Neon: The Other World

By J. N. Sadler

A small town in Washington State is the landing site for visiting invaders from another world. Abnormal thunder and lightning storms frequent the town of Blue Falls in the Airborne Mountains. The townspeople are temporarily paralyzed when they make contact with neon lightning balls. Thunder is deafening, but it is not thunder. It is the electrical noise of a spacecraft approaching and landing in Atwater Gorge. Communications are down as the aliens drain electricity. The ship has returned to search for a lost being who was left behind on a previous landing. False storms continue, and their god appears. Under blaring neon skies, the chase is on. Everywhere on earth, there are Bigfoot sightings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524570903

J. N. Sadler

Janet Sadler is a resident of Havertown, Pennsylvania. She has published two volumes of poetry with her illustrations: Headwinds and Full Sail and has been published in many small literary magazines. Once member of the Mad Poets Society in Media, PA, and also the Overbrook Poets in Philadelphia, she reads her poetry at local venues. She was the former poetry director at Tyme Gallery in Havertown, PA and at Baldwin’s Book Barn in West Chester, PA. She has authored thirty flash fictions novels. Twenty-seven titles have been published through Xlibris and can be found at Xlibris.com, under J. N. Sadler Author’s email address: [e-mail]

Book preview

Dedicated to my two granddaughters:

Annabelle and Nicole Donato

CHAPTER ONE

Tag and Dee Mueller lived in a cabin with their only child, Greta. They were isolated on the extreme end of the lake, back an acre from the cove. They raised her, having friends to play with only at the local school that was seven miles away. A school bus was provided by the region. Greta was a bright child and pretty, as well. The Mueller’s were old country Germans who worked hard physically to keep a small garden, trap, hunt for meat, and put up preserves for winter. They were able and in good health, although their daughter’s home birth was difficult, without assistance of any medical aides. Dee was in her forties when she conceived.

Greta, nicknamed Gret, hated being raised in a backwoods. The children at school had cell phones and I-pods. She was not allowed to own such things. Her parents didn’t have a cell phone. They used a dial-up land phone, mounted on the wall of their kitchen. There were no extensions in the house. Their washing machine was an old wringer that needed human assistance to do the clothes properly. Lines in the dingy basement were for drying, using wooden clothespins.

Tag was older than Dee. He was retirement age when Gret left to marry a city boy, without graduating high school.

I don’t like him one bit, sneered Tag on the porch of their ramshackle mountain house. He puffed on his hand-carved pipe and turned to get Dee’s reaction. She paused before speaking. Her hands were automatically knitting. It was to be a new shawl for colder days ahead. She was a human loom, never dropping a stitch, as she slowly answered him.

He’s not like us. He doesn’t know anything about hunting or guns or fishing. He’s a city boy with money. He’s after Gret for her looks. She’s intelligent, but she has no idea how to make a man a fit wife or anything about raising children. She put her knitting aside, after holding it up to see how much it had increased in size.

I remember you trying to teach her how to sew and mend and such. She never wanted anything to do with it. She’s a spoiled, ungrateful child. It’s not like we’re going to miss her helping us out here in the house. I don’t like Branford Upps. He doesn’t like us, either. Why should he? We don’t have any money. How are we going to provide a wedding?

Let’s just give her what we have saved for our old age and tell them to elope…that they have our blessing. She rose and put her knitting on the chair. I’m going in. It’s getting cold out here. She shivered and went into the darkness of the house to light a few candles in the overhead antler chandelier.

I’m going to wait for her to come home, he called after her. I don’t like her out in that fancy sports car of his. I’ll be in later. He puffed more on his pipe as he rocked in his chair.

Dee walked back to the open door. She’s not coming home tonight. She told me that she is staying with Branford at Cedar Hall Lodge. She paled, waiting for a reply.

He stood up and shouted, raising clenched fists to the sky, as it darkened quickly. Damn that child! She knew if she told me that, there would be hell to pay. I wouldn’t have let her! Why didn’t you try to stop her? She isn’t married yet. I’m surprised at you!

She drew into the house and clung to the doorframe. Her figure was silhouetted against the dim interior light.

Come inside, Tag. It’s her life. We’re able to be happy without her. She beckoned him. He coughed and walked forward to take her hand and join her inside.

Electrical storms were common in the mountains of the Great North Woods in Washington State. Blue streaks flashed in the sky over cabins built decades ago, still standing.

Two years later, after Gret moved away with Branford, Dee sat on the front porch, watching the sky illuminate with the threat of another storm. Thunder vibrated the ground and rattled the loose-fitting windows. Tag had gone hunting with his friend, Beck, a mute rough-mannered he-man from the other side of the lake. They had met on a hunting trip near the border. Beck was younger than Tag, but they struck up a lasting friendship. He was a confirmed bachelor, and although Tag was married, he was free to wander, doing manly things, away from the wife. It was like having a son. The only sense Beck was missing was his ability to speak. He was born that way.

Dee heard a boom that was not thunder. Dazzling light turned the sky a blinding white. She put her arm up to cover her eyes. She heard a whistling, like a bomb-rocket on the fourth of July. Her glass of water slid off the table from the shock and hit the ground, splintering glass onto the porch floor. Ice cubes skittered under the wooden table. Dee quickly got up and went into the house. She heard another boom, and gray smoke darkened the sky. Strong winds started up, and it began to rain, heavily. She could see no more of the bright light and went into the house to call her daughter. They had no television, just a CB radio for news. The house was dark. Fumbling for matches, she reached for the lantern and lit the wick. She adjusted the light to a dim glow. The world was silver with falling rain outside. It drummed loudly on the roof and leaked in, drop by drop, on the wood floor in the corner of their small living room.

