Estimated reading time: 6 minutes
Teachers used to say I had an overactive imagination. Show me an eight-year old that doesn’t. But then again, not all kids that age had the lunar landscape behind their house. The three acre plot—in truth, disused land from our neighbouring farmer, too wild and stony to irrigate or use for grazing cattle—was my adventure playground in the painfully long summer holiday.
Twenty years later, I’m a straightened out adult with hard edges and soft palms. But, the wee culchie girl still lives there, and it’s the brattish version of her in ‘05 I fondly recall. Her, of freckled face and bowl-cut fringe. Thorn-scraped arms and nettle stung legs. The one whose school friends all lived in town, a few doors down from one another. Sure, that was miles away—may as well have been a different planet.
In fact it was.
Mam and Dad were both working and, being an only child, help was sought in the form of Granny Smyth, whose good eye was already captivated by games show rerun marathons on UK Gold. Annoyed at my ridiculing the prizes on offer (speedboats, encyclopedias and crystal ashtrays), I was sent out to play in the sun more often than not.
It was a Tuesday. I was dribbling a football, weaving in and out of shadows thrown by the clothes catching the wind on my mam’s washing line, pretending they were sliding tackles from the opponent. Ordinarily, I’d kick the ball at a row of conifers at the end of our garden, but that day I noticed something odd. A small opening in the thick wall of conifers offered a tantalizing glimpse of life beyond. Crawling low, sharp spores and brittle twigs pricking my bare arms, I emerged on the other side, scratched and victorious, only to be met with another obstacle. A bramble hedge. Striding up and down the little walkway gap like a commanding officer, I fixed my attention on a gap, tightly folded my arms and barrelled through bum-first.
Finally free, I spun around and observed the large expanse of land. An excellent gardener, my mother had ensured her own rockbeds, potted plants and shrubs were all wet and full of colour, blooming for the season and busy with the sound of bees and other pollinators. In contrast, this foreign, wild and unkempt land—various odd bumps and mounds throwing long menacing shadows like clawed fingers, was devoid of colour. The barren landscape looked alien to me, and that’s why it was so exciting.
“One small step for man…”
Aside from the soft crunch of vegetation beneath my feet, it was eerily quiet. Tall trees lined the perimeter, seeming to hush the sharp wind to a whisper. Immediately, my eye was drawn to a cluster of craggy, bent trees on the far side of the field. Lower branches suggested a climb was possible. A potential lookout to scout for hostile enemies.
A small knoll directly ahead had formed with bristly yellow vegetation oddly marking its appearance. Much to my excitement, there was a dip and hole in the ground that preceded it. A cavern or sinkhole, perhaps.
On my immediate left, and becoming more noticeable when my senses attuned to the buzz of flies, was something of interest. Long white curved blades protruded from the ground. The sunken body had caved in and the innards were mottled with a coat of buzzing black and blue. A skull nearby suggested it had been a sheep.
Naturally, an autopsy was needed.
“Nurse, I’ll need my scalpel.”
It didn’t take long to find a stick. I got quite the shock when I slotted the end inside the ribcage of the animal, covering my mouth as the shiny coat fell away and scattered to the wind.
“Mission control,” I cried breathlessly, having run and found cover behind the knoll. “Can you read me?”
I crawled up the small hill, searching for the buzzing cloud.
“Can report. We are A-OK.”
Over the lip of the hole, I spied the darkened shapes of various objects, stacked on top of one another. Edging nearer, I could see an assembly of broken and rusting mechanical appliances. At the bottom, in one sunken corner, green sludge had settled which the ground refused to drink.
“Possible crash. May not be one of ours.”
I lowered myself into the hole.
“Status check: 15,000 metres below sea level. Temperature reading is 18 degrees. Humidity, unusually high. Pollen count, also high. Radiation levels, 104. And rising.”
The sun had dipped below the opening, and the steep embankment required careful footing. Holding out the stick as a guide and weapon, I inched forward into the gloom.
“Alien lifeforms detected.” I struck a large mechanical piece of farm equipment that looked like a claw, anticipating—perhaps hoping, for a response. “Not hostile. It’s like a graveyard. No sign of survivors.”
Approaching the green ooze in the corner, I held out my stick.
“Taking sample.” I dipped the stick inside the puddle, puncturing the crusted scum of the surface. Suddenly, an object bobbed to the top. A long tail connected to a hairless bloated body. The beady eyes of the rat stared up at me.
“Abort! Abort!”
I backed up quickly and struck my lower back on something hard. Turning, I watched as the washing machine threatened to tip over, its door swinging open. A small animal leapt from within, scurrying among the junk at my feet. I clamoured to the wall edge, pulled myself over and sprinted the length of the field to the row of trees, and safety beyond.
Arriving home, I immediately told my grandmother. She laughed so hard, she almost choked. Just before the new school term started, I snuck out a few more times. On the final time, the hole where I had made the discovery had been freshly filled in with soil. My summer was ending, and perhaps, that wasn’t a bad thing. School would bring new adventures, and at least that would involve other life forms.
This story was written for the ambitious creative project, ‘The Weekly Kook’, where I release a brand new short story every week for a year, totalling…yep, you guessed it – 52 stories.
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