Several nights ago, I had a very evocative dream. It was, as most dreams are, strange and a bit reality-bending. It was late in my sleep cycle, and actually felt like it occurring immediately prior to waking up that morning. The very last part (referred to here as the "three options" -- you'll understand later) is what impacted me the most.
I knew that I had to write it down as a story, but some thought had to be given to how. Dreams are often meandering, and so some structure had to be added to the story. There was magical stuff in the dream that I decided to jettison. It's mostly been replaced by some more sci-fi elements. Ideally it'll make sense once you've read it.
This is kind of a long short story -- at least for a blog -- so be prepared. I've also included a minor Christmas theme, given the time of year. It's all a bit bonkers, as you'll see if you take the time out of your busy day to read it.
I wasn't sure what to call this story. There's the blog title, which is a bit tongue-in-cheek. Or there's the below title, which is a line from the 1983 Giorgio Moroder and Joe Esposito song, Lady Lady Lady. Whatever the title, here's hoping you get something out of it.
Without further adieu....
Whatever Lonely Hearts Can Hide
The holiday music blared from storefront speakers, people hurried to and fro buying last minute gifts for the people they loved, shopping at the businesses lining the city centre, and a light snow swirled throughout the streets, sometimes flying into the faces of folks carrying shopping bags as they scurried down the sidewalks. One such person was Howie. He was perturbed at the number of people he was encountering, and at the suddenly-turning weather, though little did he suspect how small all of it would seem as the day wore on.
It was 4:00pm on December 23rd, and there wasn't much daylight left. Stores would be closing soon, and Howie knew that he had to make the most of his time. He lived in a studio loft in the downtown area, so thankfully hadn't had to drive there and find a place to park. He'd simply walked downstairs, out the main door of his apartment building, and -- boom -- there he was amongst the hustle and bustle. He was also fortunate in that he worked downtown, just a few short blocks from where he lived.
Cutting Edge Developers occupied the fourth floor of the Portova Building. They worked on a suite of 'life simplification' apps that had, so far anyway, proven to be popular. Howie had interned there between his junior and senior years of college and, upon graduating six months earlier, was offered a job. He liked it well enough. It was right in his wheelhouse, and he enjoyed the pay and benefits. He also liked the proximity it gave him to Mason.
Mason was a co-worker. Much like Howie, he, too, had interned with Cutting Edge during college, graduated, and been hired. Though the same age as Howie, they had attended different universities -- Mason's out of state, and Howie's in-state. Howie had noticed Mason during their shared internship, wanting to strike up a friendship, but never got the nerve to say something to him. Upon their mutual, permanent employment with the company, enough gumption had been developed that an overture of lunch had been made. Mason had accepted, and maybe two or three more social occasions had followed. That progressed to a couple of happy hours together and, finally, to earlier in the day, when more definite plans had been made.
*
It was 10:45am on the 23rd when Howie went up to his co-worker, gulped and uttered, "Hey there, how's it going?"
Mason looked up from the work before him in his cubicle and smiled. "Oh, hi, Howard!" Howie's full first name was Howard, and he'd despised it his entire 23-year-life, until the first time he'd approached Mason, introduced himself, and been asked:
"Can I call you Howard? It sounds so elegant. Not that there's anything wrong with Howie!" He remembered his knees buckling a little as he'd replied to Mason that, yes, Howard would be fine. Mason had flashed his smile in response and said, "Good!" He had a gorgeous smile. It suited his face, which was round without being cherubic. Indeed, Mason looked to be be in good shape. Howie had heard him talk with others about how he went to the gym occasionally. His hair wasn't a crew cut, but it was pretty short. And the dimples -- Howie loved his dimples.
Howie stood at his co-worker's cubicle after the pleasantries had been exchanged and made his pitch. "Soooo... I know you're probably headed back home to your parents' for the holiday break, but, if you've got time before you leave, how would you like to go to dinner tonight at Crystal Rock's?" Crystal Rock was a restaurant toward the edge of town, where the booths were lined with faux crystals that glowed a soothing blue color. It was one of those establishments where the lights (aside from the crystals) were kept dim, and there was sometimes a live jazz band present. It was definitely romantic, and Howie knew that Mason would know that, so he was taking a bit of a risk with the invitation.
