the Malor.
Sydney went back to bed, but it took her a while to get back to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about the alien abductions. And one question bugged her the most: why were the Malor doing this?
Chapter Three: The Phone Call
Sydney woke up in the morning to find the news crews parked out in front of her house again. She made coffee and called Brian. He invited her to stop by his office in Bethesda so they could review what she’d learned from Martha. Sydney arrived later that morning.
“It’s good to see you again so soon,” he said with a grin, holding the door open for her. “Come in, have a seat.”
The “office” could barely be called that—there was a table, not even a desk, with two chairs. Otherwise, the small room was completely empty.
“Kind of a minimalist approach for you, huh?” Sydney commented.
“Ah, yes, well, it had to do on short notice. I needed to be near Washington with everything that’s happened. This was the best I could come up with. I’m staying at a hotel up the street.”
“Oh—why didn’t you tell me? You could stay at my place if you want—I’ve got a spare bedroom.”
“Oh, no—I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“You wouldn’t be, trust me. I could use the company—it’s just my cat and me, and he’s not much of a conversationalist.”
“You are too kind, but I’ll be alright. It shouldn’t be too much longer now.”
“Well, the offer stands, so let me know if you change your mind.”
“Agreed,” he said with a nod. “So, tell me—what have you got?”
Sydney told him all about her conversation with Martha and showed him the files she’d left her. He spent several minutes looking through each case.
“Hmm,” he said finally, sitting back in his chair. “This is fascinating. I think you’re right; any abductions that took place before the invasion could well have been their scout ships. But how can abductions possibly be spiking now that their tech has stopped working? Perhaps one or two rogue cells have figured out how to get things working again, but I daresay they’d be focused on their own survival now, rather than kidnapping the locals.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” Sydney agreed.
Brian thrummed his fingers against the table for a moment.
“This also begs the question, what is the point of the abductions? What are they doing with these people?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. Carl told us the scout ships have been coming here for centuries. Still, it was my impression they were evaluating our civilization's progress, waiting to see when we’d develop sufficiently to make our resources easy pickings for them. I didn’t think they were interested in the people here for any reason.”
“No, neither did I,” said Brian, his brow furrowed. “That one man, who recalled parts of his abduction,” he said, tapping on the files, “his description of the aliens he saw does match the Malor. But other than a physical exam, he doesn’t recount much of what happened to him. I wonder if perhaps he remembers anything else that’s not contained in this record—even small details could prove useful.”
“She did say there are others who had memories of their experiences, too,” Sydney pointed out. “He was the only one in this batch, but there were more.”
“I believe this is worth investigating. Do you think you could arrange for me to meet this woman?”
“I think she’d be thrilled,” Sydney replied. “She seemed desperate for someone to help. I’ve got her number; do you want me to call her now?”
“Yes, sure.”
Sydney pulled out her phone and tapped Martha’s number in her contacts. It went straight to voicemail. Sydney left her a message, asking her to call her back, and closed her phone.
“Keep me posted,” said Brian. “We could meet here if that works for her, or I could drive out to Marlton—or wherever she lives, if that’s easier.”
Sydney drove home. The news crews accosted her on her way to the front door, but she ignored them. She went for a run—thankfully, the reporters didn’t try to follow her—and then had some breakfast. Once she’d showered, she tried calling Martha again, but it went straight to voicemail.
She sat down at her desk and flipped open her laptop. She searched for information about alien abductions. Pages and pages of websites showed up.
Sydney found a page about Betty and Barney Hill—the couple Martha had told her about. Their abduction took place in New Hampshire in 1961. They’d been driving home from a vacation in Niagara Falls when a flying saucer followed them along a highway through the area around Franconia Notch. They’d reported seeing aliens in the craft’s windows. Finally, the ship landed in the road in front of their car.
The Hills heard buzzing sounds and then entered an “altered state of consciousness.” A period of time passed, and then they found themselves driving along a section of road dozens of miles from where they’d started, hours later, with no memory of what had happened or how they’d gotten there.
