BlOgStEr

Chapter 1

Michel searched the landscape as it whizzed by. “Water tower!” Michel called out excitedly. “Water tower starts with W. Now it’s your turn.” He glanced slyly at his big brother, Nick, who was sitting beside him. “You have to find something that starts with X.”

To pass the time on a long car ride from Phoenix to King City, Missouri, the family had been playing an alphabet game. The object was to take turns finding something that started with each letter of the alphabet. His mom and dad had lost interest somewhere around Q, but Nick had stuck with it. Although they were 10 years apart in age, Nick was very patient and attentive to his younger brother.

Nick studied the farmland whizzing by outside the van window. “X-tra big cow,” he finally announced with a straight face. “That’s not fair!” Michel shot Nick a glance. But he wasn’t really annoyed. “Okay, I give up. You win,” Nick said as he tickled Michel in the ribs. “There is no way I’m going to see xylophone out here.”

It was a long drive to the family farm to visit Uncle Ed, Aunt Belinda, and Grandma Ruby. Michel had been there several times before, but this time was different and very special. It was the 10 year family reunion. At the last reunion he had only been a baby, so he didn’t remember any of it. He had certainly heard about it a lot.

“There have been Collins’s on this land since the Louisiana Purchase,” his dad always said proudly. Nick had actually been born there before their parents moved to Arizona. Now, family members were coming from all over the country to gather in the small mid-western village that was there ancestral home. Michel was going to get to meet aunts and uncles and cousins that he never met before, including Uncle Milo. He was the oldest person in the entire family. As they drew closer to King City, Michel could hardly sit still.

Chapter 2

When the road-weary group finally pulled up to the large, white farmhouse, Uncle Ed was standing on the porch with a big grin to greet them. “Well, it’s about time you got here,” he boomed in a deep voice. “Belinda’s been staring out since lunchtime.” As he spoke, a pleasant-faced woman in her mid-fifties appeared and waved enthusiastically from the kitchen window. By the time the family was inside, Aunt Belinda was setting out a hot meal in the dining room.

“Land Sakes!” she declared, laughing heartily. “You must all be starving.” Chatting and laughing, everyone took a seat at the table. It was obvious, however, that there was one empty place. “Where’s Grandma Ruby?” Nick asked. Belinda and Ed shared a serious glance. “She is just feeling a little under the weather,” Ed said finally. “I’m fine.” Everyone looked up to see the plump, gray haired woman standing in the doorway. She stared back at them without smiling. “It’s all this fuss,” she complained. “I just can’t stand it. All these folks coming here. Why can’t they just get this business over with quietly and go home?”

“Hi, Grandma Ruby,” Nick said, surprised at her gruffness. Usually,they were so nice whenever they paid a visit. The old woman turned and walked away down the hall without responding, but not before Nick had noticed her throat and the backs of her hands. They were covered with patches of dry, scaly skin. Belinda quickly launched into apology. “Grandma Ruby’s not feeling herself, but she’s going to be fine very soon.” Nick noticed that his mom and dad were nodding knowingly.

Chapter 3

“C’mon, Champ. Get a move on or I’ll get all of the pancakes,” Nick said the next morning as he and Michel rolled out of there beds. “Not if I can help it!” Michel laughed, racing to grab his jeans. Moments later they clambered into there places at the kitchen table. Still, laughing, Michel bumped the table as he sat down and a little orange juice slopped over the side of his glass.

“Can’t you boys behave like gentlemen for once instead of hooligans,” Aunt Belinda snapped. Everyone looked at her in surprised silence. Nervously, she used her napkin to dab at the small spot of juice on the tablecloth. Michel couldn’t help but notice the small, dry patches of scaly skin on the backs of her hands.

“I am sorry,” Michel said timidly. He tried to change the subject. “Is Grandma Ruby feeling better this morning?” With a grim expression, Belinda looked at the other adults. “She’s, not well. She’s gone away for a day or two.” “Away where?” Michel asked. “Just away!” his aunt answered harshly. And with that she stomped out of the room.

Michel and Nick spent the early part of the day in town, and Michel was glad since everyone at home seemed kind of grumpy. Still, almost everywhere we went, they ran into a relative, and it didn’t take long for Michel to realize that most of them were edgy and out of sorts, too. When he and Nick got home, Michel decided to talk to his parents about it. He found them in the living room going over some sort of printed schedule or timetable.