Mason's eyes looked off to the side, as if he were thinking it over. The sides of his mouth curled-up into a look that could have betrayed flattery or incredulity. Finally, after what seemed like ages -- though was probably only a few seconds -- he turned his gaze back to Howie.
I have a better idea," Mason remarked.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." His smiled had turned to playfulness. "Why don't we have dinner at your place? You live around here, right?"
Howie blanked, then recovered. "Uh, yes, yes I do." He quietly panicked. "Uh, what would you like to have for dinner? I'd need to go to the store."
"Oh, I'm not picky," Mason said dismissively. Then, without missing a beat he followed that up with: "Maybe fish, or pasta?" He didn't wanted to leave his generous, and obviously flustered, co-worker too open-ended.
Howie nodded. "Fish, or pasta, or something. Right, I can definitely whip a dish up along those lines."
"I knew you could," Mason smiled. "So, I'm off at five o'clock. I can wrap things up here and swing by your place afterward. Sound good?"
"Sounds great!" remarked Howie, a wave of panic flowing through his body as his mind began to race, attempting to make a mental list of what all he needed to do.
*
Howie had gotten permission to leave work early, and so went home to freshen up and finish making his shopping list and had headed out to the shops downtown to find ingredients at the corner grocery store. Then there was a stop off at the home goods shop, where he picked up a couple of tall, white candles along with a burgundy table cloth. So far, a bare, square little table had sufficed for him to eat on in his small apartment, but now something a little more presentable was required. He hoped the tablecloth would be okay, and then worried that the candles might be too much.
It had begun to snow while he was out. The deteriorating weather seemed to have spurred the hub of shoppers into a slight frenzy, and he kept getting bumped into. Howie believed in urban living, and was happy to see so many people downtown, but at that moment they were annoying him.
It was then that his phone buzzed. It also made that sharp, staccato noise that typically signified an emergency of some sort, though he'd only experienced it when the government had performed one of their rare -- and well-publicized -- tests of the feature. Howie didn't remember any advance notice of a test and, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at the screen, his eyes widened like saucers.
ALERT! THIS IS NOT A TEST.
EXTRATERRESTRIAL BEINGS HAVE APPEARED IN OUR SKIES
ATTACKS HAVE BEGUN IN CERTAIN SECTORS
TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY
MORE INFORMATION TO COME
Howie shook his head in disbelief. Some flunky at the government facility in charge of the alerts must have gotten bored and had too much Egg Nog. No doubt they'd be fired once the dust had settled. Just as a smile began to creep across his face, a sound akin to an angry shrike pierced the air, and a focused, green beam of light came hurtling from the sky and slammed into a building, blowing out the glass storefront. A wide swath of flames followed the shattered glass and, as Howie looked up from where he thought the green light had come from, his mouth fell open as he saw a spinning circular object in the sky. It made a low, whirring noise and, suddenly, more focused green beams came shooting from an indented area that appeared to span the entirety of the object's middle area.
Howie snapped out of his incredulity and knew he had to run for cover before the next blasts landed. People were already bumping into him, so he ran for half a block, heard and felt the impacts, and dove into the nearest doorway.
*
"Get in if you're gettin'!" he heard someone say inside the store. It was Mr. Carter. He was in Carter's Pharmacy, a coat closet of a place that he'd only been in once, when he'd needed to pick up some antibiotics while he'd been sick a few months earlier. The balding, bespectacled Mr. Carter wasn't blessed with the friendliest disposition, but Howie had noticed the pharmacist had at least put up some garland and Christmas lights around the shop.
Carter rushed past Howie and locked the door behind him, He then spun 'round and looked at his guest with some crazed eyes behind the spectacles. It was then Howie noticed his host was holding a gun. Mr. Carter noticed where Howie's eyes had landed.
"Can't be too careful," Carter remarked, his voice shaking. "I've always kept loaded weapons in the pharmacy. We carry drugs here -- some really powerful stuff! You know, there are some people out there who'd kill for the drugs I have in the back. Gotta make sure I'm ready for 'em!"
Howie felt shocked and awkward and uncomfortable, and wanted to leave Mr. Carter's establishment aa soon as possible, but then he heard more blasts outside, followed by screams, and turned around just in time to see, through the front window, a man dressed as Santa Claus get hit by one of those green beams from the sky and lose one of his arms. He went down screaming, his right arm ablaze on the ground, still clad in the red velvet outfit of jolly old St. Nick.
