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Sheriff Roger O'Connell saunters around his office
looking for something new to read. Protecting the small
city of Havettsville is usually boring uneventful work.
Sure, they have the occasional fender bender or
domestic violence case. But overall, things run
smoothly in the town whose number of citizens is barely
two thousand.
His small building contains a lobby, his office and a
tiny cell that hasn‚t had a visitor since the day it
was built. In fact, his office is the only room that's
used regularly. It contains his tired old desk, which
is covered in scratches from unknown sources, his
leather-backed chair and a small table that is
smothered in magazines. Some of these he's read several times, and if his life depended on it, he could
probably recite a lot of the articles word for word.
Roger picks up a well read copy of 'People'. The
articles are boring fluff, but he thinks that some of
the pictures are pleasing to look at.
As he starts to head back to his squeaky chair, the
phone rings and Roger is so surprised he nearly jumps
out of his skin. "Surely," Roger thinks, "It can‚t be
an emergency."
But his hand seems to be shaking when he picks up the
phone. It's as if something strange is in the air that
is trying to alert him to a new danger, and when the
phone reaches his ear, he hears the low monotone voice of farmer Ellsworth, "Sherriff?..You there?"
"Yeah, Ted. What d'ya need?" Rogers replies casually, trying to mask the momentary sense of dread he felt moments ago.
"You need to git over here as quick as you can. Sump'n strange is goin on." Roger can hear the edge in the farmers voice.
"yeah, yeah, I'll be right over." Roger replaces the handset.
The feeling of dread returning to the pit of his stomach.
The road to Ted Ellsworth's farm winds around the country side, giving Roger time to compose himself. The old Ford pick-up rattling as it bounces from one pot hole to the next. The sun cracked vinyl dash with it's bobbing dogs head, gives Roger a sense of familiarity that takes the edge off the strangeness he'd been feeling. "Probably drove his tractor into the ditch again, Boy never knew when to lay off the juice." Roger chuckles at the thought.
The old pick-up rounds the last bend leading to Ted's place. A local crop duster is idling in front of the barn. The bubble domed, Korean war era helicopter resembling a mechanized insect, with it's narrow wireframe, and widespread chemical dispensing arms. The pilot is talking with Ted near the barn. A few other people
are milling about, Roger Identifies them as various farm hands, who should be out in the fields tending the herd.
Ted approaches, as Roger bring the truck to a halt.
"Roger!", Ted yell over the sound of the helicopter, "Thank God you here."
"What's going on?" Roger question is left hanging in the air as Ted takes him by the
arm and leads him toward the helicopter. The pilot throttles up the helicopter, increasing the noise, and sending the blades whipping angrily through the air.
"Jake, is gonna take you to it." Ted bellows, as he's assisting Roger into the Helicoptor Roger eases himself into the seat, Jake reaching over him to help fasten him in.
The ground shrinks beneath them as the 'coptor rises into the air, the forcing pushing him down into the seat.
"What's going on Jake?" Roger asks hoping that maybe this time he'll get an answer.
"Well, I was coming in to spray Ted's north feild when I saw it." Again no specific answer.
"Saw what?" Roger asks, impatience filling his voice.
"That." Jake replies his finger pointing towards the feild.
Roger's gaze, following the direction pilots finger, came to rest on the source of the commotion. A symbol of intricate nature had been carved into the feild of wheat, a crop circle Roger had heard them called before.
The symbol flashes through his mind unlocking something hidden, dark. Images burn themselves into his conscious mind, telling him a story that he thought he had buried. Touches of cold metal, strobing irridescent lights, otherworldly noises fighting for posession of his awareness. Along with these images comes an awareness of fear and helplessness, "no..." Rogers voice is like a mewling child. His hand sliding down to the .38 revolver strapped at his waist.
"What?" Jake asks, "Did you say something?" His voice hinting at nervousness.
"NO!" Roger yanks the revolver out of it's holster, firing once twice through the plexiglass bubble.
"What the..." Jake panicking throws his arm infront of Roger hoping to stop the gun fire. The move only forces Roger to raise the pistol overhead and fire three more shots into the engine. The engine sputters as if fatally wounded, then ignites in a glorious fire ball, engulfing the two struggling forms.
As the 'coptor crashes into the feild Roger can be heard screaming "it's better this way."
------
«kross»
too...much...pressure...
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