Shattered Realities by Michael Kilcannon (read any book TXT) 📖

clad technicians had arrived some with instruments, some with weapons. All had faces of anticipation. Some of those faces showed glee and excitement at what was about to happen. Others looked on in trepidation and anxiety.

A doorway opened up next to the panel and a gang plank slid out. A bright yellowish light beamed from inside the craft and steam bellowed out. Frank looked at Sam and Dawson. Frank smiled at them, “Shall we step through the looking glass.”

The sound of a plate being sat down in front of him made him snap to attention. He looked at the food and suddenly wasn’t so hungry at the moment.

“Can you put it in a to-go box?” he asked. The waitress looked annoyed for a moment, but Sam handed her three twenties. The waitress pocketed the tip and smiled, off to get his box. In a few minutes, Sam was in his rental car and off. He did not want to go back to the hotel just yet, so he decided to just drive around.

His cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket and made a cursory glance at his phone. He saw it marked private so he went back to concentrating on his driving and allowed the call to go to voice mail. He felt he needed one of two things, to go back to the hotel and sleep; or to find a bar and get hammered.

He chose the latter.

Sam sat in the corner of the bar downing his third scotch. He stared at the bottom of the glass half hoping for salvation, half hoping for answers. Unfortunately for him, the drinks were bringing neither. However, he decided he would try harder. After the sixth, or was it the seventh, he was starting to forget his woes and decided to try and have just a little fun while he was out. He stood up and made his way to the dance floor.

Next to the dance floor he bumped into a short haired brunette. He looked at her, figured her to be in her early thirties. He smiled, “Sorry about that.”

She smiled back, “No problem.”

She held out her hand, he warmly clasped it, “The name’s Sam.”

“Theresa.” She said with a smile. “You from around here?”

He shook his head, “Vacation.”

“Oh,” she replied, “So what do you do?”

His mind went blank. What did he do? Without thinking he replied in a monotone voice, almost as if he had rehearsed the line, “I am Sam Thomas. I am an Insurance adjuster, boring really.”

She looked at him strangely and slowly replied, “Okay.”

He beamed at her asking, “Wanna dance?”

She thought for a second, shrugged, “Why not.”
They walked on to the dance floor, he put his arms around her and they began swaying to the music. He held her close, noting the sweet fragrance of her perfume. He looked at the metallic clip in her hair, mesmerized by the way it reflected the lights from the dance floor.

The inside of the craft was just as metallic in coloring as the outside. Sam noticed that there were no sharp corners, everything was smooth. Their footsteps made a weird echo. Dawson looked down and said “Weird.” His voice had a flat tone to it. Sam looked puzzled, “Acoustic dampening?” he asked. Frank nodded in agreement. Sam motioned to a corridor off to the left and they headed in that direction.

The three of them made their way down the corridor, but stopped for a moment as a weird, putrid, morbid smell came from ahead of them. Frank picked up his walkie and tried to talk to someone outside the craft. All he got was static. He looked surprised. The three continued down the corridor.

“

Hey let go!” Theresa cried, interrupting him, “The dance is over!”

He looked at her puzzled, “But it just started!”

Theresa pulled free of him and backed away. “Leave me alone!” she said huffily, then added as she walked away, “Loser.”

He looked confused, and then shrugged. “Maybe a few more drinks.” He said, heading off to quench his thirst.

At the bar, he slammed his fist down and looked at the bartender. “Scotch. Neat!” he bellowed. The bartender gave him an impatient look, and then set Sam’s drink in front of him. Smiling he threw back his head and finished off the drink in one gulp, allowing the drink to burn his throat as it made its way to his stomach. Setting down his glass he intoned, “More!”

Sam drank the next drink just as fast. He was about to order another when his cell phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket. “Ah.” He said with a smile, “Voicemail.”

He looked at the bartender, “Another drink while I check my voicemail.”

Flipping open his phone, he pressed the dial button. A monotone woman’s voice said, “You have one new message.”