"Want one?" Howie turned back to his host and found Mr. Carter with his hand extended and another hand gun resting in its palm. He looked expectantly at his wide-eyed guest. "Like I said, can't be too careful."
Howies's knee jerk reaction was to refuse the weapon but, as his mind raced to take it all in, the thought of how life had so suddenly been turned upside down reminded him of his plans for the evening, and of course that reminded him of Mason. He'd still be at the office, just a couple of blocks away -- if the building was still there. It was then that Howie began to feel a surge of desire to be protective. It wasn't a sensation he'd been used to. Then he remembered his life growing up in the rural part of the state, where his dad -- gruff, standoffish, but always having provided for he and his mother -- had insisted on giving him shooting lessons in the clearing out back of their house. He knew how to fire a gun and, well, it seemed as though that particular skill might come in handy under the circumstances.
He took the gun from Mr. Carter's outstretched hand, and said, "Thanks." He followed it up with, "There's somewhere I need to go. Someone I have to prot--" He cut short the word 'protect' for some reason, and said instead: "I need to if someone is okay.'
As Howie turned to leave the pharmacy, Carter put out his hand and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You can't leave, boy! You've got to help me protect all this!" He gesticulated generally at the shelves of the pharmacy.
Howie looked around and shook his head. "These are just drugs, man."
"They're my livelihood!" cried Mr. Carter.
"And there's someone who I care about very much who I need to look for," Howie said, sternly. He stared back at Carter who, after a moment, pursed his lips and looked down at the floor.
"You'd better go then," the pharmacist said. "I'll cover you."
That last line was almost enough to make Howie laugh. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening. Carter unlocked the front door, letting Howie out.
Howie looked back. "Thanks again for the gun."
Mr. Carter nodded. "Be safe, young man."
Howie heard the door locked behind him as he stepped outside onto the sidewalk. There was pandemonium as the remaining holiday shoppers -- caught unawares by the apparent attack from extraterrestrials -- ran for their lives. As he scampered through the streets, he saw several corpses, some of them with scorch marks from the green lasers emanating from the sky. The flying saucer still hovered above, though it appeared to have ceased its attack for the time being.
Shaking his head in disbelief, firmly clasping the handgun provided him by the local pharmacist, Howie made his way toward the Portova Building.
*
There hadn't been another alert, so Howie looked at his phone with one hand, and held the gun in the other as he weaved his way through the remaining, discombobulated people scurrying along the sidewalks. He thought to call his parents to check-in on them, though once the phone was in his hand he saw there was no signal. Perhaps the attackers had knocked out the cell towers?
Howie replaced the phone in his pocket, stopped, looked up and saw the facade of the Portova Building before him. There was smoke billowing from some of the upper floors' windows and, while things had become less frenzied on the streets, he thought he heard a fainter version of the laser beam sound emanating from within the structure. With a noticeable gulp, he grasped the handgun a little tighter, and made his way inside the building where he worked.
The lobby was in tatters. The once-specifically-arranged couches and chairs had scorch marks. The smooth, grey cylindrical trash cans were overturned. The large potted plants were on their sides, the dirt from them having spilled onto the faux marble floor. No people, he noticed. It was at that moment Howie heard the distinct sound of voices coming from the stairwell ahead and to his right. They were conjoined with the increasingly-familiar noise of the laser ray.
The door to the stairwell burst open, and what seemed like a dozen people came running out. Some were screaming in terror, others in silent panic. One such person whose behavior fell into the latter camp was Mason. Howie spotted him and immediately started to run toward him.
"Mason!" Howie yelled out. His co-worker looked over and saw him. Initially, his face looked quizzical, as if he couldn't quite adjust to what was going on. Then, the look of confusion gave away to a look of relief. He began to hold a hand up to wave, when a burst of green light coming from the stairwell door appeared to engulf Mason. He jittered, and Howie saw what looked like concentrated green light travel from his back and out a hole in his upper right chest.
"Noooo!" Howie cried out. He stopped, frozen in disbelief and, if he were honest, fear. Mason's face looked crestfallen, and he slumped face down to the ground. Behind where he'd stood was a sight Howie never could have imagined. He had no frame of reference for it.