She dialed her daughter’s number and placed a pot under the leak. Drip. Drip. The sound was annoying. The phone rang for a long time. Gret lived a good distance away. She and Tag had never seen their home. They left in a hurry with the money that Tag had given them, never letting them know their location in California.

What’s this? Branford asked Gret when she handed him the wad of cash from her parents. He laughed. We don’t need it, but we’ll take it anyway.

That was an awful day for Dee. She cried silently most of the night on the couch in the living room, while her husband snored in the loft.

She hung up the phone. Every Christmas they got a call from Gret and received a card and a Poinsettia at the post office in their small town. No children had come to them, and no pictures were ever included in the cold and routine Christmas card. Tag never wanted to see them again. Dee felt differently, but a visit was out of the question since they had no extra money or reliable vehicle to travel south.

She sat down at the dining table and looked out the front picture window at bare trees. A ridge of pines raised their pointed peaks to steel-blue sky that was soon to blacken. The wick supported a dancing flame that cast fluttering shadows against the cabin’s log walls.

Tag was gone two days already. She lay down on the couch and pulled the throw over herself. In a few minutes, she was asleep. The rains alternately slowed and increased speed and volume all night.

Morning came. The oil had run low, causing the wick to sputter. She raised herself to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes. The throw slipped to the floor. No more rain, but the pot was almost full with water from the leaking roof. She looked at it, shaking her head.

Her marriage to Tag was fairytale in its own way. Their courtship had been quick. They met over a sale table of corn, fresh from a harvest in town. She was seventeen, he was twenty-four. He was tall, angular, and blonde with ice-blue eyes. There was a royal air about him, even though he wore shabby clothes and dirty shoes. He stood with his broad shoulders back. His gaze was penetrating. Their hands touched as each reached for the same ear of corn. She looked up, and her eyes were trained only on his. Something profound happened in that moment. She knew he was going to be in her life.

She was fair with white-blond hair and darker blue eyes. She liked his stature. They shared Teutonic genes. She was an orphan who was farmed out to a distant aunt and turned away when her schooling was done. She was looking for a place to live, and was at that time, shopping for the infirmed elderly in the backwoods. She shared the money with her cousin, who shared his shack with her. He had an old pick-up truck. They would deliver produce, rain or shine.

Tag slowly pulled his hand away from hers, giving her a deep, knowing look. She smiled. His eyes were joyful as though he had found something very valuable.

I am Tag Mueller. What is your name? He rounded the end of the table and stood beside her, smiling.

They lived in his cabin in the back woods until they could afford to have a city magistrate marry them in town. They had no children until she was forty years old. Gret was coddled as the only child, born at home.

Dee woke up after having a dream about how she met her husband. Of course it was surreal. They were each straddling a giant ear of corn, pulling out the big kernels as they floated on a dark bay.

She heard a noise outside. It was most likely squirrels or raccoons, foraging for her cast-off bread or seeds. There was no reason to waken early with Tag gone. This was her kind of vacation…the only one she ever got each year. She didn’t dare to dream, knowing that the reality of a real trip to somewhere special was not possible. She did miss her daughter, even though she was sure that Gret was happy and not missing her and Tag.

From the front window she viewed a large puddle in front of the porch. Rain had turned into driving snow that was laying quickly. Usually there were a couple of ducks that waddled up from the lake to eat the cast out bread in the dimpled puddles. She turned toward the door to toss out her generous gifts and thought she saw something dark dart across the front lawn. There were no animals gathering. She went out onto the porch with her bowl. Wind was blowing across the large puddle. There were no noises in the brush to indicate furry critters hiding. They were usually bold enough to approach as she was throwing pieces of bread. Some of them even stood on hind legs and begged, or got too close to grab them away from her, like the raccoons. None of them were there this morning. Weak sun remained, though the iron-colored clouds camouflaged it.

She stepped down slowly, looking in the direction where she thought she saw a dark form flee. The shed door was open. She had closed it a day before, but the wind must have loosened the latch.

For a second, she let fear creep over her. She had Gret to keep her company on former hunting trips. She felt completely alone, and for the first time in her dull life, she was frightened. She realized her position, being older now, vulnerable and lonely. At least Tag would be laughing, drinking and having a good old time just being a manly man with his son-like friend or mock brother.

The wind picked up, and the shed door banged open and shut. While she stood on the top step of the porch, hair blowing in the breeze, skin covered in goose bumps, she noticed strange footsteps leading to the out-building, indicating the shape of a huge human foot with glowing neon, orange-rose color. Snow around the tracks was turning to water, as though the feet that tread in that direction were hot. Steam rose from them.

Her thoughts turned quickly to Tag. When would he return? She panicked. She never felt fear in his absence before, but she was younger then. Tag didn’t show his age. He kept on running like the long-life energy batteries on television. Her heart fluttered. The wind picked up and howled through the pines.

Keep calm, she thought, wondering if she should investigate, being as she was vulnerable. There was a shot gun left for her in case she needed it. She knew how to use it, but what was out there? And, what was that strange explosion that sent a loud bang her way and lit up the sky behind the ridge of pines? Did the devil wait for her to be by herself to torture her with fright? She wished