She found stories of other abduc
tions going back to the mid-1950s. One man in Brazil was able to recall his time on the alien spacecraft. He reported a physical exam and a female alien having intercourse with him. Sydney rolled her eyes at this one—it sounded more like an erotic fantasy.
Nearly all of the stories she could find shared a few common elements. They all occurred at night, in remote areas. And in almost every instance, the abductees reported large amounts of missing time—hours or even days—and then waking up far away from where the encounter began.
She even found links to support groups for people who had been abducted. There was one that held monthly meetings only a few miles from her house.
Very few abductees could remember seeing the aliens. But they all described beings who looked remarkably similar to the aliens found at the 1947 Roswell crash in New Mexico—short and slender, with large, elongated heads, and protuberant black eyes: the Malor.
She read more about the man in black, too. From what Sydney could find on the internet, he’d been an element in the UFO stories for nearly as long as the abductions themselves. He only seemed to play a role, however, when someone tried to investigate the abductions. The garden variety abductee never seemed to report any kind of encounter with him.
Sydney tried calling Martha a few more times throughout the day but couldn’t reach her, and she wasn’t returning her calls. She sat up late reading about more alien abductions online but finally went to bed a little before midnight.
Only minutes later, her phone rang. It was Martha.
“Hello?”
At first, she could hear only heavy breathing. “Hello? Martha?”
She heard a scream.
“Martha? What’s wrong? Are you there?”
“Sydney?”
“Yes, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
“I’m in trouble—it’s the man in black…” she was panting—it sounded like she was running. “He’s going to kill me! I’m so scared…”
“Where are you?” Sydney asked, getting out of bed.
Martha screamed again. It sounded like she’d dropped the phone.
“Martha?!”
“I can’t get away—he’s too fast!”
“Where are you?” she asked again.
“Alexandria… Harbor Park…”
“I’m going to call the police.”
“NO! They won’t help. I called them already—they said they’re sending an officer, but they won’t—”
The line went dead.
“Martha?!” It was no use—the connection was terminated.
Sydney tried calling her back, but it went to voicemail.
“Shit!”
Sydney threw on some clothes and ran out the door. She started her Explorer, tapped “Harbor Park, Alexandria VA” into her GPS, and sped off into the night.
It took her nearly a half hour to get there. It was a small park on the Potomac, just inside the Beltway, and within view of the destruction zone.
Sydney parked her truck and got out to have a look around. There was fog rolling in off the river, making it difficult to see very far. It was quiet here.
“Martha?” she called out, walking into the park. She made it to the river without seeing or hearing any sign of the woman. She tried calling her again, but she didn’t pick up.
Suddenly, Sydney heard a scream. It was far off—to the north. She ran along the river toward the sound. The fog was so thick that she couldn’t go too fast—she could see only a few yards in front of her.
Beyond the park, there were docks and warehouse buildings. She stopped short when she got to the first building and listened intently.
At first, she could hear nothing but the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. But suddenly she heard footsteps echoing off the buildings. It sounded like someone was running. Sydney ran toward the sound.
She stopped between two metal warehouse buildings and listened again. The footsteps had faded. But now she heard a scream.
“Martha?” she called out. She heard scuffling—it sounded like it was coming from around the corner.
Sydney dashed to the far edge of the building. Peering around the corner, she could see nothing through the dense fog. She moved to the end of the building and called out Martha’s name again.
“Sydney?”
It was Martha. Her voice sounded weak. It echoed off the buildings, making it hard to tell where it was coming from.
“I’m here,” yelled Sydney. “I can’t see you—where are you?”
She heard only whimpering in response. She followed the sound, around another corner, and closer to the river.
But suddenly, she heard footsteps again, heels clacking loudly against the pavement. They were coming up behind her—and getting faster.
Sydney crouched down behind a large box truck and waited. The footsteps grew louder. Suddenly a man moved into her field of vision and stopped by the front of the box truck.
He was tall and thin, dressed in a black suit. And he was wearing dark sunglasses, despite it being a foggy night.
Sydney held her breath. This had to be the man in black. He looked around for a moment, then moved closer to the river.
Sydney peered out from behind the box truck. She couldn’t see a thing.