What could best be described as a creature resembling an octopus hovered in the stairwell doorway. The long, bulbous head was protected by some sort of armor, though Howie could see its red eyes burning from behind the protective covering. It had what appeared to be six tentacles, all of them making strange, rhythmic motions. The tips of the tentacles were encased in short, round, black tips of some sort of smooth material. One of them was longer than the others, covering at least two feet of one of the tentacles. It was from that longer black casing that the creature was firing its death ray.
The strange being raised its main tentacle and began firing at some of the people who'd run away from it a few moments earlier. A couple of people were hit, much like Mason had been, and fell to the floor. The creature's eyes darted back and forth furtively, until they locked onto Howie's form. He stood there, motionless, as the main tentacle raised and readied to fire.
*
"Movie it, soldier!"
Howie heard the loud, booming voice come from behind him and to the left. He cocked his head, still too scared to move, and then saw the tall, wide frame of a pseudo-familiar face come into view beside him. It was Joe Marshall, or Sergeant Joe Marshall, as he preferred to be called. He worked at the Army recruitment center located in one of the storefronts next-door. Marshall was decked out in tan slacks and a dark green tank top, his time spent at the gym apparent to anyone who bothered looking at him.
It was then Howie took notice of the sizable weapon that was held in Sgt. Marshall's large right hand. The big man swung it 'round and fired several shots at the attacker. It was hit. Howie could see holes from where the bullets had entered. What looked like purple blood began to ooze out of the holes, and had been sprayed onto the wall behind it. The creature's eyes flickered, and then it fell to the ground. Its tentacles slithered for a moment, then stopped.
"Wh-what is that?" stammered Howie, looking at the gun.
The military man acted like he'd forgotten he was holding the weapon for a moment, like it was just a natural appendage. Looking it over he remarked, "This? It's an AK-47." He saw Howie's incredulous expression and continued, "It's for killing fucking aliens!" He let out a loud, hearty laugh.
Howie shook his head.
Marshall continued: "As for what the hell that was..." he motioned to the apparently dead octopus-thing across the lobby, "... your guess is as good as mine. I mean, we know they're alien."
"We do?"
"Yeah. I was on the horn to DC before the phones went down. They tracked the ships coming into the atmosphere before they began attacking. There weren't a lot -- maybe like five or six saucers -- but enough to cause a lot of damage. The ships stopped firing after the landing parties came down. I saw a couple of those nasty things enter the building here." He stopped and suddenly looked around. "Have you seen the other one?"
Howie, dumbfounded, shook his head. "No, I haven't. I've just seen the one you killed."
Marshall looked displeased. "Damn. It must be upstairs." He paused, thinking. "I'm going up after it. The elevators are probably shot, so I'm gonna take the stairs." He motioned to the handgun Howie was holding. "You coming with me, soldier?"
Howie began to come out of his stupor. and said, "No. No, I'm sorry. There's someone here I have to tend to."
"TEND TO?" The military man's face scrunched up. "Son, we've got a situation here, if you hadn't noticed."
Howie shook his head. "I know, I know. But... I have to check on someone, to see if he's alright." The young man was already making his way across the lobby. He called back to the recruiter: "I'll follow you up later, maybe."
Sgt. Marshall hung his head for a moment, muttered, "I thought I'd seen it all," and then focused his stare onto Howie. It looked as though he wasn't sure what to say, but finally remarked: "Look after yourself." With that, he quickly made his way to the stairwell door, and disappeared into the darkness of the upper floors.
*
Howie ran over to where Mason had fallen. He felt himself gulp as he bent down and put a hand on Mason's left shoulder. Gently, he turned the body over, expecting to see cold, dead eyes staring up at him. Mason was rolled onto his back and, yes, there were eyes staring up at him, but they were not lifeless. They looked over at him.
"Mason?!" Howie dubiously exclaimed. His co-worker looked for a moment like he was gasping for air, like a fish out of water. He's dying, Howie thought. Then, almost breathlessly, Mason spoke.
"Howard," he croaked. There was a pause as he caught his breath. "... you're late for our date."
Howie felt a sudden warmth wash over him. Hearing Mason refer to him by his full name, and then having the mental wherewithal to crack a joke was just the sort of release he needed.
