The Blackwater Sighting [Fiction]

A short story about a daughter's brush with the extraordinary.

My dad used to work for the Italian Center for UFO studies back in the 60s, back when we lived overseas. He retired when I was a pre-teen, a couple years before we moved to Jacksonville, Florida and he started spending a lot more time with the family. Smoking weed, reading books, and camping. He never talked too much about his job or what he had experienced, blaming his closed mouth on an NDA he signed long before my birth. Still, my mother’s usual gloomy disposition brightened, and the household felt more like a home.

One spring, dad planned out an elaborate camping trip to Blackwater River State Park, about a 330-mile drive out west, if my memory serves me right. This would be the seventh time we went camping together, as a family. My dad was so elated, thrilled by the prospect, he’d sped off to the local camping store, making multiple trips to stock up on an excessive amount of gear, food, and supplies. Said it was necessary preparation with a glimmer in his eye.

“Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” You would have thought my dad was in the military, not some retired ufo researcher. The strange thing was, he’d never talk about his work life no matter how hard I prodded. It remains a mystery to this day.

We hopped in a dusty RV, he had borrowed from an old friend and took off towards the park. The interior smelled like herbs and dreamcatchers hung from the ceiling. Despite the strange smells, it had a comfy couch, two twin beds you could pull out, a mini-kitchen, and a toilet that worked well enough.

“I’m telling you, you’re going to love it,” my dad said, hairy hand gripping the wheel. His mustached mouth could be seen talking in the rearview mirror. “One of the cleanest rivers in the nation and get this, you can’t even drown in it. Only two point five feet deep, beautiful trees, white beaches, it has everything. Plus, scientists come from far and wide to study the river.”

“Why do the scientists come here?” I asked, struck with curiosity. “I thought the river was only black because of the nutrients from the trees. What’s so special about it besides that?”

“Old land. Weird insects in the riverbed. Some claim the river is prehistoric. The sands on the river floor are always shifting. No one knows if it’s something deep in the earth or something embedded in the complex ecosystem that causes it. At any rate, it’s fascinating.”

“Got it,” I said, returning to my yellowed paperback, wondering if my dad had some ulterior motive for the trip. Maybe he planned to conduct a study of his own. I thought maybe I was being paranoid and swatted my suspicions away.

We set up shop a good distance away from other people staying on the campgrounds. It was a picturesque clearing somewhat close to the riverbank flanked by white cedars and dogwood trees. My dad helped me set up my tent after he watched me struggle for 45 minutes straight. I rubbed peppermint oil on my skin after being eaten up by a group of mosquitos.

Afterward, we went fishing and I reeled in a few trout while mom caught a fat catfish. My dad gutted the catch with his bare hands and filleted them in a matter of minutes. I couldn’t handle the bloody affair. I was too squeamish, and the smell was too much to stomach. I went on a brief walk watching the river’s surface glimmer and squinting through the dust motes.

When I had returned from the walk, dad had finished grilling the fish over a makeshift fire and was grabbing paper plates. He served the fish to mom and I, with a side of baby potatoes, and it was surprisingly good.

When the sun began dipping behind the horizon, I went to bed early, feeling exhausted from the combination of the long car ride and the day’s activities. I knew mom didn’t have much juice left in her tank either. My dad sat on a rock with his joint hanging out the corner of his mouth, staring up at the stars. A thick cloud of smoke obscured his face.

I woke in the middle of the night, feeling out of place for a moment and confused. Once I gained my bearings, I heard something moving outside the tent, combing through the brush. You could hear its slow lumbering movements, and strange shadows thrown against the side of the tent. My heart beat a million miles a minute and I realized I was holding my breath as I heard the thing sniffing around. Worried that it was a bear, a rabies-ridden raccoon or some other wildlife, I clutched my bear spray and a pocketknife. These were the only weapons I had, and I prayed to God one would do the trick if I was confronted by the worst-case scenario.

After ten, maybe fifteen minutes had passed, I slowly eased out of my sleeping bag. As foolish as it may sound, I had to see what was out there. Confirm my suspicions. Maybe it was my Sagittarius moon or my Pisces rising, who knows? Either way, I couldn’t remain a sitting duck inside of my tent.

