“Let’s go see what’s up. What are y’all looking at?”
“This meteor has a sharply defined edge. It don’t hardly seem natural at all.”
“It’s like it’s manufactured, ain’t it?”
“Yep.”
“You know, we had the impression that the other end was coming together, like a cone. Now that I see that this thing has a flat, opposite end, it makes me think it is shaped like a great, big, bullet.”
“That’s it for me, boys, I’m leaving this thing alone.”
“Yeah, me too. See y’all later.”
“No, no, no! Get back to work!”
“But Professor Dymwitte, this ain’t no meteor, we don’t know what this thing is.”
“Exactly! We must find out! Get back to work!”
“I’ll stay and help, Professor.”
“I’ll help, too, Professor.”
“You six boys will have to suffice.”
“Maybe we ought to be more careful, Professor.”
“Don’t be such a sissy! Dig away that dirt and uncover our prize!”
Gosh, I reckon I may have a speck of trepidation myself at this point.
What is this thing?
Where did it come from?
Is it dangerous?
By the late afternoon, we have the giant bullet uncovered in the bottom of its crater. Our digging efforts have left it surrounded by a berm of earth.
“We must devise a manner of removal and transport. I want this object delivered to the University at once. Obviously, it is very heavy, so special cranes and wagons must be made ready. Further...”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Did y’all hear that?”
“Yep.”
“It came from the bullet.”
“But it quit making noises from cooling hours and hours ago.”
“This noise wasn’t like that. This was different.”
“Yep.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Oh, golly, there it is again. It was like lots of tension scraping against another surface.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“I think the noise was coming from this, the flat end of the bullet, y’all.”
“Yep.”
“Hey, looky there. That don’t look right. See that little burn mark? It’s edges don’t match. It looks like the bottom half of the burn circle does not line up with the top half.”
“Hunh. Yep.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Yikes! That noise was louder, more distinct, and definitely coming from the bottom of this thing.”
“That inconsistency in the burn mark is more distinct, too. I think the top half has stayed in the same place, but I think the bottom half has shifted to the left.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“It moved! I saw the bottom part of the burn move a little to the left!”
“Stand back and look at it, y’all. You can see a big circle being formed.”
“That’s because the circle is a little bit raised up from the surface.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“It’s like a big old Mason jar, but in reverse. Instead of a screwed cap, it is like a screwed plug.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Unh, hunh, yeah, like the twisty channels of a rifle barrel.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Yeah, but it has the sound of an old Mason jar that has been sat too long and gotten rusty. It is stubborn and does not want to let go of its grip. Gosh, the circle in the middle is raised quite a bit, ain’t it?”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Yeah, the outline of the circle becomes more distinct, the more it turns, and the more it turns, the higher it raises from the surface. The bottom of the bullet is about twenty feet high. The five foot circle is in the center. As several feet of the bullet capsule is still buried, this puts the bottom edge of the circle about five feet in the air.”
“I think I’m gonna step back a little bit, y’all.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Yep, me too.”
“Yeah, the sound is like a jar, but the shape is more like that of a bolt, except it’s flat like a disc, and screwed into a shallow receiver.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
“Oh my Goodness, there must be somebody in there doing the turning! That disc is a hatchway!”
“Um, should we go back down there and help?”
“Go ahead if you want to, I’m gonna watch from back here.”
“Yep.”
“Un, hunh.”
“I think that disc seal is close to falling open.”
{{{Ear-rrk}}}
{{{Ear-rrk-rrk-rrk}}}
Kuh-Twinck!-a-Thunkuh-kuh-kuh-kuh.
With the last note of the rim threaded manhole hitting the ground, what little resolve me and my companions disappears and we all scramble out of that cursed pit.
“Wait, you workmen, get back down there!”
“Sorry, Professor Dymwitte, but there is something super sinister about that mysterious capsule.”
“Look, Ichabod, Mr. Grunt is still down there.”
The hatch from the space bullet lies at Mr. Grunt’s feet. His face and shoulders come together tightly to help scrunch up his nose in an effort to better see through his tiny glasses.
“Anh, hey you in dehre, anh, yew kahn-not, anh, park dehre.”
With mouths agape, the Professor and I stand dumbfounded, watching the standoff between Mr. Grunt and the trespasser’s portal.
After a few tense moments, what appears to be a finger, shyly makes its appearance at the rim of the hatch. After another bashful moment, it is joined by its brother. The process is repeated on the opposite edge of the hole. I can postulate by the apparent pressure on the two sets of double digits, that a third digit lies on the inside of the structure providing resistance.
A dark, slimy green would be how I describe our guest’s skin tone. It has a wet, sticky texture.
I can almost make out a dark silhouette just inside the space capsule.
Tension builds in the fingers.
“Mr. Grunt! Get away! Hurry!”
But it is too late.
A third hand shoots from the opening, and secures itself about Mr. Grunt’s head. A three digit hand grips Mr. Grunt by the entire cranium.
“Aungh, yaungh, yaungh.”
Mr. Grunt is just as quickly snatched from view into the projectile of dire portent.
