Unidentified

By Mikel J Wisler

Troubled FBI Agent Nicole Mitchell is brought back from administrative leave and offered a second chance to solve her most haunting case. A disturbing series of kidnappings has a small town terrified. Mitchell is certain that a serial kidnapper is exploiting local fears of UFOs and stories of alien abductions to hide in plain sight. Desperate to

• Language: English
• Publisher: DoxaNous Media, LLC
• Release date: Jan 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732530775

Mikel J Wisler

Mikel J. Wisler is an award-winning filmmaker and writer who has written, produced, and directed several short films that have played at festivals domestically and abroad, receiving nominations, awards, and international distribution. In 2012, he became a co-founder of Stories by the River, a non-profit film production and distribution company. Born in Brazil, South America, where he spent most of his childhood, Wisler now lives on the south shore of Boston, Massachusetts. Find out more at: www.mikelwisler.com.

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Copyright © 2015 by Mikel J. Wisler. All rights reserved.

Published by DoxaNoûs Media

Marion, Indiana 46952—www.doxanousmedia.com

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stores in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Based on the screenplay by the same title, also by Mikel J. Wisler.

Cover design: Mikel J. Wisler

Interior layout: Mikel J. Wisler

Editor: Eric M. Bumpus

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-7325307-6-8 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-7325307-7-5 (ebk)

For information about the author, visit: www.mikelwisler.com

Second Edition: January 2020

Type Face: the text of this book is printed using EB Garamond

Copyright © 2010, 2011 Georg Duffner (http://www.georgduffner.at)

EB Garamond is licensed under the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.

Title and chapter title font: Gesso, freeware typeface by Ryoichi Tsunekawa, Flat-it: http://flat-it.com.

Back cover font: Raleway, Copyright © 2010 - 2012, Matt McInerney, Pablo Impallari, Rodrigo Fuenzalida, with Reserved Font Name Raleway. Raleway is licensed under the SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1.

For KSK

we had a good run... till we didn't.

ALSO BY

MIKEL J. WISLER

novels

Sleepwalker

Stop (coming soon)

short fiction

Amnesiac

Empathy O.D.

Suspicious Behavior

non-fiction

Short Films 2.0: Getting Noticed in the YouTube Age

www.mikelwisler.com

Twitter & Instagram:

@mikelwisler

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

IN THE PROCESS OF writing this novel and screenplay (which happened in tandem), I relied heavily on the help of many people. First and foremost, I thank my wife, Danae, without whom none of the storytelling I do would be possible. My thanks to Jedidiah Burdick who helped light a fire in my imagination for making this not just a feature film script, but a novel as well. Thank you to Eric Bumpus and Tom Conners, who read the early drafts of the novel and gave me valuable feedback. Thank you also to Dominic and Kristina Stone Kaiser. Both of them have provided such invaluable input, feedback, thoughtful questions, and encouragement as they read everything from a very rough and naked early outline to the finished screenplay and novel.

My thanks to Trevor Duke, who though not a fan of the horror genre, allowed me the incredibly enlightening experience of telling him my whole outline for this story over beers one night. He’s even shot interviews with me for our early marketing materials. Thank you also to Luana Bessa for reading this novel and providing me with specific feedback as it relates to the fields of therapy and psychiatry as well as to James Ross Otis for giving me feedback in relation to military deployment. I must extend a big thank you to the editor of this manuscript, Jeremiah Hawn. Your keen eye and insightful suggestions will make me come across as a far better writer than I am. Thank you Eric Bumpus again for helping me with the Kindle formatting and the publishing process and constant encouragement.

A big thank you to Kate Paulsen, the woman on the cover of this book, who read the screenplay and agreed to dive in with both feet into being part of this project as the model for the cover art and the lead actress as soon as we can secure the funding for the feature film. Along those lines, thank you also to Rajah Samaroo for the feedback on the script and all the support and enthusiasm for this project and willingness to sign on so early in development as the cinematographer for the film. Thank you both for taking such a big risk on me!

My thanks also to the people of Lincoln and North Woodstock, New Hampshire. I have visited multiple times and have always found the people warm and welcoming and the towns and scenery absolutely lovely. I have taken many liberties in fictionalizing versions of both towns in this story that are dealing with on-going cases of UFO sightings and abductions. To my knowledge, no one in these real towns has been abducted by aliens.

Finally, in writing this novel, I drew heavily upon the research compiled in the book, UFO's: A Scientific Debate edited by Carl Sagan and Thornton Page.

