It Came from the Sky Read online

  The elementary school kids were noisy and I missed Owen and I’d already dropped ice cream on myself three times. Needless to say, I was tense even before the bell on the door chimed again.

  Ishmael waltzed into Super Scoop. “Dude, we need to talk.”

  I waited for the last of the elementary schoolers to leave and said, “Talk, then.”

  My brother’s eyes wandered to the ice cream case. “Can I get a strawberry cone?”

  “Is that what we need to talk about?” I asked. “Strawberry ice cream?”

  Ishmael frowned like I was wasting his time. “Gideon, this isn’t a joke.”

  “What’s not a joke?” My frustration was growing by the second.

  “Seriously, can I have the ice cream first?”

  I rolled my eyes but knew the conversation wouldn’t progress if my brother remained fixated on ice cream. When he had the cone in hand, he finally got to the point. “I’m worried about this thing with Sofia.”

  “You’re worried? Earlier today you thought it was great. You were whistling.”

  “Yeah. But then, like, I really thought about it.”

  I adjusted my paper cap and wished for the hundredth time that I worked a real job. In a lab somewhere, preferably.

  “And what conclusion did you come to?”

  “It’s like you said. This is our prank—I mean, experiment. We’re supposed to be in control of it. We’re the ones who did all the research and stuff.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Please, go on. Tell me about the research we did.”

  “You know what I mean,” Ishmael said. “You did research and I…I made phone calls. And the whole idea was mine. But now Sofia’s getting, like, famous from it.”

  “I admit, it makes me uncomfortable that someone is involved in the hoax without our consent. Alas, there’s nothing we can do about it now. And as you said earlier, her abduction is a testament to our own cleverness.”

  “I said that?”

  “Not in those words.”

  I moved around the shop, refilling chrome napkin dispensers and letting Ishmael mull over the situation. Finally, he burst out, “But it should have been me!”

  I stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I should have been abducted. Not Sofia. Why would the aliens have chosen her instead of me?”

  I took another long, deep breath. “Ishmael, you realize this is all fake, right?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “We’ll have to disagree about that.”

  I moved to continue working, but Ishmael reached over and pulled the stack of napkins from my hand.

  “At first I thought Sofia’s story was great. But then all day I saw people asking about her abduction.”

  “So, basically, you’re upset because Sofia is getting more attention than you?”

  “Not just that,” Ishmael insisted. “Sometimes she got things wrong. Like, she called the aliens green when everyone knows they’re gray! She’s taking over our hoax and no one even remembers aliens visited us first.”

  I began to speak, intending to remind Ishmael again the aliens hadn’t visited anyone.

  But.

  But.

  He was right. I was proud the hoax was evolving, but the abduction should have been ours. Now, most likely on a whim, Sofia had created the basis for everything that might follow. I would have handled the abduction with care and precision. I would have made sure it was done right.

  “You see the problem, right?” Ishmael asked.

  “Yes,” I agreed, feeling glum again. “I’m just not sure what to do about it.”

  Ishmael licked his strawberry ice cream cone and grinned. “That’s the easy part. Obviously, I need to be abducted by aliens ASAP.”

  Magazine Article

  The following quiz was reprinted with permission from UFO Hunter Quarterly.

  The Alien Abduction Checklist

  Have you been visited by extraterrestrials? Mark an X next to each symptom you’ve experienced in the past twelve months.

  Lost time, ranging from several minutes to several days

  Sleepwalking, insomnia, nightmares, or dreams of flying

  Waking with unusual stiffness in your back or neck

  Hearing tapping or humming noises as you fall asleep

  The feeling of being watched by animals with large eyes

  Unexplained bruises, burns, or scars

  The discovery of strange, metal implants in your body

  Frequent electronic malfunctions in your presence

  Streetlights going out when you walk under them

  Sudden sinus problems, migraines, or rashes

  Recurrent nosebleeds/waking to find drops of blood on your pillow

  A sudden aversion to heights, snakes, spiders, large insects, or bright lights

  A fear of being alone

  Regularly double- and triple-checking the locks on all doors and windows in your house

  An extreme aversion or terror upon seeing pictures of aliens or UFOs

  A new, obsessive fascination with aliens or UFOs

  Recently discovered psychic abilities

  The feeling of being “special” or “chosen”

  Seeing flashes of light from the corners of your eyes

  Struggles with addiction

  Sexual or relationship issues

  Difficulty trusting or opening up to people

  A history of alien abductions within your family

  Having seen a UFO or strange lights in the sky

  If you have experienced seven or more of these symptoms, there’s a strong possibility you’ve been abducted by aliens.

  We recommend you visit our website, where you can find information on abductee support groups in your area.

  Event: The Abduction of Ishmael Hofstadt

  Date: Sept. 16 (Sat.)

  “According to this list,” Ishmael said, “you’ve probably been abducted by aliens.”

  We were in my lab, making plans for my brother’s upcoming alien encounter. “According to that generalized and robust list, everyone has been abducted by aliens.”

