Page 9 - Extraterrestrials, Foreign and Domestic
P. 9

Mrs. Whittle’s Call to Judgement

           “I see,” O’Donnell began carefully. “You didn’t happen to have a
        camera ready at hand, did you?”
          Encouraged by the other’s friendly tone, Mrs. Whittle opened the
        floodgates of her briefly-suppressed narrative.
          “No,  no,  I’m  sorry  to  say  I  did  not.  But  I  was  so  shocked  I
        wouldn’t have been able to find it or use it, even if I had one. It was
        last  night  about  nine-thirty,  I’d  say.  I  was  watching  Reverend
        Risewell’s Mercy Crusade on Channel Thirteen, as I recall. Suddenly
        the  power  failed  and  the  whole  house  went  dark.  Well,  that  was
        nothing new out where I live; power’s going out all the time. I was
        just about to get the lantern lit when I heard it.”
          On the other side of the desk, the journalist idly sketched a Frisbee
        with portholes and antennae. He glanced up at the sun-withered ears,
        surreptitiously scanning for an older-model hearing aid.
          “And  what  was  that  sound,  Mrs.  Whittle?  Sort  of  a  whirring,
        whining noise like an airplane or a vacuum cleaner?”
          She replied without hesitation.
          “Oh, no, sir. It wasn’t making any noise at all by itself. It was the
        gravel crunching on the driveway. I guess it was pretty heavy when it
        wasn’t moving; you can see the dent it made, if you want to come out
        to the farm. Better get there before it rains, though; the next time it’s
        muddy, my old car will dig a couple of ruts right through it.”
          O’Donnell arched his eyebrows momentarily and ceased doodling.
        Here was a twist on the usual tale.
          “All right. What did you do then: telephone for help?” This was a
        trick question he regretted asking, but it had to be done.
          The old lady appeared surprised.
          “Why, yes, I did—as soon as I had looked through the window.
        You know, at first I thought it might be someone paying a call, but
        that thing was no automobile. When I realized that, I did pick up the
        telephone, since it usually works even when the lights are out, but it
        was dead, too.”
          The reporter drew an ‘X’; she was either conclusively inconsistent
        or inconclusively consistent. He forged ahead.
          “Now, can you describe what you saw? Was it glowing or spinning
        or changing shape while you watched it?”
          She considered, raising gnarled knuckles to her wrinkled chin.



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