Dreams & Mystery

 

by Glen L. Bledsoe 

No one knows for certain why we dream, but whatever the reason it must be important. 

What is it in our minds during dreaming that gets suspended so we accept irrational events as being common place and natural? 

Why it is that we submit ourselves to worlds so out of synch with our own that our bodies must be lightly paralyzed otherwise we might harm ourselves reacting to unreal incidents? 

What mechanism largely flush dreams from our minds upon awakening so that we are not terribly confused by the two worlds we move between?

The Package

By Martin Sercombe

 

It was a dark and stormy night in Luang Namtha. The streets were strangely empty, as if the entire town had heeded a warning.

As I was making my way to my hostel an old man approached me, carrying a large package.  I could see it was wrapped in tattered brown paper and tied with fraying string

"Excuse me, sir," the old man said in broken English. "You help me, please? I cannot carry this package any farther."

I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I wanted to get involved. But something about the old man's earnest expression and the strange aura around him made me curious.

"O.K." I said, reaching out to take the package.

"Thank you, thank you," the old man said, bowing deeply. "You are kind person. Please, take package to edge of town and open. I give you money."

He pressed a wad of crumpled bills into my hand and hurried off into the night, leaving me alone with the mysterious parcel.

As I walked, I couldn't help but wonder what could be inside. Was it a valuable treasure, a dangerous weapon, or something even more sinister? I found myself growing more and more uneasy with each step. Then a strange rustling movement came from within.

Finally, I reached a field and set the package down on the road side. I took a deep breath and carefully untied the string, my heart pounding in my chest. My hands shaking, I pulled the paper away and revealed what was inside.

A very startled monitor lizard wriggled out and vanished into the darkness.

The Four

 By Glen L. Bledsoe 

School was over for the day and the custodian came in to sweep and empty wastepaper baskets. I don't remember how the topic came up now, but the old man said, "I ever tell you the story about the Elk's picnic I went to a few years back?"

He knew he hadn't, but that was okay. He was about to tell a story and even though I had papers to grade I shook my head.

"Well, we were all standing there with plates full of baked beans, potato salad and fried chicken when just off to one side we noticed a group of people walking along a path dressed in formal clothes, but old fashioned. Like 1920's. You could see they were having a conversation. Even though we all stopped talking and stared, strain as we might we couldn't hear a word they were saying even though we weren't that far away. At one point the Four turned their heads sharply in our direction as if they'd heard something, but stared right through us as if we weren't even there. The path they were following made a sharp turn as it approached a stone faced outcropping. But instead of turning with the path the Four walked straight into the wall and vanished without a trace."

"Ghosts?" I said.

"I don't think so," the custodian said. "I think they were caught in an imperfection of time. Some bubble that briefly leaked light from their time into ours or maybe vice versa." Then he shrugged. "I got other rooms to clean. See you tomorrow."

Transformation

 By Glen L. Bledsoe 

The Truth About Cattle Mutilations

I grew up in Merrillville, Indiana about 40 miles east of Chicago. I'd never been any further west than Chicago until at age 24 two of my friends and I decided to box up our bikes, put them under a Greyhound bus and travel to Portland, Oregon. Our plan was to ride our bikes back home.

As we we crossed Oregon and made our way eastward we were amazed. We'd never seen anything like this before. Wide open spaces, mountains, canyons, high desert, ranches and a style of life nothing like we'd ever seen in the Midwest. Each small town we'd enter we'd stop at a small cafe and eat lunch. There the locals would ask us where we started from and where we were going. They were encouraging and interested in how three crazy young men were making their way across rugged land. In one cafe I picked up a newspaper and noticed the headlines: MYSTERY CATTLE MUTILATIONS! Ranchers were finding many of their cows dead and their bodies dissected in strange ways. I shared this with my two fellow bicyclists and we exchanged worried looks. As we continued our ride we continued to read local newspapers all carrying the same news of the cattle mutilations. On one occasion a group of mounted horsemen approached us with rifles.

One of them tipped his hat to us and said, "You boys see anything suspicious when you've been riding? Anything strange? Any men look like they're up to something?"

"No, sir," Ireplied. "We haven't seen anyone like that."

The man nodded. "If you do you find the nearest sheriff and tell him what you saw."

"Yes, sir. We will do that."

"All right. You boys carry on, but be careful. There's something strange going on out here." The men rode off without another word.

Everywhere we went we saw news of the mutilations. We were either following them or they were following us. We didn't want to be around when they decided they were done mutilating cows and wanted to try out their skills on humans.

Much later I found out that the mutilations were spread over the entire area. They weren't following us and we weren't following them. We were traveling through a territory filled with it.

There were reports of UFOs being sighted in the areas where the mutilations took place. And so I began to wonder if instead of mutilations they were transformations and the cattle carcasses weren't just what was left over. You never know. It could be.