Screaming and sounds of struggle follow, along with animalistic roars.
These end all too quickly.
A sense of stasis holds us in its suspended temporal spell. A hush has fallen.
We cling to the silence, horrified at what has unthinkably occurred.
Slow, wet, smacking, sounds emanate from the metallic murder cave.
A long, dark, bubbly belch sends Professor Dymwitte and me running for our lives.
Chapter Two · Terror Comes To Alabama
“Mr. Temperance, my word sir, what has happened?”
“Oh my Goodness, Miss Plumtartt, that meteor turned out to be a hollowed out bullet with a monster inside what gobbled up Mr. Grunt!”
“Good Heavens!”
“Roof!”
“Yessir, Mr. Bolt, I know we ought to skedaddle, but somebody needs to put a stop to this nonsense here and now.”
“I see, and I concur. This deadly threat must be met with a vigorous defense. One suggests we muster arms and blast the murderous foe into so much rubbish, eh hem?”
“Yes Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am!”
“No, no, no, that is what you must not do!”
“What are you talking about Professor Dymwitte?”
“A show of force is exactly what we don’t want! We must try to communicate with the intrepid explorer. Mr. Grunt was probably seen as a threat.”
“Well, this here aetherman sure did gobble up that threat in a hurry!”
“The poor creature is probably scared. We merely need to communicate with him. He or she is obviously from an advanced race of beings. We jus
t have to show that we ourselves are a sapient species, also. Leave it to me, young people, I know just what to do! Wait here, I will return directly.”
“But Professor, wait, come back. Oh, there he goes, Miss Plumtartt.”
“Everyone has fled the scene, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. Do you reckon we ought to flee, too?”
“No, Mr. Temperance, for I feel it is now up to you and me to maintain a vigil on this fiend.”
“Yes, Ma’am, but Bolt and Clementine ain’t none too happy.”
“Do you think the Professor will seek assistance from law enforcement, Mr. Temperance?”
“Well, he was headed back towards the University, so maybe he was going to ask campus security.”
“Sh, listen, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I hear it, too. A metallic scraping noise. Now I hear more metallic racket. It’s coming from the crater.”
“Yes, it’s a pity the object lies in such a deep hole. The high, earthen berm leaves no vantage of view.”
“What do you suppose he’s up to, Ma’am?”
“Judging from the varied noise/mechanica arising from that steaming pit, I’d bet my best bustle that three-fingered fiend is dismantling his space-vessel.”
“Golly, why would he do that?”
“The furor of activity I hear supports the theory that the contraption can rebuild itself into another device.”
“Look, Miss Plumtartt, here comes Professor Dymwitte.”
“I say, he does travel large, does he not, eh hem? What an extraordinary entourage, Professor.”
“Don’t worry, Persephone, I have everything under control. From the officer training program at the school, I have procured a team of signal specialists. The intricate movements of the semaphore will provide a visual demonstration of communication. The varied and coloured flags will show that we are able to communicate in an intelligent manner.”
“How about them there girls you rustled up?”
“I have corralled a choral group from their rehearsal and pressed them into service. My hope is that female voices raised in song will calm the savage beast.”
“I see, that is why you have also brought out the university marching band, eh hem?”
“Yes, Persephone, I am hoping that the music will instill calm, but more than that, I have a plan to communicate with our guest using musical chords. I have prepared a score for our orchestra to follow.”
“Things were pretty rowdy in the pit while you were gone, Professor, but it has quieted back down again, now.”
“Good, now then, everyone get into position! Bring me my ladder, Ichabub. Have it face the aether craft and hold it steady!”
“Yessir!”
“Good, from up here, I can properly supervise. My symphony is to my right, and choir to my left. Ladies, you may begin.”
“Ahhh-ahhh-ahhh-ahhh-ahhhhhh”
“Gee, Miss Plumtartt, the Professor is right. Them there pretty girlie voices sound like the sweetest angels in Heaven.”
“I say, they do indeed. The meadow is washed with peace by their calming voices.”
Professor Dymwitte allows the five note choral refrain he has prepared continue for a few serene minutes. He finally brings in the lower end of his orchestra; the bass bassoons, tubas and baritones fill in the soft, low resonances of the soothing vibrations.
The semaphore flags perform their five-note accompaniment.
A few woodwind instruments are allowed to ease into the tranquil harmonies and finally, the brass sections state the refrain in plainer notes:
Baump
Baump Baump Bauaump
Baump
“Ahhh”
“Ahhh” “Ahhh” “Ahhhhh”
“Ahhh”
“Listen, Miss Plumtartt, the mechanical sounds are starting up again in the pit.”
“Yes, however, the sounds have a different quality at this time, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am. These are not the sounds of construction, they are that of a smoothly operating machine.”
“Here is a new sound, Mr. Temperance. There is a vibratory thrum in the air. My conjecture is that some sort of dynamo, or engine of some sort has now been brought to life.”
Professor Dymwitte continues his vocal, musical, and semaphorical attempts at communication.
“Mr. Temperance, something rises from behind the berm!”