  “But dude, relationship issues, difficulty trusting people…”

  I continued flipping through my notes without looking at Ishmael. “A high percentage of people have those problems. It has nothing to do with extraterrestrials.”

  “Maybe if you showed this to Owen he’d understand why you’re afraid to date him.”

  I stopped. My eyes went to my phone, which sat on the desk next to me, recording our conversation. “Owen is just a friend.”

  “Sure,” Ishmael nodded. “Everyone totally believes that.”

  “Can we focus on your abduction?” I asked.

  Ishmael nodded agreeably and looked back at the checklist. “So what symptoms am I gonna have?”

  “The problem with these ‘symptoms’ is that they’re almost entirely psychological. To make people believe you’ve been abducted we need physical evidence.”

  “Sofia didn’t have evidence.”

  “Yes,” I said, pulling from my reserves of patience. “But thanks to Sofia, we need to up the ante.”

  Ishmael scanned the list of symptoms again. “Metal implants? That seems like a good one.”

  “Does the lab look equipped for surgery?” I asked, gesturing around the room.

  “What about sleepwalking?”

  “That would do what, exactly? Prove to Mother and Father you’ve been abducted by aliens? They don’t believe this anyway.”

  Ishmael put the list down and frowned. “About that. Don’t you think they’re being weird?”

  “Weird how?”

  “Like…they know we’re lying. But they’re not calling us out. They both get real quiet whenever
aliens are mentioned.”

  I’d also contemplated this phenomenon. “I believe they’re trying to let us learn a lesson.”

  “Huh,” Ishmael said. “That’s convenient.”

  “Back to the list. I think we only have two options,” I said. “Nosebleeds—”

  “You’re going to give me a bloody nose?”

  “I could help you fake a bloody nose,” I corrected.

  “We could do it for real.”

  “I don’t want to do it for real.”

  “Why?”

  I sighed. “Please, Ishmael. Can you just trust me?”

  My brother held up his hands in surrender. “You’re the boss. What’s the other option?”

  I hesitated, wondering if I was about to go too far. No, I decided. Not when it’s for the purpose of scientific discovery…and my acceptance to MIT. “The other option is unexplained bruises, burns, or scars.”

  Ishmael frowned. “Oh.”

  For a long moment, the only sound in the lab was Kepler growling from the corner where he hunched, glaring at Ishmael.

  “I guess you’re not thinking of scars,” Ishmael said finally, “because that would take too long. And probably bruises aren’t weird enough?”

  “Correct.”

  “Okay then. I guess I’m getting burned.”

  I hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

  Ishmael shrugged and grinned. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

  Event: The Abduction of Ishmael Hofstadt (Cont.)

  We didn’t just want a burn. We wanted a brand. Since there hadn’t been branding irons on our farm for decades, there was only one other choice.

  I plugged in my soldering iron.

  While it heated, I prepared a clean space on my desk and laid out tools. (My notes, a brass sponge, a wet sponge, antiseptic, gauze, surgical tape, a mirror. I added flux to the lineup out of habit, before remembering it wasn’t a normal soldering session and flux wasn’t necessary.)

  Ishmael’s role in preparation was sneaking a dusty bottle of whiskey from the cabinet above the fridge. Neither of my parents were big drinkers, and I was 55 percent sure the whiskey had been purchased for a Christmas party, circa 1999.

  Once the soldering iron was hot, I used the brass sponge to clean it while Ishmael drank whiskey straight from the bottle.

  “Just enough to take the edge off,” I reminded him. “Don’t get drunk.”

  “Yeah, dude. I know.”

  “If you get drunk, I’m going to be extremely upset.”

  “Hey, Gideon?” Ishmael said, sounding far more serious than I was used to. “I’m gonna let you burn me with a soldering iron. So I kinda don’t want to hear it.”

  “Understood.”

  I was fairly confident in what I was doing. I’d gone online and researched scarification with soldering irons. For instance, it was important not to push too deep. As long as I kept the burns close to the surface of Ishmael’s skin, it was unlikely that there would be a permanent scar. Six months to a year from now, the evidence of my brother’s “abduction” should have faded.

  Supposedly, the best way to get the design even and cause the least amount of pain was by using short, fast strokes. Plus, the analemma design we’d chosen was fairly simple. (Analemma: a diagram showing how the sun moves annually relative to a fixed spot on Earth.)

  “Are you sure this isn’t going to, like, get infected?” Ishmael asked.

  “We’re taking precautions,” I replied.

  I had no idea what the likelihood of the burn getting infected was, but considering it was being done with a soldering iron, which was not meant for human skin, in an unsterilized environment, yes, I thought infection was a risk.

  Ishmael took a long, measured breath, then unbuttoned his Hawaiian shirt. I thoroughly cleaned the skin above Ishmael’s heart.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  I picked up the soldering iron and hovered above his chest.

  Here’s a confession: I’d never been properly taught how to solder. I bought an inexpensive soldering iron and taught myself by watching tutorials online. I hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet.

  But this was different from soldering a circuit board. Surely, all I needed to brand Ishmael was steady hands. I hoped.

  Ishmael leaned back and closed his eyes. Without further ado, I pressed the soldering iron to his skin.

