It Came From Above

By Clint Westgard

The object appears in the pasture without warning, absent color or shape, or any other signifier that might tell Frank what it is. Strangest of all is the humming it emits, at a pitch just beyond his hearing. An itch he cannot scratch.

Frank believes the strange artifact must be alien in origin. After years of barely scraping by on the ranch, his fortune is made.

When others begin taking an interest in the object, including the secretive Concern, Frank's obsession only grows further. An obsession that will prove dangerous, as Frank does whatever he can to keep the artifact in his possession. But how far is he willing go?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Quarter Books
• Release date: Dec 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992131463

Clint Westgard

Clint Westgard is the author of The Shadow Men Trilogy and the science fiction epic The Sojourner Cycle, the first volume of which, The Forgotten, was published in 2015. In addition, he has published a work of historical fantasy set in colonial Peru, The Masks of Honor, and a retelling of the Minotaur legend, The Trials of the Minotaur. Clint Westgard lives in Calgary, Alberta.

Book preview

IT CAME FROM ABOVE

CLINT WESTGARD

It Came From Above

Published by Lost Quarter Books

2013

It Came From Above by Clint Westgard is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

ISBN: 978-0-9921314-6-3

Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

IT CAME FROM ABOVE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY CLINT WESTGARD

1

The object lay hidden in a small valley, near the dugout in the lease pasture, where water sometimes gathered in the spring. A scattered band of trees formed a loose semi-circle behind it, both crowning and hiding it, so that if Frank had come from another direction he likely would have missed it. He nearly did anyway, for it seemed to disappear in the moment it took him to register the oddity of the thing being there. It was only a tingling at the back of his neck that caused him to stop and turn to get a clear look and confirm that something was in fact there.

What the hell, he muttered to himself and then turned down the radio. He stayed where he was for a long time, his lips pursed in thought, before shifting the truck back into gear and slowly making his way down towards it.

From a distance it had looked thick and square but as he drove nearer it seemed not to have any firm shape at all. Or, rather, it had many shapes, for it looked as though it were constantly altering its form, so quickly he could only just perceive it. The sensation made his eyes itch. It was as tall as he and perhaps as wide as the truck, with a deep velvety dark color, almost black, that seemed to absorb, not reflect, the day's sun. How that was possible he could not say, but nothing about it seemed to fit within the realm of his existence.

He pulled up beside it and got out to inspect it more closely. He walked around it twice, looking at it from all angles, gaining no further insight into its purpose or its origin. It seemed to be humming – the working of an internal engine? – at a frequency just beyond his hearing. Bracing himself, he reached out and touched it. The sensation was indescribable. A tingling, almost numbing, sensation ran up his arm to his shoulder. Instantly he jerked his hand away, holding it up before his eyes and turning it over and back. The feeling disappeared as soon as he removed it and there was no visible sign of anything wrong with his hand.

He touched the object again, wincing at the sensation, running his hand up and down the structure, feeling for the joints and screws that tied it all together. He found none. The whole thing felt unreal, as though his hand was