"Mason, I thought I'd lost you." It was then that he gave a once over to the wound on his friend's upper-right chest. It was about the size of a golf ball, and some blood had streamed from it, but appeared to have stopped. Howie winced. "You took quite a hit. I'm surprised you're... "
"Not dead?" Mason finished the sentence for him. Sighing heavily, as if to fight back pain, he continued: "I dunno, man. It hurts, it really does. But all I could think about as we were all running from that thing was if you were okay."
Howie felt his heart swell. Then, he looked around at the devastation of the lobby and said, "We've got to go." He heard the faint sounds of an AK-47 and alien laser fire coming from the floors above. Sgt. Marshall had engaged the enemy. He allowed a slight grin as he thought of the bad day that second creature was in for.
Mason began to slowly sit up. "I think I can make it." He winced as Howie took hold of his right arm and helped him to his feet.
"Are you sure? You're weak."
Mason looked up at him and smiled - that smile that had won him over during their internship together. He replied, "I'm doing better now that you're here." He nodded his head toward the main entrance. Howie took the hint.
"Yes, we'd better go."
*
Arms over shoulders, the two men began to slowly make their way out of the Portova Building. They took measured steps, with Howie doing much of the heavy lifting with Mason on his left, and the gun still held in his right hand. Howie protectively looked around as they began limping along the sidewalk. It was quiet outside -- eerily quiet. The snow, which had stopped earlier, began falling again. It fell gently around them. Mason stuck out his tongue, capturing a few flakes onto it as they melted. He looked over at his co-worker and smiled.
Howie smiled back, still a bit confused. "I just can't believe you're alive." He paused, fighting back tears. "I had the worst scenarios envisioned. And then, when you got shot I... " His voice trailed off.
Looking serious for a moment, Mason said, "Hey. It's okay. I'm here. We're both alive. That's all that matters."
Howie nodded, and they walked together in silence for another block. Then, Howie quietly mentioned, "I haven't been able to reach my parents. I... I don't know if they're okay or not." He bowed his head. "Did you have time to talk with your folks?"
Mason shook his head. "No, not after the attacks began. I tried, but the towers must've been down." He paused. "I was supposed to leave work early today, to drive to Maryland and be with them for the holidays."
"Why didn't you do that?" Howie asked.
Mason cracked a smile. "I told them I had a better offer." His smile faded. "That was before everything went sideways."
They were quiet again. They saw a few people dashing hurriedly in the periphery, no doubt looking for safety. Howie looked up at the sky. "The alien saucer was still up there. "I wonder why it's not doing anything?" he asked.
As though he were trying to change the subject, Mason said, his voice holding a slight upturn: "Hey, let's think about where to go."
"Go?" said Howie, his face scrunched up. "We're going to my apartment so I can get you cleaned up, and then maybe take you to a hospital, if it's safe. You're injured."
Mason continued, seemingly oblivious to the reality: "So, I'll give you three options."
"Huh?!"
"Shut up. Okay, option 1: there's a neat little cafe a few blocks from here that serves the best French-style food you'll have this side of the Atlantic."
"Mason, I... "
"Option 2: we can go to Featherstock Lanes. It's out by my apartment. They have neon duckpin bowling most nights. And the best beer and pizza combo you can get for ten bucks!"
Moving slowly along, Howie began to catch-on to the positive distraction. "Alright, what's option 3?"
"Option 3 is we take a trip across the Atlantic, to Greece. Five nights at the most wonderful little hotel you'll ever stay at. It's near all the local attractions. We'd have to fly -- are you okay with that?"
Howie nodded, then asked, "Are you Greek?"
"Greek ancestry." There was a moment of silence as they turned a corner onto the street where Howie lived. "So... which option are you choosing?"
As difficult as it was with everything going on, with the world turning upside down around them, Howie tried very hard to focus on the pleasant distraction at hand. He said, "Can I think on it? I'll give you an answer once we're at my apartment."
"Yes, that's fine." Mason smiled. "Whichever one you choose, we're going to have so much fun!"
As they limped down the sidewalk together, a banner that had been hung across the lamp posts above the street came loose and fell to the ground behind them. It read:
SEASONS GREETINGS
Copyright © 2023 by Matt L. Gladney
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