“Wistaria”

As I write this, my jaw throbs with the mind numbing pain only associated with having your wisdom teeth chiseled from your skull. The only remedy for this, it seems, is having an ice pac glued to my face and a series of stomach-churning medications. To say the least, I have been confined to my either too hot or too cold room for the past several days, and these are not the best conditions for writing. Therefor, please excuse both the quality and the content of the following post, it was not only rushed, but written in vain.

The Thing They Found In The Woods

A Secret In The Cemetery

As the car rushed down Miranda, which was deserted except for the occasional wayward cow stumblingly along the the roadway, Branden crawled into the front seat. He tried, with some difficulty, to strap himself in with the seat belt. After five minutes of wrestling with the unruly belt, he managed to secure it, only for it to snap undone once again. Kurtis had the car merely three days and it was already trashed. Six empty ginger ale cans were crumpled and stored amongst several books and magazines, strips of paper were strewn like old confetti, several pairs of shoes with rotted souls decorated the back seat, sweatshirts covered in moist dog hair had congregated into piles. 

“Nice place you got here,” Branden noted. 

“Well, It’s not like I’m expecting the Pope anytime soon,” Kurtis explained as he turned onto Phobos. They passed Old Phobos Cemetery. Within, Kurtis caught sight of Oblique Ravel sitting on the brick wall. Beside her, sat  a tanned boy. He looked complacent, even bored. 

“They say, Oblique sleeps in the cemetery,” Branden laughed. 

Kurtis slowed Zephyr, “Who’s she with?”

Branden struggled in his seat to get a better look, Oblique and the boy’s head turned in unison. They watched the slow-moving vehicle with suspicion. “Keep driving, man, they’re staring at us. Looks like Isaiah Abel to me.” 

Kurtis was silently reflecting on what they had seen. He turned down Callisto Drive towards the strip mall. The engine did all the talking. The car’s voice seemed to reflect whatever Kurtis was thinking, as if they were somehow unified. It crunched bitterly, interrupting all of Branden’s attempts to speak. While impatiently waiting for Kurtis’ nerves to cool, Branden began to dig through Kurtis’ army surplus backpack. 

“So, Kurtis, what exactly is NICAP?” Branden asked curiously, perhaps even timidly. He saw this not only caught Kurtis unguarded, it was equally unassuming and Kurtis lost the jaded spark in his eyes. Branden examined the peculiar device that had earlier fallen from Kurtis’ backpack. With the tips of his fingers, Branden turned the object round and around, surveying every detail. 

“NICAP? Hey, man, careful. I just dropped a fortune for that.” 

“Yeah, but, why?” 

“It’s my UFO Kit. If there’s a UFO around, I’ll be the guy to call. Anything you need in case of an alien sighting, if you think there’s been a UFO landing, you know, whatever, I got it.” 

“I’ll be sure to put your ad in the paper,” Branden said dismissively. 

“NICAP: the National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena,” Kurtis announced while making a sharp turn. 

“Careful, mac, I just ate lunch. So, what’s this thing do?” 

“It’s a Greiger counter and I’m sorry but I left my Magnetometer at home,” Kurtis apologized.

“I’m so disappointed in you.” 

Kurtis, ignoring Branden’s comment, continued, “The Greiger counter basically measures radiation. It’s your basic, portable, alpha/ beta measuring device. If I could, I would have gotten a scintillation counter, but then I’d have to sell my kidney. Seriously, I had a guy in a NICAP chat room offer me the trade!” 

“Oh, and you passed that one up?” Branden feigned shock. 

“Yes, I want to keep track of my vital organs.”  

The contents of Zephyr were rattled as Kurtis accidentally rolled on the curb as he entered Ariel Place Mall.   

 

Wistaria

The Thing They Found In The Woods

 

Zephyr 

It looked like a Delorean but without the sleek silver, the doors that opened upwards, the ability to time travel. The 1983 Thunderbird sitting in the front yard was unmistakably boring, blue-grey, with a dent in the passenger door and a jammed driver’s side window. The window, which was stained somewhat orange from an unknown blast of heat, was stuck slightly ajar. The trunk was full of classic comic books, some wrapped in plastic; they were cold glossy paper and easy money. That was the only good thing about the 1983 Thunderbird, nicknamed Zephyr. 

“Come on, use your imagination. I got this thing for a deal,” Kurtis said framing the car with his hands. 

“The way you were talking about it, I figured it was something worthwhile,” Branden said, utterly disappointed in what was before him. Perhaps he had been too imaginative with his expectations. Kurtis had called it, ‘a chariot of wind, a  formidable storm cloud, a sublime creature of the night.’ 

Well, it was hardly any that, but it was pretty fitting in Kurtis’ yard, which was well-equipped with other tacky and disappointing things. It had fake giant mushrooms, one of those wooden Jack n’ Jill teeter totters with the happy-go-lucky painted smiles and miniature windmills. Kurtis’ little sister had a turtle sandbox filled with brown water, Kurtis’ dad had two other cars parked in the lawn, one with a rusted door, the other on cinderblocks, and this menagerie of cliches was placed beside a doublewide in the middle of a great big field.

“All the comic books are in the back. I have collections you couldn’t dream of, all complete, gorgeous editions. I’ll earn the money back from buying Zephyr easily,” Kurtis explained while running his hand along the siding of the vehicle. 

“Yeah! We’ll only need to sell about five dollars worth to cover the cost of this car and get another 1983 Thunderbird with a dent in the side!” Branden noted sarcastically but Kurtis looked displeased. Branden would laugh when he thought about it again; he was always very happy with his sarcastic comments. Just as Kurtis was always very happy with his latest science fiction short story–regardless of its quality. 

Kurtis set his backpack down and it vomited the contents: his entire collection of tapes, his tape recorder, a special device he had ordered from the NICAP website (supposedly capable of reading UFO landing sites). 

“Laugh now, Brando, but this car is gonna drive your ass to school,” Kurtis joked. 

“Hell yes, and to the strip mall so we can rip off some underage comic book collectors. Man, what is all this stuff? Books about alien abductions and stuff? Kurt, you don’t actually believe this shit, do you?” Branden asked, helping Kurtis with the remaining spilt parcels. 

“Well, I was thinkin’. I mean, I did some research. What if Leviathan is run by aliens?” Kurtis suddenly surged. Branden looked into Kurtis’ stormy eyes and saw the ideas brewing within, the thoughts churning, the hyperbolic connections being drawn. 

“Kurtis, the only thing crazier than that is thinking Oblique Ravel is a babe,” Branden nudged his friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, lay off, man.” Kurtis entered the driver’s side. Branden tried to accompany him in shotgun. 

“Dude, this door is busted!” Branden shouted as the engine whirred ecstatically.

“I know, you gotta crawl in through the back!” Kurtis explained, attempting to have his voice climb over the guttural muffler. Branden rolled his eyes and managed to fight his way into the vehicle just as it pulled away into the grey afternoon.