Abduction by Samantha Henderson Dan’s old felt fedora still grows from the hatstand where he left it three years ago. “I’m off,” he said, as he left with his huge bundle of keys and a sappy smile. “I’m off to get a cake for Pete’s birthday and a couple of six-packs, I guess.” I nodded, once. I was pissed off, mildly so, for no good reason I can remember. All they found was a concentric series of circular burn marks. And one sneaker, Carefully untied. There was no foot in it. I made certain to ask. I suppose they might have lied. I still get calls from the Ufologists, the New Atlanteans, the Rosicrucians and the occasional would-be Illuminati. Hard Copy offered money, Nasa offered nada, but was unexpectedly sympathetic. (“Happens more often than you might think,” said one grizzled G-man.) What bothers me most is what happened to all those keys and who has them and what they unlock.
Copyright © Samantha Henderson 2000 Photo Copyright © Eric Marin 2004 About the Author: Samantha
Henderson lives in
Lone Star Stories * Speculative Fiction and Poetry with a Texas Twist * Copyright © 2003-2004
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