sphere that seemed, at first, to be as big as a building. But as it continued to descend, more and more of it became visible and David realized that it was far bigger than any building he’d ever seen.
The sphere—metallic, glowing a bright bluish-silver—began to shift its shape. As if it were an enormous water balloon, it flattened itself into a disc, like a giant, glowing Frisbee. It wobbled slightly and changed again, first into a bottle shape, then, smoothly, it became more rectangular, like one of those jars Grandma Gardiner used to can peaches in every summer. It thinned out then, elongating itself into a spear shape, falling lower and lower until it disappeared behind the hill. It continued to glow, its light reflecting off the clouds overhead, and when David placed his hands on the sill again, he could still feel the vibration of that awful, gut-wrenching thrum.
Then they both faded, the light and the sound.
The night, once again, was silent.
An explosion of lightning was followed by thunder, more distant now. With a howl of wind, the rain began to fall again, as if it had never stopped.
Blinking his eyes with shock, David leaned forward, sticking his head out the window a bit, looking all around, his heart pounding like the footsteps of a giant in his chest.
Nothing. Only the yard, the hill, and the storm.
David pulled his head back just as the window slammed shut loudly. He jumped back with a startled cry, then stood like an ice statue, staring with wildeyed fear and wonder at the night, waiting for something more to happen.
The rain fell with a vengeance.
Lightning brought an instant of distorted daylight.
Thunder purred sedately, more evenly than before.
The wind made the trees murmur among themselves.
Like a racehorse from the gate, David bolted from his room and ran down the hall, his feet thumping on the floor. Without knocking, he threw open the door of his parents’ bedroom and hurried to their bedside, stopping so suddenly he nearly fell on his face.
“Dad! Mom!”
They were motionless lumps beneath the covers.
“Dad! Mom!” David cried again, grabbing the lump on his dad’s side and shaking it urgently.
Dad jerked awake, turned over and tried to sit up, his eyes squinting. “Whuh-Da-David, what’s wrong?”
David was screaming now, his whole body crawling with goose pimples. “You’ve gotta come! You’ve gotta come see, a, a UFO! A big one! It went down over the hill! I saw it!”
Wearily, Dad pulled the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Mom simply stirred beneath her blankets.
“C’mon,” Dad said to her.
She rolled over and groaned, “Ooohhh, I’m so glad you got him a telescope.”
David ran back down the hall to his bedroom and stopped in his doorway. He turned to see his dad staggering slowly from the far bedroom, tying the belt of his robe. David ran back and grabbed Dad’s arm. “C’mon, c’mon, Dad!”
“Okay, Champ, okay.” He allowed David to lead him, stumbling, to the bedroom, then to the window. Mom was not far behind.
Dad gripped the sash, opened the window, and all three of them leaned forward to look outside. Mom yawned loudly, halfheartedly covering her mouth.
The rain was falling lightly now and water babbled as it fell from the rain gutter above the window. A flicker of sheet lightning illuminated the peaceful hill; the scrub pines were nodding in the gentle wind.
David couldn’t believe it. Not only was there nothing out of the ordinary in sight, but even the storm had calmed.
“But . . . it was there!” David shouted, pointing toward the hill. “It was huge! And it glowed really bright with this strange light! And it went down over there, right behind the hill!” He stepped back as his mom and dad turned to him. His mom yawned again; Dad leaned against the windowsill.
Fear suddenly caused a gurgle in David’s stomach. He wished that he hadn’t run to them because he could almost hear the thoughts in their
Michele Boldrin;David K. Levine