IT CAME FROM THE SKY: Grandma's Lights

GRANDMA'S LIGHTS

by Andrew Shaw

The night Grandma disappeared was the first time I saw the lights.

Grandma used to sit in her old rocking chair, faded by the weather and almost colourless, on the front porch of her house, watching the sky each night. Her old dog, Skippy, would lay at her feet, more to keep her company than actually protect her. Skippy was almost as old as Grandma, and it showed. 

Grandma would make a large pot of steaming peppermint tea, and place it on the small table next to her chair. She'd sip from a small, delicate teacup that she said her great grandmother passed down through the family. Sometimes, she'd get through a whole pot before they came. Other times, she'd barely have time to take her first sip, before she'd be up out of her chair, grandpa's rifle in her arms. She always kept the rifle at arm’s reach, ever since that first time the lights stopped and hovered just above her house. She fired, Grandma was a pretty good shot, having lived on farms most of her life, but she always missed. 

"One of these days, ill hit one, Nicolas." She'd tell me, when I came to visit. She was the only one in my family who refused to call me Nick. I used to visit her a couple of times a week, more than anyone else. Most of my family thought she was a crackpot. I never believed her stories, but I loved to sit next to her and listen to her talk about the visits she'd get at night. The stories never varied, no matter how many times I heard them. 

My favourite one was the night Grandma took a shot at what she thought were her nightly visitors. When she fired, and heard a sound like glass smashing, and the light went out, she thought that would be the end of her weird nights, and got up out of her chair and went to bed. The next morning, when the local sheriff arrived, Grandma realized that what she'd actually hit was the spotlight on the police chopper, that was in pursuit of a couple of car jackers. She'd, unfortunately, shattered their spotlight, rendering it useless, and helping the crooks get away. She apologized to the sheriff, but whenever she told me that story, she always ended it with a wink, "See, Nicolas,” she'd say, "Told you I was a good shot."

We don't know much about the night she disappeared. Grandma had been going a bit further downhill, getting weaker, sometimes unable to even get her teapot out to the front porch. Dad started talking about nursing homes, but I knew she wouldn't want that. I visited her that night, helping her move her tea out to the small table, so she wouldn't spill it and possibly burn her or Skippy. She thanked me, eased into her old chair, and began to rock. While she wasn't looking, I sneakily moved the rifle inside. I was worried she'd accidentally shoot herself, or worse, a neighbour who just came by to say hello. I told her I'd be back in the morning to help her out with breakfast. She hugged me, pulled my head close and whispered, 

"Thanks for always listening, Nicolas." Then she gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was the last time I saw her.

The next morning when I arrived, Skippy greeted me at my car. Grandma always locked him up at night, so him being out was very weird. I thought she'd just forgotten, she was getting old. As I walked up the front steps, I noticed that her teacup and teapot were still on the porch, the cup half full, but ice cold. I checked every room in the house, but not one sign of her. Grandma's pajamas were still later out on her bed, like she'd do every morning when she got dressed, prepared for the night. 

I called dad, then the police. Everyone came and helped to look for her, but I stayed back at Grandma's house, just in case. The morning turned to afternoon, dusk, and finally it became too dark to keep searching. The police left, saying they'd start the search again the next morning. 

I told dad I'd stay at Grandma's that night, just in case she came back, and to keep Skippy company. I made myself a cup of peppermint tea, and sat out on the porch in Grandma's chair. Skippy curled up at my feet, and I looked up into the sky. 

I must've nodded off, because next thing I knew, I was woken by a really bright light. I thought maybe the police had come back, they'd found Grandma, and were bringing her home. I shielded my eyes, and looked out across the front yard. There was no car in the driveway. The light was coming from above me. It zipped and zagged in the air, moving around, almost circling my Grandma's property. Skippy whimpered and ran inside. I opened the door for him, reached in and grabbed the rifle from just inside the door where I'd left it the night before. I cocked the rifle and fired toward the light. It took off like a flash, barely giving my eyes time to adjust to the now dark night. I didn't see which direction it went in, all I knew was that it was dark again, and my eyes had those spots, like when you accidentally look into the sun. 

It's been 2 years since Grandma disappeared. I know her stories are true now, even if no one else believed her. I moved into her house, rearranged and moved stuff out of every room except hers. I thought it best to keep it for her, in case they decide to bring her back. I know now that they took her, and it's my fault. Every night that I've been in this house, the lights have come back, and every time, I cock that rifle and fire into the sky, scaring them off. It's worked every single night, and I assume it did every night Grandma did it, too.

Except the night I moved her rifle inside.

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Bio: Andrew Shaw is an ambulance dispatcher and Brazilian jiu jitsu white belt from Melbourne, Australia, who, when he gets a spare moment from his kids, also likes to write. A lover of comics and anything horror, he hopes to one day get an opportunity to write for Marvel Comics. Andrew also believes that all cats are evil, and are plotting to destroy the world.