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Silas had always found the idea of aliens hard to take seriously. He'd admitted no such thing to his date, though. Betty was an ardent believer that not only had extraterrestrials made contact with man—and still did to this day; frequently—they'd also been the makers of man. She was a great girl, but she wouldn't stop talking about them. It drove him nuts.
"Some ancient-astronaut theorists believe..."
He allowed himself a small sigh and scanned the line of people ahead. They were waiting to be let into The Boombox, the hottest retro nightclub in town. Only about twenty people stood between them and the doors, but it might as well have been a hundred. The line hadn't moved for what felt like hours. The thirty-year-old music thumped, and Silas checked his watch. It had only been ten minutes.
"Is there a problem?" the woman in front of Silas asked the tall guy next to her, playfully nudging him in the ribs.
"An argument with the bouncer," the guy croaked. "Wanna get outta here?"
"Please. I can't take any more of Ancient Aliens over here," the woman said, one thumb going Betty's way. She followed the guy's direction and ducked under the barrier ribbon. Off they went, down a side street and out of sight.
"Some experts say yes," Betty went on, oblivious.
Silas rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. Wouldn't it be nice to meet a normal woman? Someone plain, simple. No frills. No weird kinks or obsessions.
No damn aliens.
Suddenly Silas became keenly aware of an eerie silence that had settled over him. No muffled songs pounding through the walls of the club. No chatter from the crowd.
No Betty.
He opened his eyes. His blood went icy. He reached out, grabbing a shelf for support, and took in his new surroundings. He wasn't outside The Boombox. He wasn't outside at all. He was inside a cramped, dark storage room. Rows of shelves filled it, practically touching they were so close together. Jars and other containers, most of which were empty, sat on the shelves. The ones that weren't empty were filled with cloudy liquids of various colours. Silas stared into one of the containers—this one a tall and thin vessel full of a honey-yellow liquid—and the longer he looked the more he swore he saw faces and things sloshing and swirling in the liquid.
Shivering, he tore himself from the jars that fed his starved imagination. He moved towards a door, blue light shining through the crack beneath.
The door whooshed open on its own accord. The first thing Silas noticed was the cosmos sprawled out before him. Then he noticed the dials and meters, gizmos and doodads peppering a huge dashboard of sorts, giving off that blue glow he'd seen beneath the door.
Then he noticed the three grey aliens deep in silent conversation, almost made invisible by a trick of the light.
One of the greys tweaked its head ever so slightly and Silas had the uncanny feeling he'd been spotted. Those big black eyes pierced through him. He was afraid, so very afraid. He backed into the storage room, found a corner, closed his eyes, and made himself small.
But that didn't help. He opened his eyes and scanned the shelves for something to defend himself with. A jar would do, but maybe there was something better. Then—
On one of the shelves was a dusty round jar full of murky grey liquid. Silas felt drawn to it. He lifted it off the shelf and tilted it this way and that, which somehow caused the whirling liquid inside to take shape.
When he saw what image was forming inside, Silas collapsed against the wall, dropped the jar (which shattered against the floor) and sobbed.
