06-28-2009

Start Fiction:

     The living room ceiling crashed down; plaster dust and insulation filled the the air. Paul dove under the desk in the study as flying debris shot through the living room windows. The house shook; floor boards disjointed; pictures and decor fell from the walls; the car alarm blared in the garage; smoke alarms screeched as the house went dark.
     Paul held his position, frantically tried to dial 9-1-1 from the phone that had been jarred off the desk above him; the line was dead. His mobile was in he living room; probably not an option.
     Paul was afraid to move, the floor was uneven and the house creaked without movement. His breath was shallow. The back door was only ten feet way, but so was the door to the basement. What lay in the basement was of more interest to Paul than getting out of the house.
     As he contemplated, faint sirens caught Paul's attention. If he gets out, they may never tell him what really fell through his roof. The sirens increased and thumping became clear; helicopters. Routine calls did not call for air support; he needed to get to the basement. Something was going on, something big.
     "To the basement," Paul said.
Crawling across the busted, jagged floor caused the house to snap and pop. Paul gently put his weight on each slat of hardwood. Half way across the study, his hand pushed through the floor; his face hit the floor as his arm sank through the floor. Paul yanked his hand back quickly as there was intense heat radiating from the basement.
     Checking his hand for burns, Paul noticed a blue pulsating light coming from the hole. He was definitely going in the basement.
Paul stood up and took the last three feet without caution and tested the door knob for heat. It felt cool, to hos surprise. He turned the knob slow and tried to pull the door. It was jammed. Paul used a little more effort and was able to get the door open about a foot.
     As he squeezed through the opening, several sirens stopped, doors slammed and voices called out to each other. "No time to lose," Paul said as he stepped on the top stair. Nothing creaked, nothing moved. He quickly moved down the stairs, heat increased and the light was intense.
     He shielded his eyes as he tried to view the object from across the room. There was a low level buzz emanating from the object. Paul moved back towards the stairs; the heat was almost too much. He placed his foot on the bottom step and began to turn; the object let of a roar as massive amounts of steam shot straight up back through the house. Paul covered his ears, falling to his knees.
     The sound stopped. Paul shook as a large blast of cool air fell over him. He stood up and looked at the object embedded in his basement floor. The light was less intense, tolerable. The vibrant blue had turned to a soft violet.
     The hum began to fluctuate; it sounded like a police scanner. Paul stepped towards the device, the noise cleared, more crisp.
     It was producing... Morse Code.
     "Holy Shit."


End Fiction.