Man has traditionally tended to construct a myth to explain anything he cannot understand. And this is precisely the way that flying saucers or UFO's came into existence.

- Donald H. Menzel,

UFO's — The Modern Myth

When Galileo’s telescope made it possible to sight the moons of Jupiter, many refused to look through the telescope. They knew that there could not be such bodies around Jupiter, and therefore they knew that the telescope was a deceptive instrument.

- Robert L. Hall,

Sociological Perspectives on UFO Reports

Science began as an outgrowth for theology, and all scientists, whether atheists or theists ... accept an essentially theological worldview.

- Paul Davies,

Are We Alone?: Philosophical Implications of the Discovery of Extraterrestrial Life

There is a wide range of concepts which would be fascinating especially if only they were true. But precisely because these ideas have charm, exactly because they are of deep emotional significance to us, they are the ideas we must examine most critically. We must consider them with the greatest skepticism, and examine in the greatest detail the evidence relevant to them. Where we have an emotional stake in an idea, we are most likely to deceive ourselves.

- Carl Sagan,

UFO’s: The Extraterrestrial and Other Hypotheses

INTRODUCTION

There is a hush that surrounds these things. A seemingly impenetrable invisible wall of silence wraps certain mysteries in life. Overwhelmed by the unknown—or is it the perverse nature of such events?—words fail most people. The temptation to move forward and carry on with daily life as if such things were not a reality is quite strong. This seems an understandable response in the first world, dominated by lives quietly—and most often unknowingly—shaped by materialism and empiricism. That which can be owned becomes the real focus. That which we believe is accepted through mainstream general consensus of the collected evidence of our age.

So it was in early 2011 when a collection of startling and unsettling events took place in and around the town of North Woodstock, New Hampshire. This small town, just southwest of Lincoln, was known for its brewery and shops as far as most tourists are concerned. The town, which mostly consists of businesses stretching down Main Street, has a few surrounding houses in a small neighborhood. Most of the rest of the town’s inhabitants live in the surrounding area within the town limits. From the center of town the tree-covered peaks of the surrounding mountains can be seen in every direction. It’s a quiet place with kind people. But a rash of odd experiences had become the talk of the town for several years. Lights had been spotted in the skies several times, nearby livestock had been found mutilated overnight, several people reported seeing strange persons or beings on their property, others heard noises or could not account for hours of a given evening.

The following year, Jeffery Bines, a bit of a local recluse who occasionally ventured into town to buy a few things at the Fadden General Store or enjoy some drinks at Truant’s Tavern or the brewery, was found walking down main street one night nude and incoherent. Local police took him in for the night. Bines claimed he had no idea how he had ended up in town. His truck was found on his property six miles south of town. Bines explained that three nights before, he’d seen lights hovering in the sky over the trees on his property. Since that night, he’d been waking up in strange places in various states of undress. He was unable to recall how he’d gotten to such places or what had transpired in the time since he’d gone to bed and the time he had come to.

The night he was arrested was the farthest from home he had ever found himself. Police placed little stock in his strange tale, however. Meanwhile, talk in the town continued to grow. Some were quick to dismiss his claims, while others wondered if anyone was safe. Two weeks later, Bines’ ex-wife reported him missing after she hadn’t managed to contact him on the phone for a week and thus went by his house only to find his truck and all his belongings exactly as they should have been aside from one small detail: his door was unlocked and ajar. Bines, a very private man, as a rule always locked up. It was as if Bines had simply gotten up one day and walked off into the surrounding woods. Certainly some in town attributed his disappearance to Bines’ known affinity for hard liquor. Others, however, found renewed reason to believe Bines’ original claims of contact with UFOs. In any case, he was never found.

Just as folks in the area were starting to move past such strangeness, however, new talk emerged of more UFO sightings in the area. It all came to a head when news was leaked that a local family claimed to have been experiencing alien abductions. Jim and Tammy Ferguson claimed psychiatric therapy had revealed that their son, Tommy, had been abducted multiple times. Naturally, skepticism prevailed until one night in April of 2014, Tommy vanished. An in-depth investigation that involved the cooperation of local police and the FBI followed. But in the months that followed Tommy’s vanishing, little progress was made in ascertaining his whereabouts or confirming the allegations of alien abduction his parents continued to hold to so firmly. Ultimately, after a year of waiting, the Fergusons no longer found North Woodstock and the surrounding areas to be all that comforting of a place to live and moved away. Tommy’s case remained technically open, but no one really believed there was any hope of a resolution, that is, until a new case emerged in town. Hushed whispers returned and suspicions were stirred again. Whatever one might think of such matters, one thing was clear: an invisible gloom seemed to hang over the area again, thick as fog.