  His scream could’ve woken the dead. It could’ve been heard by all forms of extraterrestrial life in the galaxy. In all the galaxies.

  I jerked the iron back while Ishmael’s body bucked. Kepler yowled from the corner. Ishmael swore profusely, took a deep breath, then composed himself.

  “Okay,” he said calmly. “That hurt more than I expected.”

  “Are we shelving this idea?”

  “Nope,” he said. He leaned back again. “I know what to expect now. It’s fine. Do it.”

  I took a deep breath. And I did it.

  I hadn’t expected the smell. The horrible stench of burning flesh permeated my lab. I took slow, steady breaths and told myself it was just another experiment, not something straight from a horror movie.

  “Almost done,” I said after what felt like an eternity, but was only about fifteen minutes.

  Ishmael mumbled something unintelligible in response.

  Finally, I burned the last curved line into his flesh. I sighed deeply. “Finished.”

  Ishmael opened his eyes. “Dude. I will definitely not be recommending this to anyone.”

  I set the soldering iron down and stepped back to examine my work.

  I don’t mean to brag…but it actually looked quite good. I handed my brother a mirror I’d borrowed from Maggie’s room so he could see for himself.

  “You know,” Ishmael said, “I bet you could sell soldering-iron tattoos out of your lab.”

  I didn’t respond. Because with Ishmael you never truly knew if a joke might turn into a scheme, and the last thing I needed was half of Irving High School showing up at the farm for me to burn designs into their flesh.

  “Gideon,” Ishmael said, still examining the markings on his chest. “I’m really starting to think we’re brilliant.”

  I was too. But I said, “We’re only brilliant if this is successful.”

  “We better call Adam Frykowski then.”

  Transcript of interview conducted by Adam Frykowski on Sept. 16

  FRYKOWSKI: I appreciate you contacting me. Do you mind if I record this?

  GIDEON: No. Do you mind if I record it?

  FRYKOWSKI: Uh…I guess not?

  GIDEON: Thank you.

  FRYKOWSKI: Let’s start at the beginning. After the explosion on September seventh, you saw no further signs of alien activity?

  GIDEON: Correct.

  ISHMAEL: Well, except for the lights.

  FRYKOWSKI: Lights?

  GIDEON: Lights?

  ISHMAEL (TO GIDEON): Yeah, dude, remember? A couple nights later I saw lights over the field.

  GIDEON: Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten?

  FRYKOWSKI: What night was this?

  ISHMAEL: Probably…the ninth? And a couple days later Cass Robinson—do you know Cass?—she saw lights too.

  FRYKOWSKI: What exactly were these lights doing?

  ISHMAEL: Um.

  GIDEON: Hovering, right? Didn’t you say they were hovering?

  ISHMAEL: Right, hovering.

  GIDEON: That’s how you knew it wasn’t a plane, correct? Because planes don’t hover. Isn’t that what you said?

  ISHMAEL: Right. That’s exactly what I said.

  FRYKOWSKI: But you didn’t encounter any beings?

  ISHMAEL: Not until last night.

  FRYKOWSKI: What happened?

  ISHMAEL: It was
around midnight. The rest of my family was asleep, but I kept having these weird thoughts, like I needed to stay awake. I went out to the field, where the explosion happened—

  GIDEON: He was drawn to the field.

  ISHMAEL: Right, I was drawn to it.

  GIDEON: Almost like something else was controlling him.

  ISHMAEL: Exactly like that.

  FRYKOWSKI: And did you see anything strange out there?

  ISHMAEL: Not at first. But then a light appeared above me and I heard this humming sound. I was scared, but also…not. It felt right somehow. The light got closer and next thing I knew, I was lying in the field, curled up all fetal-like.

  FRYKOWSKI: Do you have any memory of what happened in between?

  ISHMAEL: There were eyes. Big eyes, leaning over me. That’s all I remember. It felt like the whole thing took seconds, but when I looked at my phone, I lost almost an hour.

  FRYKOWSKI: You don’t know what message the extraterrestrials were trying to give you, though?

  ISHMAEL: Not yet. But they’ll be back.

  FRYKOWSKI: What makes you say that?

  ISHMAEL: They marked me.

  GIDEON: Mr. Frykowski, I hope you brought your camera.

  Event: Stargazing

  Date: Sept. 16 (Sat.)

  The house was quiet when I slipped outside. Everyone was asleep except Ishmael, who was probably sending pictures of his burn to everyone he knew.

  I needed a break from aliens. I had a blanket tucked under one arm and I moved silently through the field, past my lab, to the edge of the property, where the explosion had occurred.

  Owen stood at the edge of the crater, his hands tucked into his pockets, contemplating the torn-up ground.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He turned and grinned at me. I melted.

  A moment later we stood near the scorched Earth, kissing deeply. For the first time in a week, my mind felt clear.

  “I’ve missed you,” Owen said when we pulled apart.

  “You’ve seen me at school and work.”

  “That’s not the same.”

  It wasn’t. There were too many people and distractions. When I was alone with Owen, I could just be.