Through the Looking Glass
The three of them made their way down the corridor but stopped for a moment as a weird, putrid, morbid smell came from ahead of them. Frank picked up his walkie and tried to talk to someone outside the craft. All he got was static. He looked surprised. The three continued down the corridor.
“Hey let go!” Theresa cried, interrupting him, “The dance is over!”
He looked at her puzzled, “But it just started!”
Theresa pulled free of him and backed away. “Leave me alone!” she said huffily, then added as she walked away, “Loser.”
He looked confused and then shrugged. “Maybe a few more drinks.” He said, heading off to quench his thirst.
At the bar, he slammed his fist down and looked at the bartender. “Scotch. Neat!” he bellowed. The bartender gave him an impatient look, and then set Matthew’s drink in front of him.
Smiling he threw back his head and finished off the drink in one gulp, allowing the drink to burn his throat as it made its way to his stomach. Setting down his glass he intoned, “More!”
Matthew drank the next drink just as fast. He was about to order another when his cell phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket. “Ah.” He said with a smile, “Voicemail.”
He looked at the bartender, “Another drink while I check my voicemail.”
Flipping open his phone, he pressed the dial button. A monotone woman’s voice said, “You have one new message.”
He gave a lopsided grin to the irritated bartender, “I have a message.”
“Matthew,” the message began. Matthew was stunned, even in his drunken stupor, it sounded like his voice, “Take your pills. You need to take your pills.”
Matthew shut the phone and looked at the bartender, suddenly feeling too sober for his taste. “I just left myself a message to take my pills.”
He shrugged and reached for the refilled glass.
The bartender grabbed it from him and told him he had drunk enough. He told Matthew he was going to call him a cab. Matthew felt in no condition to argue. He just hoped that the hangover in the morning would not be as bad as he expected it to be.
Once he had returned to his room he sat at the edge of his bed sitting, staring off into space.
The three of them entered a small room filled with controls. In the center of the room there was a chair and in that chair sat a creature. The creature’s body slumped lifelessly. Matthew noted that the smell they encountered earlier was strong in here.
He wondered how long the craft had been here, and what had caused its death. He shrugged, they’d get to the autopsy soon enough. The creature was wearing a suit of some kind, and its entire body was covered. A large metallic helmet with five pencil-like protrusions sticking out was leaning at an odd angle on top of the body.
“I wonder who it is,” Dawson asked, staring at the body, “Or what.”
Frank looked at the control panels on the wall. He noted that interior readout displays were like the outside panel controls. He noticed that none of the panels seemed to be within reach of the body in the center of the room. “I wonder how the craft is piloted.”
Matthew pointed to the protrusions at the top of the helmet. “Some sort of psionic device?” Matthew looked at the body.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.