But then she heard Martha scream again, much louder than before. The sound was cut off abruptly, and then she heard a whimper.
“Martha!” Sydney shouted.
She ran to the waterfront. Arriving at a dock, she stopped short. She could just make out a dark form at the end of the pier. She heard another whimper coming from that direction.
Sydney walked cautiously toward the end of the dock. As she got closer, it became apparent someone was lying there, face down.
She squatted down next to the form—it was Martha. Her eyes were closed. There was blood dripping down her face from a cut on her forehead.
“Martha?” said Sydney, gently grasping her shoulder.
Martha’s eyes opened, and she sat up.
“Sydney? You found me?”
She sounded groggy as if she’d been asleep.
“Can you stand?” Sydney asked. “We need to get out of here.”
Suddenly, Martha became much more alert. Her eyes went wide, and she looked around frantically.
“Where is he? Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” said Sydney. “Can you get up?”
“Yes, I think so.”
With Sydney’s help, Martha got to her feet.
“Let’s go!” said Sydney. They moved back to land, Sydney keeping one hand on Martha’s arm to keep her steady.
Moving off the dock, Sydney heard footsteps again.
“Oh, no,” she hissed. “Come on!”
She pulled Martha toward the nearest warehouse building. They crept along the wall, Sydney searching for somewhere to hide. There was a door midway down the wall. Sydney tried it, but it was locked.
They moved to the far end of the building and found another locked door. The footsteps pursued them relentlessly.
Sydney led Martha across an alley. There was an older brick building here. They moved around the far corner and found a rickety wooden door; it was locked.
“Screw it,” said Sydney. She kicked the door as hard as she could. The wood cracked. She kicked again, and the door snapped open. Sydney led Martha inside.
It was dark inside, but not completely. This building looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time. They were in a large, open room that seemed to span most of the ground floor. Sydney could make out debris strewn about on the ground. She did her best to close the broken door, and then they moved to the far side of the room.
They found a staircase and climbed to the upper level. There was a long hallway, doors lining each side. Martha seemed to be gaining strength—Sydney suspected the adrenaline in her system was overcoming her grogginess.
Running to the end of the hall, they found an open door. They went inside, and Sydney closed the door. There were a desk and chair here—sh
e took the chair and propped it under the door handle.
They hid behind the desk and listened.
Moments later, Sydney thought she could discern footsteps coming up the stairs.
“Crap.”
Now she heard someone coming down the hall, a few steps at a time. The footsteps grew closer until they stopped right outside the door.
Sydney knew the chair wouldn’t keep the man in black out for very long. They needed to get out of here.
She tried the door at the far end of the small room, but it was just a closet. Looking out the window, she saw there was a fire escape. She opened the latch, but the window wouldn’t budge. By the looks of the place, the window probably hadn’t been opened in years.
“Help me with this,” she said.
Martha joined her, and together they were able to open the window enough for them to climb outside. Sydney followed Martha out onto the fire escape.
With the sound of the man in black banging against the door in the background, they made their way down the ladder. Dropping to the ground from the bottom rung, they dashed around the corner.
Sydney stopped and looked back around the edge of the building. She saw the man in black staring down at her from the window, still wearing his sunglasses.
“We need to move,” she said. “If we can get back to my truck, we should be free and clear. Follow me!”
The fog was thinning now; this made running easier.
But once they’d reached the river and turned back toward the park where Sydney had left the truck, they stopped dead in their tracks. Standing in their path, a couple of blocks away, was the man in black.
“How the hell did he get in front of us so fast?” Sydney asked.
“I don’t know,” said Martha. “But we can’t go that way!”
They ran back the way they’d come, Sydney leading the way. She zigzagged between buildings, running up one alley and down the next, hoping to lose their pursuer. But suddenly, they turned a corner and realized they could go no farther. They’d reached the destruction zone.
Sydney inhaled sharply, gazing out in terror at the sight before them: desolation as far as the eye could see.
“Let’s move into Alexandria,” she suggested. “There’s nobody down here at night. But there are bound to be people out and about if we can get downtown.”
