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Riders on the Storm&nbsp;The rain hasn't stopped since the machines appeared. The air was stale that day, and everything was eerily silent - almost like we were waiting for a storm. Well it came, and it brought them with it. Thirty years later my memory isn’t what it once was, but I’ll never forget the day my life changed forever.Normally, the sight of rain, in all its life-giving glory, would have been celebrated. It had become rare, and the earth was too hot. Rain meant food, and food meant not starving to death. Half the world had already. But this rain was different. As a boy of 12, I was old enough to be on outpost duty for the last two years. I loved camp even though it was dry, dusty, and the ugliest shade of brown you can imagine. But it was the only home I'd ever known. So I took outpost duty very seriously. Occasionally, Grandpa walked out there to help me pass the time with a game of chess. Of course, we didn’t have an actual chess board. I had never even seen one, but Grandpa did his best to recreate it with the materials we could find. He’s the one who taught me to play and beat me every time. I never got mad about losing though. Besides Mom, Grandpa was the only family I had left, and I loved him dearly. My grandpa was pretty old school, and he still used phrases from his childhood – like calling UAP's "UFO's," (a term that hadn’t been used in sixty years). But when I pointed that out, he'd just say, "The damn government ain't around anymore, I can call 'em what I want.” I kind of just dropped it after that. It seems silly now that I ever cared what they were called. No word could really describe the mark that the Riders left - that’s what I call them now - the Riders. Sightings of UAP’s were a topic of occasional discussion around camp back then, because they seemed to happen more often, even beyond our small establishment, since the world’s food shortage became a major problem. Even at that young age I had seen some things I couldn’t explain. But nothing like what would happen on that day.During my time at the outpost, I saw the first raindrops alone, sitting in my blind. It was such a welcome sight that I forgot to worry when Grandpa wasn’t there to play chess with me when he said he would show up. In fact, I smiled, imagining he just got caught up in some festivities that must be going on over this unexpected, yet much needed rain. I was even looking forward to the walk back, knowing I’d get absolutely drenched. But when it was time go, my relief never came. I waited. And then I waited some more. I began to worry that it would stop raining before I got a chance to enjoy it. As more time passed, uneasiness, like a slimy ball of worms, slid into my stomach and squirmed until I couldn’t stay there any longer. Then, for the first time in two years, I abandoned my post.Stepping out of my blind, I was excited to feel raindrops for the first time in months. Not even the ominous, dark clouds, or the unusual occurrence of someone missing their shift could get me down. But as I kept going, the sharp claws of fear began scratching at my back. I felt like I was being watched – so much so, that I spun around, only to see the flat landscape stretching before me, utterly and quietly empty. But the feeling grew stronger. That’s when I noticed there was something off about this rain. It was too heavy, and it stung a little as it hit my skin, like tiny pin pricks. I stopped and cupped my hands. As the water gathered there, I saw that it looked like diluted ink and had an iridescent shimmer. Something was very wrong. Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Just then, the sunlight began failing so rapidly that my attention was drawn to the sky. That’s when I saw them. Lots of them, hovering at different heights. Flickering white lights attached to triangular machines, glinting coldly among the thickening clouds. The Riders.At that moment, my legs refused to carry me. I was frozen, almost hypnotized. My vision blurred and my thoughts became sluggish. I vaguely realized I could no longer feel the parts of me that were exposed to the rain. I felt detached from my surroundings, from my own body. The only thing I could hear were whispers – not outside of me, you understand, but in my head, filling my thoughts with a maddening hum. I didn’t realize I was falling, but found myself on my back, nonetheless. Paralyzed and helpless, I watched as one of the vessels descended at such a rapid speed it seemed to be falling. It slowed to a stop directly above me, its flat undercarriage shifting into a series of intricate doors that opened like a puzzle - movements I could barely fathom. I found myself being pulled upward towards what was now an opening emanating a soft, white glow. As light enveloped me, I saw two figures poised above me. They were like tall, pale statues, standing unnaturally still. Scaled skin, like a snake's, stretched over a muscular, humanoid figure. Despite the effects of what I had believed to be rain, I felt the beginnings of panic clutching at my chest as I glimpsed their faces…or where their faces should be. There were no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Only vague, structural suggestions of where facial features should be. It was the last image I had before losing consciousness.When I awoke, it wasn’t to the glowing light of the ship, or the strange and terrifying figures I could still see in my mind’s eye. I didn’t wake up in the foreign, angular city that was rapidly fleeing my memory like a faint dream. I awoke to the dirt beneath me, and the familiar scent of wet earth. I felt groggy and disoriented, my vision still hazy. The sky was clearer now, and the ships were gone. It was still raining – a common rain now. I wasn’t alone. Everyone from camp lay scattered around me, some stirring, others motionless. I saw Mom and Grandpa a few yards away, their faces peaceful and slack, as if in a deep rest. Most of us woke up that day, but some didn’t. For those who did, the world had changed. Not just the physical world, but the world within us. Some changes were subtle – people laughed a little less, looked over their shoulders more often. Outpost duty became the single most important responsibility at camp. I knew that we were always watching for the Riders to return, although the experience was rarely spoken of, as though no one knew what to say. I sometimes noticed the others with an unfocused look in their eye, a furrowed brow, like trying to recall a lost memory. Some changes were physical. The atmosphere was constantly different somehow, like the thick silence just before a storm. And the rain. Decades later, and not a day goes by without some kind of rain. The worst thing of all? Grandpa never woke up. I often think of his gruff laugh, or the way he could tell a story about how things used to be. That glint in his eye when he won a game of chess. I still miss him terribly. Sometimes I wonder if my young mind simply conjured a nightmare to cope with his passing. But I know better. At times, I can still hear the hum of their whispers at the edge of my thoughts. I watch the skies and wait for them to return.

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Riders on the Storm

Ghostwriter

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