“He should be ready by tomorrow,” his dad said seriously. His mom was somber. “How do you think we should handle it?” “We’ll leave it to Milo.” When Michel entered the room, they stopped talking and his dad slipped the timetable into a large envelope. “What’s up, son?” he asked with a forced smile. Michel flopped down into an overstuffed chair by the picture window. “What’s wrong with everyone?” he asked. “I thought this was supposed to be a big celebration, but no one seems to be very happy.”

“Well,” his mom began, “there are so many things to do, family traditions and all. People get irritable.” A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. “Why, I wonder who that could be?” Mr. Collins said with a false cheeriness. It was Uncle Milo. If there was a center to the entire family, he was certainly it. Michel had no idea how they were related. Everyone called him “Uncle.” All of the adults treated him with respect and Michel thought of fear when he first saw him.

As Milo stepped inside, Michel felt his spine tingle. The old man looked like a walking corpse. His dry skin hung in loose wrinkles on his face, and a few white hairs stuck straight out from his aged spotted scalp. No one knew for certain how old he was. He had run the huge storage warehouse at the edge of town for as long as anyone could remember.

“George…..Monica,” Milo said gruffly as he nodded a greeting. Michel felt anxious as the aged man turned his dark gaze directly on him. Without a word Milo grasped the boys hand and ran his bony fingers over the pink flesh. “Almost time,” he wheezed under his breath. Michel was so transfixed by Uncle Milo that he barely noticed when Nick entered the room. “Uncle Milo,” Nick said, extending his hand. Milo took it and gazed at it intently. Finally he looked up and laughed like a hideous cadaver.

“Yes. This is good. You come with me to the warehouse, boy,” Milo ordered. Nick obeyed without question. He didn’t even look at his little brother as he followed the old man out of the door. “Why are they going to the warehouse?” Michel said mostly to himself. He stood at the picture window. As he watched the pair leave, he absentmindedly rubbed at a patch of itchy red skin on the back of his hand.

A bar of sunlight falling across his pillow awakened Michel early the next morning. Rolling over, he noticed that Nick’s side of the bed had not been slept in.

“He didn’t tell me anything about a fishing trip,” Michel said scowling when his mom explained where Nick had gone. “Well, maybe he doesn’t tell you everything,” his father snapped angrily. Michel didn’t believe there explanation for a minute. His parents had never lied to him before. There was something going on, and he intended to find out what it was. Whatever it was it had something to do with that warehouse.

Chapter 4

With late night shadows darkening its time worn walls, the warehouse looked creepy and distorted. It hadn’t been difficult for Michel to sneak out of the house after everyone else had gone to sleep, but now it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Taking a deep breath, he hoisted himself up through a partially opened window. Once inside, he could tell why no one bothered to lock the windows. The place was filled with broken down farm equipment that looked like it hadn’t been used for years. Some of the rusty hulks were partially covered by tarps, which made the junk look like huge, crouching beasts waiting to spring.

Suddenly Michel heard a scuffling sound near the wall to his left. He switched on a small penlight he had brought and aimed the beam in the direction of the noise. A large pair of rat eyes glared back at him. The creature’s greasy looking fur shimmered in the dim light. It took a step toward him, then another. Michel glanced from side to side for a way to escape, but the rat abruptly turned and slinked away.

Michel let out a long sigh and bounced the thin beam around the area where he stood. On the far wall he noticed a door. He moved quietly toward it, gripped the handle, and slowly turned it. The latch clicked and he pulled the door open to find a wooden staircase that led down into the blackness.

“Okay, hero,” he softly to himself. “I guess this is what you have to do.” Michel squared his shoulders and took a step…..then another. Even though he was scared, he descended step by step into a huge, vault-like underground chamber. As in the room above, there were tarps covering objects. He edged toward the object closest to him. Extending, his trembling hand, he gripped the edge of the tarp and pulled it back.

“YEEAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!” He stumbled backward away from the ghastly sight. There on a smooth, metallic table laid the body of a man. It was wrapped in what looked like a coating of sticky threads, not unlike those of a spider’s web or moth’s cocoon. Gathering his courage, Michel lifted up the tarp he was now leaning against. It was another body.

“I don’t believe it,” he gasped. In the beam of his small flashlight, he could see dozens of covered tables. He reached out and lifted one more tarp. Tears blurred his vision. Michel’s unseeing eyes stared back at him. He, too, was covered by the sticky layer of stuff.