He gave a lopsided grin to the irritated bartender, “I have a message.”

“Sam,” the message began. Sam was stunned, even in his drunken stupor, it sounded like his voice, “Take your pills. You need to take your pills.”

Sam shut the phone and looked at the bartender, suddenly feeling to sober for his taste. “I just left myself a message to take my pills.”

He shrugged, and reached for the refilled glass.

The bartender grabbed it from him and told him he had drunk enough. He told Sam he was going to call him a cab.

Sam felt in no condition to argue. He just hoped that the hangover in the morning would not be as bad as he expected it to be.


Once he had returned to his room he sat at the edge of his bed sitting, staring off into space.

The three of them entered a small room filled with controls. In the center of the room there was a chair and in that chair sat a creature. The creature’s body slumped lifeless in the chair.

Sam noted that the smell they encountered earlier was strong in here. He wondered how long the craft had been here, and what had caused its death. He shrugged, they’d get to the autopsy soon enough. The creature was wearing a suit of some kind, and its entire body was covered. A large metallic helmet with five pencil-like protrusions sticking out was leaning in an odd angle on top of the body.

“I wonder who it is,” Dawson asked, staring at the body, “Or what.”

Frank looked at the control panels on the wall. He noted that interior readout displays were like the outside panel controls. He noticed that none of the panels seemed to be within reach of the body in the center of the room. “I wonder how the craft is piloted.”

Sam pointed to the protrusions at the top of the helmet. “Some sort of psionics?” Sam looked at the alien body. He reached out and touched the body. The chair swiveled around till the body was facing Sam. Sam noticed that the creature was easily over six feet in height. Its gloves had two large fingers and what Sam surmised to be a thumb.

“Not human.” He said to no one. He stared at the helmet. The metallic helmet had a gold colored visor. Sam could see his reflection in it.

Sam saw his reflection in the darkened television screen. He reached over and grabbed the remote. Maybe some mind numbing television he wondered turning it on. Anything to distract myself from these weird dreams, he told himself.

Once again he spied the note on his bedside and shuddered. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and tried to concentrate on the channels as he pressed the buttons on the remote.

He stopped at the first news channel and stopped. Nothing like watching someone else’s bad luck to take your mind off of your troubles, he mused. He leaned back on the bed and looked up, his mind racing at everything that had happened so far today. He was adding two plus two and getting five. Nothing seemed to make sense.

The sound of the newscaster quickly became background noise as Sam collected his thoughts. “There must be a logical explanation for all of this.” He said aloud. He stood up and began to pace around the hotel room, thinking.

“Everything seemed to start in the shower this morning,” he told himself, “The weird daydream.”
He grabbed the remote and was tossing it up and down as he paced. The remote went up and down as he paced back and forth. “Then there was the pill bottle in the bathroom.”

He stopped suddenly and quickly made his way to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle. Once again he read the label. Once again there was only his name and the dosage instructions. He looked at the bottle perplexed and dropped it back on the counter.

"I am going nuts.”

He ran his hands through his dark short hair. “I don’t even know up from down anymore.”

His hand reached back for his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and opened it. He sighed in relief, “At least I am Samuel Thomas.”

He stared at his picture on his driver’s license. He then noticed that it was an Ohio state license. “I live in Ohio?” Strange, he could not even recall the town he lived in there. He looked at the license again. Lemmings, Ohio, it read. “Where?” he called out, “never heard of it.”
He flipped through his wallet looking at the contents. “Visa,” he said, “Blockbuster, Library Card.”

He shrugged in annoyance, no pictures of friends or relatives. He was hoping that one would jog his memory. “No such luck,” he fumed

“I am an insurance adjustor for…”he began.

“What the-!” he said aloud, “I can’t even remember who I work for, or where.”

He thought for a second. “I can remember my childhood.” He contemplated, “But I can’t remember where I live or work.” Once again he wondered, “Am I going crazy?”

Or am I already?

“It would explain