breadth of view and out of sight that it might have been a man in a cloak, a man with membranous wings-or not a man at all.
With a gasp of surprise, Neil snatched his hand back as if the entity on the other side surely had the power to reach through the mirror as he himself could not.
In the same instant, Molly spun off the bench, exploded to her feet, crazily certain that something had crossed over, through the veil of glass and quicksilver. But no unwanted visitor had entered the bedroom.
She glanced at the clock just as the sideways scroll of numbers abruptly halted. The time was 2:44.
Checking her wristwatch, she discovered that the hour and the minute hands had stopped spinning. Her timepiece agreed with the digital clock-2:44.
The music boxes fell silent.
The miniature carousel horse went from gallop to full stop in a plink, and the dancing figurines froze in midwaltz.
Molly felt suddenly relieved of the real or imagined weight that had been suspended overhead like a giant sword of Damocles.
The half-heard, fully felt, deep pulsations of sound stopped throbbing through her.
"The mirror," Neil said.
The reflection that it now offered was of the room in which they stood. No ruins, no mold-textured walls, no crawling vine.
Neil shifted his attention from the mirror to the ceiling. Then he went to a window. He peered less at the surrounding forest than at the obscured night sky from which rain poured in great cascades.
"Gone," he said.
"I felt something," she admitted. "But what was it?"
"Don't have a clue."
He was not being candid with her, nor she with him.
They had been formed by a culture drunk with the yearning for inter-galactic contact, the bedrock of a new faith in which God was but a supporting player. Everyone knew the doctrines of this quasi-religion better than most people remembered the words of the Lord's Prayer: We are not alone watch the skies the answer is out there They had been Spielberged and Lucased and Shyamalaned. A thousand movies and TV shows, ten thousand books, had convinced the world that the new magi would be scientists riding not to Bethlehem on camels but to a UFO landing site in mobile labs with satellite dishes on the roofs, and that the salvation of humanity would come from another planet rather than from a higher realm.
Molly knew the signs as prophesied by Hollywood and by science fiction writers. Neil knew them, too.
This September night lay deep inside the Close Encounter Zone. In this territory, alien technology was the only font of miracles.
She didn't want to put this understanding into words, however, and apparently neither did Neil. A pretense of bewilderment felt safer than candor.
Perhaps their reticence had its roots in the fact that on this subject Hollywood offered two familiar scenarios-one in which the extraterrestrials were benign gods, one in which they were full of wrath and cruel judgment. Thus far, these recent events lacked the sweetness and the twinkle of G-rated family entertainment.
Turning away from the window and from his inspection of the rain-choked sky, Neil said, "Not that we'll need it but I'll get the shotgun."
Recalling the half-glimpsed, sinuous figure that had flashed darkly across the moldering room in the mirror, Molly retrieved her handgun from the vanity and said, "I'll get some spare cartridges for this."
----
5
ON THE KITCHEN TABLE LAY THE SHOTGUN AND A box of shells. Beside it were the pistol, a spare magazine, and a box of 9-mm cartridges.
Pleated window shades in the kitchen and the adjacent family room held back the night and the sight-though not the omnipresent sound- of the luminous rain.
Molly couldn't shake the feeling that the surrounding forest, previously a friendly woods, now harbored unknown
With a gasp of surprise, Neil snatched his hand back as if the entity on the other side surely had the power to reach through the mirror as he himself could not.
In the same instant, Molly spun off the bench, exploded to her feet, crazily certain that something had crossed over, through the veil of glass and quicksilver. But no unwanted visitor had entered the bedroom.
She glanced at the clock just as the sideways scroll of numbers abruptly halted. The time was 2:44.
Checking her wristwatch, she discovered that the hour and the minute hands had stopped spinning. Her timepiece agreed with the digital clock-2:44.
The music boxes fell silent.
The miniature carousel horse went from gallop to full stop in a plink, and the dancing figurines froze in midwaltz.
Molly felt suddenly relieved of the real or imagined weight that had been suspended overhead like a giant sword of Damocles.
The half-heard, fully felt, deep pulsations of sound stopped throbbing through her.
"The mirror," Neil said.
The reflection that it now offered was of the room in which they stood. No ruins, no mold-textured walls, no crawling vine.
Neil shifted his attention from the mirror to the ceiling. Then he went to a window. He peered less at the surrounding forest than at the obscured night sky from which rain poured in great cascades.
"Gone," he said.
"I felt something," she admitted. "But what was it?"
"Don't have a clue."
He was not being candid with her, nor she with him.
They had been formed by a culture drunk with the yearning for inter-galactic contact, the bedrock of a new faith in which God was but a supporting player. Everyone knew the doctrines of this quasi-religion better than most people remembered the words of the Lord's Prayer: We are not alone watch the skies the answer is out there They had been Spielberged and Lucased and Shyamalaned. A thousand movies and TV shows, ten thousand books, had convinced the world that the new magi would be scientists riding not to Bethlehem on camels but to a UFO landing site in mobile labs with satellite dishes on the roofs, and that the salvation of humanity would come from another planet rather than from a higher realm.
Molly knew the signs as prophesied by Hollywood and by science fiction writers. Neil knew them, too.
This September night lay deep inside the Close Encounter Zone. In this territory, alien technology was the only font of miracles.
She didn't want to put this understanding into words, however, and apparently neither did Neil. A pretense of bewilderment felt safer than candor.
Perhaps their reticence had its roots in the fact that on this subject Hollywood offered two familiar scenarios-one in which the extraterrestrials were benign gods, one in which they were full of wrath and cruel judgment. Thus far, these recent events lacked the sweetness and the twinkle of G-rated family entertainment.
Turning away from the window and from his inspection of the rain-choked sky, Neil said, "Not that we'll need it but I'll get the shotgun."
Recalling the half-glimpsed, sinuous figure that had flashed darkly across the moldering room in the mirror, Molly retrieved her handgun from the vanity and said, "I'll get some spare cartridges for this."
----
5
ON THE KITCHEN TABLE LAY THE SHOTGUN AND A box of shells. Beside it were the pistol, a spare magazine, and a box of 9-mm cartridges.
Pleated window shades in the kitchen and the adjacent family room held back the night and the sight-though not the omnipresent sound- of the luminous rain.
Molly couldn't shake the feeling that the surrounding forest, previously a friendly woods, now harbored unknown
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