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Authors: Cheryel Hutton
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understood Mac had to do something.
Since nothing happened during the morning, I went to lunch with a more optimistic attitude. Maybe there wasn’t going to be another attack. I finally began to relax, and I could tell from Mac’s face that he was relaxing too. He was enjoying himself, I realized. He really did like what he was doing. The question was, did he like Ugly Creek, or was he hoping to find something more to film? Something that would make him even more famous?
I had to admit, the old train station was a great place to spend time. Abandoned a hundred years ago, the building was being repaired and made into a small museum. Tourists should love the place. I know I did. And being featured on the documentary should bring in even more folks.
I hoped so. As much as we loved our secretive ways, tourism was the lifeblood of Ugly Creek. Though this was true of a lot of small Southern towns, it was more so for us—since we discouraged industry. It was one thing to have people coming and going, but quite another to have newcomers moving in and getting to know the area well. They might find out things they didn’t need to know.
There was a rustling sound at my feet, and I looked down to see Gizmo looking up at me. I’d barely picked him up when my cell rang. It was my mom.
“Maddie, I can’t find Gizmo. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. Any idea where he might have gone?”
“He’s here, Mom. He’s sitting in my lap as we speak.”
There was quiet at the other end, almost like she’d hung up. “How in the world?” she sounded almost breathless. “I just saw him not five minutes ago.”
I looked down at the odd ball of fur in my lap. He was looking as innocent as I’ve ever seen a mutt. “No clue. Maybe he’s magic.”
“Funny. See you at dinner.” There was a click as she hung up the phone.
“She thinks I’m kidding,” I told Magic Mutt.
“What is that noise?” He sniffed the air.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Probably below the threshold of human ability.”
Probably he was nuts.
But then I heard it, a deep rumbling, so low pitched it almost seemed I felt the sound rather than heard it.”
“It’s coming from the woods,” Gizmo said.
I looked around me to make sure nobody was paying attention, then quietly headed toward the forest’s edge. The humming noise got louder as I got farther into the trees, but I didn’t see anything.
There. I saw a tiny corner of a large round object hovering several yards to the right, very near the tops of the trees. After a quick look around to make sure nobody was following me, I headed toward the area.
I was scouting around when a movement caught my eye. I looked and a tiny creature peeked at me from behind a tree. Little gray creature with big eyes. Alien? It sure as heck looked like it. Holy crap.
The creature looked to my left at the same time I felt a presence there. I looked, and there was Gibson McFain, staring wide-eyed at the alien. I froze, staring at him. But when I saw him reach toward his jacket pocket, I reacted on instinct, knocking the object he reached for out of his hand.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It was then I realized the object I’d knocked onto the ground was an eyeglasses case. “I’m sorry.” I reached down for the case, but he beat me to it.
“I thought you were going for your phone,” I tried to explain, “for the camera.”
Mac glared into my eyes, and I cringed. “My best friend is a photographer,” I told him, as if that explained everything. Actually, to me it did.
He shoved the glasses on his face, glanced toward the spot where the alien had been moments ago, then glared at me again. “Thanks for keeping me from seeing something truly amazing.”
Turning, he stomped back toward the taping area.
I looked back toward the tree where I’d seen the creature. Nothing. Of course.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked the forest, God, the universe, TPTB, who
Since nothing happened during the morning, I went to lunch with a more optimistic attitude. Maybe there wasn’t going to be another attack. I finally began to relax, and I could tell from Mac’s face that he was relaxing too. He was enjoying himself, I realized. He really did like what he was doing. The question was, did he like Ugly Creek, or was he hoping to find something more to film? Something that would make him even more famous?
I had to admit, the old train station was a great place to spend time. Abandoned a hundred years ago, the building was being repaired and made into a small museum. Tourists should love the place. I know I did. And being featured on the documentary should bring in even more folks.
I hoped so. As much as we loved our secretive ways, tourism was the lifeblood of Ugly Creek. Though this was true of a lot of small Southern towns, it was more so for us—since we discouraged industry. It was one thing to have people coming and going, but quite another to have newcomers moving in and getting to know the area well. They might find out things they didn’t need to know.
There was a rustling sound at my feet, and I looked down to see Gizmo looking up at me. I’d barely picked him up when my cell rang. It was my mom.
“Maddie, I can’t find Gizmo. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone. Any idea where he might have gone?”
“He’s here, Mom. He’s sitting in my lap as we speak.”
There was quiet at the other end, almost like she’d hung up. “How in the world?” she sounded almost breathless. “I just saw him not five minutes ago.”
I looked down at the odd ball of fur in my lap. He was looking as innocent as I’ve ever seen a mutt. “No clue. Maybe he’s magic.”
“Funny. See you at dinner.” There was a click as she hung up the phone.
“She thinks I’m kidding,” I told Magic Mutt.
“What is that noise?” He sniffed the air.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Probably below the threshold of human ability.”
Probably he was nuts.
But then I heard it, a deep rumbling, so low pitched it almost seemed I felt the sound rather than heard it.”
“It’s coming from the woods,” Gizmo said.
I looked around me to make sure nobody was paying attention, then quietly headed toward the forest’s edge. The humming noise got louder as I got farther into the trees, but I didn’t see anything.
There. I saw a tiny corner of a large round object hovering several yards to the right, very near the tops of the trees. After a quick look around to make sure nobody was following me, I headed toward the area.
I was scouting around when a movement caught my eye. I looked and a tiny creature peeked at me from behind a tree. Little gray creature with big eyes. Alien? It sure as heck looked like it. Holy crap.
The creature looked to my left at the same time I felt a presence there. I looked, and there was Gibson McFain, staring wide-eyed at the alien. I froze, staring at him. But when I saw him reach toward his jacket pocket, I reacted on instinct, knocking the object he reached for out of his hand.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
It was then I realized the object I’d knocked onto the ground was an eyeglasses case. “I’m sorry.” I reached down for the case, but he beat me to it.
“I thought you were going for your phone,” I tried to explain, “for the camera.”
Mac glared into my eyes, and I cringed. “My best friend is a photographer,” I told him, as if that explained everything. Actually, to me it did.
He shoved the glasses on his face, glanced toward the spot where the alien had been moments ago, then glared at me again. “Thanks for keeping me from seeing something truly amazing.”
Turning, he stomped back toward the taping area.
I looked back toward the tree where I’d seen the creature. Nothing. Of course.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked the forest, God, the universe, TPTB, who
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