The drive out of town felt like slipping into another world. Fog swallowed the road in thick, rolling waves, wrapping around the trees and smothering the edges of the pavement. My headlights barely cut through it, casting pale beams that seemed to deepen the shadows rather than dispel them. Even with the GPS guiding me, it felt like I was heading into the unknown, each passing second carrying me further from everything familiar.
The landmarks I’d grown up with—an old mailbox, a crooked wooden fence, the sagging roof of an abandoned barn—appeared and disappeared like ghosts in the mist. Familiarity twisted into something unrecognizable, distorted by the haze. Rolling the window down didn’t help; the metallic tang of the air only sharpened the unease weighing heavy on my chest.
The fog thickened as I turned down the last stretch of road, dense forest closing in around me like the walls of a tunnel. Then, without warning, the checkpoint came into view. Floodlights sliced through the mist in sharp, surgical beams. Soldiers moved like silent silhouettes beyond the barricade, their dark fatigues blending seamlessly into the night. The crunch of gravel under my tires sounded unnaturally loud as I pulled up to the blockade.
A soldier approached, his face unreadable behind a stern mask. He motioned for me to roll down the window. “Officer Whitaker?”
“That’s me,” I replied, my voice steadier than I’d expected.
“You’re clear. Park near the staging area and wait for instructions.” His tone was clipped and efficient, leaving no room for questions.
I eased the car forward and stepped out, the cold air hitting me like a slap. Damp and heavy, it clung to my skin as a faint hum of machinery threaded through the silence. Through the thinning fog, the ship emerged, looming over the clearing like a colossal, wounded beast.
Even with one of its engines completely sheared off, the craft was enormous, its sleek hull blending elements of human and alien design. Smooth, interlocking panels glinted under the floodlights, intricate patterns making the ship look as though it had been both engineered and grown. Scorch marks streaked the silvery surface, and a torn-off turbine lay half-buried in the dirt, its jagged edges catching and scattering the light.
Symbols etched into the hull stood out like deliberate scars—alien, enigmatic, and impossible to decipher. The ship wasn’t just a machine; it felt alive. A faint pulse of light emanated from within, throbbing rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat. I shivered as the sheer weight of the moment settled heavily on my shoulders.
“What the hell is that?” I murmured, though no one seemed to notice.
A soldier broke away from the group and approached, brisk and guarded. He glanced back toward the ship before leaning in, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper. “Watch your back out here. There’s something inside that ship—something we haven’t identified yet. If it shows itself, don’t try to be a hero. Call it in. Understood?”
I nodded, tearing my gaze from the ship’s wounded form. “Understood.”
“Good,” he said curtly, motioning for me to follow.
As we walked the perimeter, he outlined my duties. On paper, it was straightforward—basic guard duty. But the way he emphasized “nobody gets close, nobody goes inside” told me there was far more at stake than anyone wanted to admit.
He paused, eyes drifting to the ship with something that looked uncomfortably like fear. “And remember,” he added quietly, “if you see anything—or anyone—coming out of that ship, do not engage. You call it in. There’s more going on here than they’re telling us.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the tension coil tighter in my gut. “Yes, sir.”
He gave me a long, appraising look, then nodded and headed back to the staging area. Within minutes, personnel began packing up. Military vehicles rumbled to life, their engines grumbling through the fog before fading into the distance, leaving me alone with the wreck and the silence.
Now it was just me—the ship, the fog pressing on all sides, and that faint humming tension in the air. Each step I took around the perimeter felt heavier, my boots grinding over gravel that sounded too loud. The world beyond this clearing might as well have vanished into the haze.
I focused on routine: circling the perimeter, checking barricades, scanning the woods, and carefully avoiding any urge to approach the ship. The fog turned everything claustrophobic, its grayness making the clearing feel small and trapped. Still, the ship loomed large, a dark presence that refused to be ignored. Its pulsing glow washed over the area in faint, rhythmic waves, stirring shifting shadows in the mist.
