Whitley Strieber - The Grays

There was a puddle of water on the floor in front of it, standing on the linoleum.

“And outside.”

In the sparse grass that clung to life under the deck, were numerous small holes. They looked for all the world as if somebody had walked there on stilts.

She went to Dan, looked down at the water, out at the peculiar holes. This was not right. None of this should be here. She rushed back to Conner, drew down his covers. Again she kissed him. She pulled him into her arms.

Conner moaned, then suddenly stiffened. “Mom?” he said.

Kneeling beside the bed, she held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes.

He asked, “What’s the matter?”

She hugged him to her, feeling the heft of him against her. Her boy was on the verge of becoming a young man, and he was so beautiful, and you had to be so very careful not to let him know how beautiful you thought he was.

“Could you guys let me get dressed, here?”

The little boy who had cheerfully laid naked in her lap just a few short years ago now did not want to get out from under the covers in her presence, not even wearing pajamas.

She kissed his cheek. “Six months to your first shave,” she said. “Mom predicts.”

“The sooner the better.” He looked at her. She looked back at him. He moved his eyes toward the door.

“Breakfast in ten minutes.”

She and Dan went upstairs.

“What was that about?” Dan asked as she closed the door.

She whispered, “It’s about his growing maturity. Problems controlling what’s up down below.”

“You think? Puberty?”

“Bright kids reach it early, so it says in the book.” As they mounted the stairs, she saw the CONNER ZONE sign in his recycling bag and took it out. “The Conner Zone was so cute,” she said.

“Cute is the problem,” Dan said. “Part of it. The other part is being too smart in a world that glorifies the lowest common denominator. Conner’s intelligence is not fashionable, and it’s too big for him to conceal.”

“Oh, I never want him to do that. How’s your ear, by the way?”

“Not actually okay. I could stand to get an X-ray.”

“You’re kidding. On your ear?”

“Well, there’s something there.”

“Something there? ” She reached up and touched the outer edge of the ear. “It’s a little sort of a knot.”

“I know what it is.”

“Relax, Dan, I’m not the enemy.”

For the past half hour, the smell of coffee had been getting stronger, and she went into the kitchen and poured them both mugs. Dan took his over to the table. She went into the pantry and got Conner’s latest cereal, some kind of amaranth flakes thing. Conner had his own dietary ideas, most of them pretty smart—and pretty awful. He was a modified vegetarian except when Dan grilled steaks. Then he was a sullen but voracious carnivore.

There was no cancer of the ear, was there?

Conner appeared, poured himself coffee. She waited to see if he put the required amount of half and half in it. Did—but just a drop.

“Eggs?” she asked as she turned on the skillet.

“I’m going to be eating really pure for a while,” Conner said. “No dairy, no alcohol.”

“You don’t drink alcohol,” Dan said. “Better not.”

“I mean, no wine with dinner.”

“Wine belongs to the soul, son. No man can be fully himself without wine.”

“The other kids can’t drink it.”

“Which is why they’ll all be bingeing like the college students in a few years. Did you know that binge drinking among the young is unheard of in Europe, but common here and in the UK? What does that tell you—children have to learn wine early, get used to it. Which is why you’ll continue with a glass of wine at dinner, thank you.”

“I love the irony. Most kids would do anything to drink even so much as a sip. But I don’t want to, so it’s forced on me.”

“Well, you get a glass. One glass. Which is mandatory.”

“Do you want to have the fight now or schedule it for later? Because I will not be drinking wine.”

Dan sighed. “I’ve got to go to the health center to get my ear amputated. Let’s do it when I get back.” He picked up Conner’s cereal box. “I saw this lying open in the pantry last night. Are roach eggs okay for vegans?”

Conner took the box, poured himself some cereal. “Amaranth is one of a handful of dicots which photosynthesize directly to a four-carbon compound.”

“Ah. So the reason you’re now eating nothing but horrible-looking little crumbs is explained. You want that four-carbon compound.”

“Actually, I want the protein and the lysine without meat, plus I get a designer-quality lipid fraction. I have the cholesterol readings of a twelve-year-old, you know.”

“You’re eleven.”

“It’s a joke, Dad.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Katelyn put down her and Dan’s eggs and sat at the head of the table. “May I know the why of the vegan thing?”

“The aliens.”

A silence fell, extended. “Are you about to piss me off?” Dan asked.

“I am eating pure because this neighborhood is in a close-encounter situation and it’s the eating of animals that triggers the kind of fear response I experienced last night. I don’t want to fear the aliens. I want to face them.”

“Oh, boy,” Katelyn said. “Dan—”

“No. No, I understand that I’m being baited. It’s not a big deal, Katelyn.” He watched Conner digging into the amaranth, and as he watched, he got angrier and angrier. He was being baited, damn right. Conner was masterful at it. And here he’d been the confidante, the father confessor, just yesterday. Now he was the enemy and his ear hurt like hell, to tell the truth, and he really did not need this just now.

“We had a visit from the grays, and they had an abductee aboard the craft, and the Keltons probably have video. A first in history. The world is changing, lady and gentleman, and I am preparing myself.”

“What grays?” Dan asked carefully.

“Try Googling ‘gray aliens’ sometime. You’ll find more than four thousand references. Plus, this business of a UFO descending with a screaming woman inside happened in Kentucky before. Moorehead, 2003, same situation, with one difference—no video. Lots of nine-one-one calls, but no video and therefore no story.”

The sanctimonious singsong, the eyebrows raised to make the face appear absurdly credulous—it was all calculated to infuriate. Conner knew perfectly well how ridiculous Dan considered the whole UFO/alien folklore to be, and how damaging to the culture.

“Goddamnit, it was nothing but some kind of dope-inspired prank!”

“Dad, please. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Dan’s hand had slammed down on the table before he could stop it.

Conner seized the opportunity. “Right, go physical yet again, Dad. It’ll make a juicy story for my psychiatrist-to-be. Another one.”

Dan had spanked Conner exactly one time, when, at the age of three, he had rewired the toaster and caused a dangerous fire in the wall of the kitchen. It had been a single, sharp blow to the left buttock… which had been thrown back at him perhaps ten thousand times since.

“Conner, listen to me. I’m up for tenure, which the entire college knows. It’s terribly important to us. If I don’t get it, I have to resign, which means that we have to move to some other college where Mom and I can both get work, and she has to give up her own tenure here—it’ll be a mess, son. And something like this—a UFO in the backyard—can ruin my chances. Marcie Cotton already wants to write me off. So please, for me, do not say anything about us seeing it for at least another few weeks.”

Conner gazed off into the middle distance. “Prediction: the Keltons’ tape, if it is halfway decent, will make this place famous. Prediction: Dr. Jeffers will make a total idiot of himself about it and he’ll end up with walking papers. Prediction: you will not be damaged by this, but Dr. Cotton will still screw you to the wall.”