“Gosh, it’s like two pie plates, stacked one atop the other, the top plate being upside down and resting on the bottom plate, rim to rim. It must be thirty or forty feet from side to side.”
“My word, Mr. Temperance, the cabin is rising again, still. This circular bridge sits upon three, spidery stilts. These segmented legs are telescopic and extend themselves to an astounding height.”
“Golly, Miss Plumtartt, I think the Professor has allowed his conducting efforts to coincide with his excitement. The Professor’s five-note tune is galloping along unchecked. He is conducting his performers into a climactic crescendo!”
“Look there, Mr. Temperance, a glass enclosed rod, with a bulbous rear and circular, concave, pan for a head is swinging into place atop the viewing platform.”
{{{Kuh-Chunk!!!}}}
One by one, the entire cast of performers stops singing, playing, and wagging.
“I say, that was a most disconcerting ‘gun being cocked’-like sound, was it not, as the afore mentioned device firmly affixed itself into a seated position, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, that there device what has locked itself on top of this water tower from the interplanetary ranges has a real life weapon aura to it, and that’s a fact.”
“There is a definite sense of menace in the stance of our voidal visitor as well, would you not agree?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Gosh, it’s looking like many of Professor Dymwitte’s gathered ensemble are deciding to vamoose.”
wuh-hooomm, wuh-hooomm,
“Golly, Miss Plumtartt, I can feel the awful throb pulsating off that horrible pan-headed rod all the way to my marrow.”
“Look there, Mr. Temperance, the glass insulator plates running the length of the energy-rod, are lighting up. Faster and faster, the sequentially flashing lights are chasing one another down the light pole!”
{{{SKRRR-BZZZCK-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}
A beam of lavender light radiates from the pan head. Cracking snaps and spits fill the air in an impossible sound riot.
Screams of fear and pain erupt from the collected muses, for anything metallic that the mildly purple beam encounters immediately becomes burning hot. Flutes are flung. The brass instruments instantly become hot potatoes and are abandoned in a headlong flight from the field. Rings and belt buckles quickly become unbearable. Even clarinets have metal bits and are immediately treacherous. Cymbals and xylophones become flaming discs and ringing razors.
“Run Miss Plumtartt, get to the wagon!”
“Why does Clementine not flee? She is clearly terrified.”
“Bolt is making her stay. Okay, we’re in, let’s go!”
“Roof!”
“Okay, is everybody all right? Good, as soon as we get to safety we’ll...”
“Mr. Temperance, the purple ray swings this way!”
“Augh, we’re hit! My boot buckles are on fire! My belt buckle is on fire! The pennies in my pocket! Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“The wagon is on fire, Mr. Temperance!”
“I can’t get Clementine to stop! Bolt doesn’t want her to stop. Here you go, smother the fire with the blankets.”
“Are you badly burned, Mr. Temperance?”
“No Ma’am, not too bad. The molten metal burned its way free so that it fell away pretty quick.”
“Well, thank Heaven for that.”
“You know, I like to think that I am one to keep a calm head in a bad situation, but that beam put me into a blind panic as much as anybody else.”
“Don’t feel badly, sir; band
members, semaphore teams, choralists, and even Professor Dymwitte have all been set into a mad struggle to escape that murderous meadow. It is a wonder, but apparently no one appears seriously hurt as we retreat from Earth’s first extraterrestrial encounter.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Okay, Mr. Bolt, we’re coming up on a little community. I think you can stop Clementine now.”
“I say, every church, school, and fire brigade bell in the area is ringing. The residents of the vicinity are showing up equipped to repulse the invader. Are you armed, Mr. Temperance?”
“Well, as this was a peaceful outing, I did not think to pack my ectoplasm based armaments. I do have my hunting rifle, though. She’s an old Marlin, from before the war. She ain’t the fanciest firearm on the field, but she’ll comb the hair of a squirrel at a hundred yards.”
“I shall trust to your marksmanship skills, sir.”
“Looks like everybody is ready, having removed any metal buttons or buckles, and protecting their weapons and ammunition in leather and cloth.”
“I expect you to exercise the utmost caution, Mr. Temperance.”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am.”
It is getting on towards midnight when we head back to the Grunt farm. I have never witnessed so many men move in such a stealthy manner. These are experienced hunters, every one of them, and they know how to move in patient, quiet, movements. As expected, we meet with like-minded citizens of other communities. Under the cover of darkness, we assume firing positions along the perimeter of our prey.
A whippoorwill’s call is heard.
This call is answered by another off to my left.
This little birdie is replied to by another, off on the other side of the field.
A deliberate five second count is silently made by all participants.
Then all guns open fire at once.
Hundreds of shots ricochet from the metallic tower. The unusual construction jumps in surprise at the attack. The legs of the soaring platform collapse into themselves, much like that of an extend-able telescope. This action drops our target from out of view.
Many of the men take this for a sign that we have won. A cheer of victory goes up from many of the boys.
However, an ominous hum starts up again.
wuh-hooomm, wuh-hooomm,
The air takes on the sensation of the pulsation.
{{{Kuh-Chunk!!!}}}
For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) Page 3
