David Larson - The Myth of the Anal Probe

The first sensation that Mike had was that he really had no sensations at all. No feeling of weight, or heaviness, no sound, no cold or hot, nothing. And apparently he was immersed in total darkness. At least he thought he was in total darkness. The thought had occurred to him that he may just have his eyes closed. But for the time being that would be just fine. Keeping himself in the dark would give him the chance to reflect on the past events, as he remembered them, and he could do a little work on getting his bearings back.

He remembered driving down 28 at night on his way home from poker night at the VFW. Sure, he had a few beers, but he certainly wasn’t drunk. Well, not drunk enough to pass out or anything. Then he remembered the radio acting up and the headlights on his truck started flashing on and off. Yeah, that was goofy, but not as goofy as the huge bright blinding lights that came next. Jesus, everything in the cab was washed in this all-consuming, bright white, retina burning light that came from no place and every place all at the same time.

That was what he was struggling with now. What the hell was that light? Was it a truck in the wrong lane? Had it hit him? Was he… well, you know. No, that’s not possible; in fact, by the time the light thing started he wasn’t moving at all. The truck had totally died. And then what? Well, he was there, and now he’s here, wherever here was, and that, as they say, was that.

“Well Mikey” he thought to himself, “You certainly could answer that last question just by opening your freaking eyes.”

Slowly he started to force back the lid on one side. The room, or whatever he was in, was flooded with a very warm and inviting white light.

“Would you like to sit up?” A voice from someplace close to his head said.

Instantly Mike snapped his one opened eye back shut and faked sleep.

“I know you’re awake, Mike” the voice said, “you might as well open your eyes and get this over with.”

Over with…. Oh, sweet Jesus, that couldn’t be good. He started snoring, hoping the voice would get the message.

“Come on buddy,” the voice said. “Why don’t you just open those peepers, sit up and we can have a nice long talk.”

Very slowly Mike started to open both eyes. That was about the time he realized he was floating about four feet off the floor, flat on his back.

“Holy shit!” he screamed as he slammed his eyes back shut.

He could hear a soft laugh coming from the voice near his head.

“Sorry,” the voice said, still laughing “Every time I see that reaction it cracks me up. Do you really think if you close your eyes, whatever is causing you discomfort is going to magically go away?”

“You know, a long time ago we stood guys like you on their head in the corner and bet on how long it would take them to pass out. Unfortunately, that tends to create trust issues, and kind of shoots the entire ‘abduction,’ as your people like to call it, in the ass.”

The voice was beginning to move around to Mike’s feet.

“What the hell happened to your sense of humor?” it said “You guys used to be great fun! Running around naked in the woods, setting shit on fire. Oops, pardon my French. Isn’t that what you say now?

“Come on pal. Slide those beautiful blues open so we can get on with it. I have a date on the Holo Deck in an hour.”

The voice burst out laughing. “I’m sorry dude. We don’t really have a Holo Deck; I was just jerking your chain a little. Man, I never get tired of that one though. Hey, beam me up you Scottish Dick Head!”

More uncontrollable laughter. “Oh man, I kill myself. WHEW! OK, OK, I’m sorry, really, I’m finished now. Just sit up tiger… really… or I swear to God I’ll take my Phaser off stun. OK, really that’s the last one. I’m done now. Really”

Slowly, again, Mike opened his eyes. If nothing else it seemed it would make the voice happy.

“Atta boy. I knew you could do it. And see, no pillar of salt, no demons dancing around with pitch forks, nothing. Now just stand up.”

Mike put one foot down onto what he assumed was a floor and then he put the other one next to it. The rest of him was still lying down. A suppressed nasal snicker snorted from the voice.

“I’m sorry dude, really. You just look ridiculous like that. How about going for broke and snap tall, as they say?”

Mike forced himself upright and standing before him was a man looking very much like a very fit, 40-something, Jerry Garcia. He was wearing a pair of topsiders, no socks, jeans, what looked like a hemp belt, a white raw silk shirt, and puka beads.

Mike opened his mouth to say something and the man held up his hand, barely able to suppress another wave of laughter.

“Please don’t say it. It kills me every time,” he said.

“Say what?” Mike croaked out.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Alright, what were you going to ask me?”

“Are you God?”

The man turned his back and was shaking trying to keep from laughing out loud. Finally, he was able to regain some sort of composure and turned back to Mike.

“No my son,” he said with a broad grin, “far from it, actually.”

“Why don’t we sit over here?” He motioned over to a pair of very comfortable looking chairs. “We can relax and I’ll answer all the questions you might have. But first, I’m Bob.” He extended his right hand to Mike.

Mike shook hands with Bob and followed him to the chairs.

“That’s a very interesting custom you people have, the whole hand shaking thing. What amazes me is how universal it is. It transcends so many other barriers. Do you have any idea where it came from?” Mike just looked at him. “No? Well let me educate you my friend. The majority of you are right handed, just like us actually, no surprise there though. Thousands of years ago you would greet each other by showing that you didn’t have a sword, or stick, or rock, or dead cat, or whatever in your fighting hand. Eventually, you started to grab that hand in order to stop any quick-acting shenanigans. Pretty sad testament, wouldn’t you say?”

Nothing

“Close your mouth Mike. Something could land in there. Just nod if you’re getting any of this.”

“How do you know my name?” Mike asked.

Bob leaned forward and rested his right hand on his knee. “We know everything, Earth Man!” He made a wide sweeping gesture with his free hand, and Mike jerked back in his chair. Bob raised both hands above his head. “Do you think we can do all this, everything you see around you?” All Mike could see was a white room with nothing in it but two chairs, himself, and a lunatic. “All of THIS! And we don’t know your name?!”

Bob slumped back in the chair “Relax baby, I’m just bullshitin’ you a little. We got your name off your driver’s license. Pretty crafty, huh?”

“Where am I?”

“Well that all depends on how deep you want to get into the answer. You are sitting in a chair across from me, or you’re in one of the acclimation rooms, or you’re on Deck 2, or you’re on the Douglas Adams deep space exploration cruiser, or… well past that I can’t tell you much. I haven’t been to navigation in a few days, and well, to be totally honest with you, I skipped out on the underway briefing when we left so I could catch a few ‘Bay Watch’ reruns while we were still close enough. But, do me a favor and don’t tell Gary. That guy is such a tight ass.”

“Gary?”

“Yeah, Gary.”

“Am I on a space ship?” Mike asked.

“Basically”

“Then you’re a…”

“Great dancer?”