CHAPTER ONE

Her scar hurt again, and this was always unsettling. Stephanie looked out of the car window at the nearly moonless night and tried to distract her mind, which seemed determined to fixate on the small scar on the back of her neck. Silvia, who drove the old Camry while talking with Annette, pulled over and stopped the car. Outside, the driveway to Stephanie’s parents’ house stretched away from the road, pine trees lined both sides. Normally, this was a welcomed sight, a comfort. But tonight, looking out that window, Stephanie felt as if the darkness appeared somehow more intensely black and the driveway longer and surrounded by unseen dangers.

Are you sure you don’t wanna’ come? Silvia looked back at Stephanie in the back seat. Eddie will be there.

I’m sure, Stephanie replied, not taking her eyes off the driveway.

Well, look, the movie starts in ten minutes. We have to get to the theater in Lincoln. So … said Silvia, doing little to mask her annoyance.

Thanks for the ride, Stephanie mumbled, and opened her door.

She exited the car and watched it pull away. How could she explain how she felt to them when she wasn’t even sure how to rationally explain it to herself. She wished they would have told her ahead of time the evening’s plan included going to the theater in Lincoln to watch a horror movie. She felt stupid for insisting on being dropped off at home instead of going with the rest of them. Maybe she should have forced herself to go, but she couldn’t put herself through that, not anymore. It was hard enough to sleep most nights now as it was. She didn’t need to infest her mind with even more nightmares, imagined or otherwise.

Turning, she began to walk down the gravel driveway that led up to the log cabin house her parents, Tim and Dorothy Clark, had owned for the past eleven years. A subtle pulsing sense emitted from the small scar on the back of Stephanie’s neck. It sat right over her spine and most days, it was something she thought little of. It had randomly appeared there almost a year ago, but she had no recollection of what had caused it in the first place. But one thing seemed certain, any time it bothered her, she had a bad night.

As she made her way up the driveway, an increasingly familiar feeling crept over her body. Her skin crawled, and a chill traveled through her in spite of the warm summer night. She was being watched, she was sure of it. Try as she may to keep her eyes locked on the house up ahead of her, they wandered left and right, peering momentarily from one dark shadow to another. When she was younger, these woods had been a welcomed refuge for imaginary adventures. And maybe in broad daylight, she would have felt the same way about them. Now, however, they were menacing and suffocating.

This discrepancy between how Stephanie felt about days and nights was something that had been growing for months. She felt a split within herself. During the comforting light of days, she was generally happy and content. But when the sun set, she could not escape the sense of fear that crept over her. It made her feel childish. Over the months, it had worn her down to the point that even during the day while she felt safe she could not keep from thinking about each coming night. She’d grown more withdrawn and depressed. She eventually realized that the most distressing thing was not being able to talk to anyone about all of this. She knew the stories in town. It was hard to escape speculations about where that man had gone, or who had taken that boy, Tommy. So she kept her fears to herself. But even as she had finished up her second semester at Wellesley College, she found that she hated crossing campus at night. She found herself studying late in the library; sometimes, she even wandered its open interior architecture and suspended walkways that crisscrossed the building to kill time, waiting until someone she knew seemed headed out towards the dorms. Some nights she was lucky, other nights she wasn’t.

A subtle rustle from somewhere in the trees off to her right caught her attention. She picked up her pace. An icy chill spread through her chest as she heard the rustling matching pace with her. In an instant of brash bravado, Stephanie stopped. The rustling stopped too. There’s someone there!

Willing herself forward, Stephanie continued to walk quickly. She reached the yard and headed straight for the front steps. Stopping, she turned back to look at the woods. One part of her brain could hear what her father would say: it’s probably a deer—though it might be a coyote. But the other part of her brain, the primal part responsible for the drive to survive, felt sure that lurking in the deep shadows of those woods was something much more sinister than a coyote. She stared into the blackness and felt sure she could feel something staring back at her.

Unable to will her body to stay there another moment, she turned and bolted up the steps. Reaching the front door, she ripped open the screen door and produced her keys. She unlocked the door and flung herself inside the house before she could give much thought to the hour. It was nearly ten thirty. Her parents, both prone to rising early, were no doubt asleep. She wondered if she’d been too loud. Pausing, she listened to the quiet house. She could hear the faint sounds of the old TV on in her parents’ room. Only the light over the kitchen sink glowed downstairs. This was what her mother always did when she was out. She crossed to the kitchen and extinguished the