Occasionally, a creak of settling metal or a crackle like distant static broke the quiet. I told myself it was just the wreck settling, but that didn’t silence the prickling at my neck. Something about this place felt off—as if I weren’t really alone.
My gaze drifted back to the ship more often than I wanted. Its alien design looked almost organic, as though it had grown into its form. The scorch marks and damaged hull contrasted against the still-pristine symbols etched into its surface. In the stark light, those markings seemed to shimmer, almost writhe, as if they were alive. I shook my head, forcing myself to look away. Imagination, I told myself—just imagination.
“Stay focused,” I muttered, swinging my flashlight beam across the clearing. The light barely pierced the fog, the darkness soaking it up until only a weak glow remained. My voice fell flat, swallowed by the mist, leaving only the ship’s low hum.
I stopped at the clearing’s edge, staring at the jagged tear in the ship’s hull. Twisted metal glinted faintly. It looked like a wound. My breath clouded in front of me. “Why does it feel like it’s waiting for me?” I whispered, more to myself than anything else.
I remembered the soldier’s warning and the hint of fear in his eyes. Whatever lay inside the ship was enough to rattle trained professionals. My instincts told me it wasn’t friendly. Yet, the ship seemed to beckon, as if it knew I was here.
“No,” I said aloud, stepping back. I shoved my hands into my pockets, resisting the inexplicable urge to approach the torn hull. “Just a job,” I reminded myself. “Guard the perimeter. That’s all.”
A sharp crack split the silence, metal shifting deep within. I jerked around, flashlight beam darting across the hull. For a moment, the etched symbols caught the light, then vanished into shadow.
“It’s just settling,” I said softly, but the words lacked conviction.
Minutes dragged into hours. I radioed in my “all clear” at set intervals, the brief, crackling replies doing little to ease my nerves. Once, my flashlight flickered, and my pulse leapt before the beam steadied again. The small glitch set my heart pounding, as though the darkness was alive and waiting for a chance to close in.
The ship’s pull weighed on me now. It didn’t feel like ordinary curiosity—it felt like a silent command, a gravitational force pulling my thoughts its way. I tried to keep moving, circling the clearing, but the forest might as well not exist. Everything beyond the immediate radius faded away, leaving me trapped in a pocket of fog and fear.
I ended up near the ship again, staring at its looming shape. The fog swirled around it unnaturally, drawn to the vessel’s pulsing light. My heartbeat matched the ship’s faint rhythm. I took a hesitant step closer, the gravel crunching underfoot. That torn hull opening… it felt like an invitation.
“What am I doing?” I whispered, stopping myself. I clenched my fists and backed away. Nobody goes inside—that was the order. And yet, the ship’s silent call persisted, nagging at the edges of my resolve.
I paced the clearing again, flashlight scanning the ground, the trees, the barricades—anything but that jagged opening. Still, my eyes betrayed me, drifting back to the ship’s pulsing hull whenever I let my guard down.
A louder crack jerked my attention back. I thought I saw movement—just a flicker in the corner of my vision. The flashlight trembled in my grip as I tried to catch another glimpse, heart thudding in my ears.
The radio crackled, a hushed voice cutting in. “Any signs yet, Whitaker?” It was the soldier from before, tension straining his words.
“All clear,” I managed, though my voice came out thinner than I liked.
“Stay sharp,” he warned. “If it’s hiding in there, it won’t stay hidden forever.” Static followed, then silence. I clenched my jaw, swallowing a lump of fear. They knew something waited inside, and that meant I wasn’t alone.
The radio crackled again, startling me. “Whitaker, status?” Dispatch’s voice sounded tinny, distant.
“All clear,” I said, forcing calm into my tone. “Nothing to report.”
“Copy that. Keep us posted.” A click of static, then silence once more.
I hooked the radio back onto my belt. The brief exchange grounded me for a moment, but the feeling didn’t last. The fog thickened, pressing closer, shrinking my world to the radius of the floodlights and the faint glow of the ship.
The vessel’s hum thrummed in the air, and I felt it reverberate in my bones. It was alive in some way I couldn’t understand. Waiting. Watching. And I knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t wait forever.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author