I moved outside the tent, looking up at the pitch-black sky, wondering where the stars had gone. I tried my best not to be seen, let alone make a sound. Then I spotted it by the grill and nearly let out an exaggerated gasp.

The figure was seven feet tall, nude, green, and extremely skinny. I’m talking thin as a matchstick, illuminated by the half-moon hovering over the lake. It had no sexual appendages whatsoever and its flesh, if you could call it that, was completely smooth with no distinctive facial features. I never saw anything like it. Not before or since the incident.

The skinny thing tripped over the fishing roads sitting next to the fire pit and let out a sound I can only refer to as a scream. It was a high-pitch frequency that ripped through my head and left my ears ringing. When I regained my wits, I saw the skinny thing shaking on the ground as if it couldn’t get up. The sheer physics of the thing made no sense. It looked like it should be able to get up quite easily, but its weight distribution must have been vastly different compared to a human’s biology.

I wondered if this thing was an alien, but what were the odds of that? Figured I should grab my dad, since he was the expert, but I also didn’t want to disturb the creature. What if it was dangerous? I didn’t want to take my chances so I moved to the cover of some brush and watched it struggle for a moment, wishing I had brought my camera. I knew the tabloids or the papers like Weekly World News would pay big bucks for photographic proof of aliens.

We may have accidentally hit a goldmine. My heart surged at the prospect of hitting it big. Before I could move back to my tent and search for a disposable camera, a trio of taller skinny things came out from behind a white oak tree. My nails sank into the metal surface of the bear spray as my grip tightened on the weapon.

Something leapt out of the river, they seemed like birds, but were less tangible in form. They were made of pure light or lightning if that makes sense. The flock of birds zoomed downward towards the injured thing on the ground, ripping through its tender body. The trio of skinny things picked up their pace, but they were still far too slow. The birds consumed the creature whole before the trio of tall beings could make it. I wondered if the injured skinny thing was a baby or a younger form of the taller things because they buzzed in a tormented fashion. The buzz grew several decibels louder, scaring the flock of lightning birds back into the river.

A scream erupted from the trio, now holding sloppy green pieces of its kin. The high-pitched scream pierced my mind so strongly, my nose bled. I used the sleeve of my shirt to staunch the bleeding as I continued watching in awe and revulsion. I felt somewhat bad for the creature. Seemed like a simple accident and it certainly didn’t deserve to die or be extinguished in this fashion.

The smell of sulfur and cotton candy clouded the air. I nearly gagged, but I kept myself composed well enough.

The colony of skinny things left and disappeared into the brush. When I felt like the coast was clear, I moved over to the pile and it seemed to be melting into the earth, leaving behind burn marks in its wake.

“Why are you up so late honey?” My dad said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

I almost pissed myself, feeling like I was caught red-handed even though I did nothing wrong. Was my dad watching the entire time?

“Couldn’t sleep, Dad. Thought I heard an animal or something outside my text” I blurted out, wondering if he could see through my lie. “I felt like exploring.”

“Glad you brought your bear spray with you,” my dad, scratching his stomach. “Knew it would come in handy. But you should have woken me if you were concerned. I don’t care about losing sleep especially when it comes to my daughter’s welfare.”

“Yeah, nothing too spectacular happened. It was a false alarm. No need to wake you up over nothing. Probably was a squirrel.”

He sat down on the rock from the day before, looking world-weary in the darkness, and lit up a fresh joint, staring upwards. He offered the joint to me, and I took a puff, coughing.

“Is this safe?” I asked, exhaling.

“Yeah, look at me. I’m sixty-four and healthy as a mongoose,” he said, taking the joint back. “This’ll help you sleep. Guarantee it.”

I eased into the night, anxiety slowly melting away, and I leaned against my dad's left shoulder, gazing at the sky. A shooting star erupted out of the darkness above and I felt a chill run down my spine, dread blooming out of my chest. I gripped my dad’s arm, looking for some sense of comfort, some sense of safety. He passed me the joint again and I took a deep inhale, hoping the cannabis would erase my fear.

“Is that a UFO?” I asked.

“Could be.”

Ever since that night, I wondered if my dad had seen more than he let on, if he knew what floated out here at night while we rested. Neither of us said another word, establishing a silent pact underneath the tenebrous sky.