“NO!” Michel cried out, touching his brother’s face. It was cold and clammy. “We didn’t expect you so soon, son.” A pair of incredibly strong hands grasped Michel from behind and lifted him off his feet. It was Uncle Milo.

“What have you done to them?” the boy screamed, kicking and trying to free himself from Uncle Milo’s grasp. “I’m so sorry you had to find out like this,” the old man said calmly. “But it’s too late now; we’d best get you home.”

With an iron grip, Milo guided Michel towards the now well lit farmhouse. His frantic parents were waiting inside. The boy stared in disbelief. They looked as if they haven’t slept in weeks. His mother scratched continuously at the scaly skin of her arms and face. It peeled away in long, dry strips.

“Where did you find him?” his dad asked with agitation. “In the warehouse,” Milo growled. “He knows.” “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Milo,” a gentle voice interrupted. “He’s got to find out some time.”

Michel snapped his attention to a figure standing at the hall door. It was Grandma Ruby. She looked younger and lovelier than he had ever seen her. She smiled sweetly and held out her arms to him. “Come here child. Everything is all right.” Milo pulled Michel’s sleeve back to expose the boy’s arm. His skin was peeling in parched sheets. Terrified, Michel twisted out of Milo’s grasp and backed towards the door. “Get away from me!”

“Michel,” his mother soothed. “Please…you have to…” Michel’s heart was beating like hammer. “What are you doing?” he screamed. “What happens? Do the old people take over the bodies of the young? Is that it?” From the corner of his eye, Michel saw Uncle Ed trying to slip into the room from the kitchen. Michel wheeled around and zigzagged between his father and Milo, barely escaping out the open front door.

Keeping to darkened fields and away from roads, Michel managed to get away. With tears stinging his eyes, he stumbled through tall standing rows of ripening corn. Finally, drawn to the glow of an all-night gas station just off the interstate, he lurched on to the blacktop and stood blinking in the glaring lights.

“Help me,” he begged a young man who was filling the tank of his brand-new sports car. “Please, I need a ride into the city.” “Sure” the man shrugged. “I am going that way anyway.” On the road, Michel settled back in the passenger seat and let his mind wander. He had to get to the police, but what could he tell them? Whatever he decided it had to be soon. He paid no attention to the direction the car was traveling until a huge 18 wheeler passed by them on the road. The lights from the truck lit up the face of the young man driving the car. For the first time Michel noticed the shreds of dry skin peeling from the man’s neck.

“What?” Michel sat up straight just as the car pulled in behind the warehouse. “Let me go!” he screamed at the stone-faced man who dragged him from the seat. He struggled but he couldn’t break free. Once they were in the underground room, the man released him. Fists clenched, Michel cringed under the steady gaze of Uncle Milo. To his horror, he saw that his mother was lying on one of the metal tables. A thin layer of the sticky material covered her like a gauze and she was breathing heavily.

She opened her mouth to speak in labored voice. “Don’t fight Michel. It is our way.” Strangely, Michel was suddenly calm. Maybe she was right. Turning his head slightly he saw an elderly man being helped from a table. The man looked as if he was awakening from a gentle slumber.

Uncle Milo placed a strong hand on Michel’s shoulder as the boy watched his father take his place on one of the tables. “It must be,” Milo said gently. “When our home world was destroyed two Earth-Centuries ago, this planet was the only place we found where we could survive.” As the old man spoke, Michel felt a growing sense of serenity. “By hiding the truth about our origins, we have been able to live peacefully among the earthlings without detection. That is all we have ever wanted. But we are not exactly like them. The energy from the sun causes our skins…to…let’s say…wear out. To survive on this planet, every ten years those of our race must experience a resting period, or a time of change.”

“You mean sort of like a butterfly?” Michel questioned. A familiar voice said, “Something like that.” Michel looked up at Nick. As his brother helped him to the waiting table, Michel felt a sticky substance being released from his own skin. A soft, threadlike cocoon started to form. “This is the time that we are most vulnerable. But don’t worry. You are not alone,” Nick assured him. “We gather together here to guard each other. It won’t take very long, then we can all return to our homes and the earthlings will never find out about our secret. It will be easier for you the next time.” Michel nodded, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to drift into a deep, restful sleep.