BEWARE THE COUNTERFEIT RAPTURE!. Sandra Ghost

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       Mother hauled us to church and kind of chucked Jesus down our throats in doses, like she did spoonfuls of Cod Liver Oil when were kids. Maybe I kinda got turned off at some point...never thought much about it really. Maybe Scarlett got turned off too, but what about Jesse? It didn't work that way with him. His next cast went to the other side of the pond.

      "Did you see that, boy, did you?" Demian blinked his congratulations.

      He reeled slowly. Jesse sure put Dad on the spot about Satan, but I don't know if I believe in him either. What if all this frightening EMP stuff and AIDS, disastrous weather and earthquakes are really signs of the return of Jesus? The bullfrog began tuning up to sing bass in a barbershop quartet.

      Suddenly, Demian sat up. His ears were at alert, and the massive dog began sniffing the air. He began to whine and cry softly.

      "What's wrong, boy. What is it?" The dog's hackles began to rise, a low threatening growl began rolling deep in his chest.

      "What is it, is there a bear?" Lance reached for the .44 Magnum he had strapped on before they'd come outside. Bear, mountain lion and bobcats occasionally strayed down off the Skyline Drive. He always armed himself at night for protection.

      Demian's growl now turned into vicious snarling--teeth bared. Nothing could be seen.

      At that moment, a huge lighted craft, the size of a football field,silently swept over the mountains which crested on the Drive, passed directly overhead and disappeared down by the Shenandoah River. There was no noise.

      Lance could hear his heart beating in his ears. The blood seemed to drain from his head. He grabbed the bench as he suddenly felt faint. Demian's growling stopped. "That was a UFO...scared the beejeebers out of me too, boy. I didn't think I believed in those things either. I sure do now!"

      Demian pressed against his leg. He stroked the beautiful shepherd. "You were going to protect me, weren't you boy? Let's get back in the house, they might come back."

      As they walked back on the path, Lance didn't notice the beautiful night or the fireflies, he was too busy wondering just who "they" were. Couldn't have been good...he trusted Demian's judgement. Should he call the Sheriff's Department? Nah, they'd think he was crazy...maybe Jesse...he'd call Jesse. How did UFO's figure into all this?

      After a short, restless nap Horace spent some time reading the stock quotes from Friday, and as the evening wore on watched one television program with Marianne. "Think I'll go out and walk off that wonderful dinner," he told her. He often went for a walk around their property once it cooled down at night. The full, brilliant moon backlit Signal Knob, which towered over their two acres. He never looked at it that he didn't marvel at what a privilege it was to live here, sheltered by a mountain that both the North and South had used to signal troops during the Civil War. If that mountain could talk, the stories it could tell. He approached the "Chipping Tree" on the northeast corner of the property, Horace put one arm part way around the trunk of the old tree, like greeting a fond friend. When they had built the house thirty years ago, farmers nearby had told them the story of the tree. Indians had sat beneath its branches chipping arrowheads. Sure enough, they had found several at the tree's base. The graceful old oak had stood for years, staring down at the north fork of the Shenandoah River. He turned and looked back at the sprawling brick home he had worked so hard to build and maintain--so many treasured memories there. He loved to see it at night, warm yellow lights shining brightly from the windows, like friendly beacons into the darkness.

      Worry had been slowly sneaking up on him all evening--a thief stalking his footsteps to steal his peace of mind--his nest egg he had worked a lifetime to build...his Social Security. He messaged his forehead. Was Jesse right? Should he be preparing? Could the EMP thing cause a total collapse of the economy? If the bottom falls out of the stock market...if there's no food…rioting? How could all this be happening? He clutched the Chipping Tree, as if it could impart stability from all the years its roots had been firmly planted in the ground. Suddenly his heart became heavy when he thought of Scarlett. Was she really in danger? He had indulged her too much...but he adored her.

      An owl hooted up on Signal Knob. It was answered by another down by the river. Horace turned toward the sound. Soft ripples shimmered in the distance as the moon touched the water. There was a soothing balm in the tranquility of the night. Suddenly, a huge lighted craft shot down the river, hovering just above the ripples. There was no sound.

      "What the...?!" Horace realized he was shouting, "What is that? It can't be..."

      He ran for the house, falling over bushes and brambles until he got into the yard. His heart was pounding. Bursting into the living room he announced, "I've just seen a flying saucer!" He was out of breath.

      "Oh, come now, Horace. You know you've been talking about getting your prescription changed." Marianne patted the sofa beside her. "Come sit down...you're overwrought from all we talked about today."

      "I'm telling you, woman, I saw a flying saucer!" Didn't this family believe anything he ever said?

      "Give me the 'phone, I'm going to call the Sheriff's Department." While he waited for 911 to connect, "You believe in all this Devil stuff, but you can't believe me when I say I've seen a flying saucer?...

      "911, do you have an emergency?"

      "Yes, this is Doctor Wilson out on Route 55..."

      CHAPTER THREE

      Sergeant Michael Terry, of the Warren County Sheriff's Department shifted his weight to the other foot. He realized suddenly that he'd been doing that for the last five minutes to relieve his nervousness. "May I sit down, Doc?" he asked. It bothered him to see old Doc Wilson so upset.

      Horace nodded and gestured toward the couch.

      "Can I get you some coffee, Sergeant?" Marianne fluttered around the room like a frightened pigeon.

      "No thanks, ma'am". Mike crossed his legs and propped the clipboard on one knee. "Now, Doc, are you absolutely sure that's what you saw?"

      Horace began pacing the living room. "Well, what else could it have been?" His long fingers raked through the shock of gray hair. "I've never seen an airplane, the size of the Dupont factory, skim along the river. Have you, son?" His pacing took him to a confrontational stance directly in front of the deputy sheriff.

      "And this...this 'flying saucer' headed down the north fork toward the main stem of the river, right?" Mike struggled to keep his disbelief under wraps. Maybe Doc was losing it. He was getting pretty old...maybe senile.

      "That's right...and there was no noise...no sound of an engine at all." Mike continued writing his report.

      "You just wipe that smirk off your face, Michael Terry," Horace threatened. He folded his arms--could feel his blood pressure rising. "I spanked you when you came into this world and I can spank you again!"

      It was only after Sergeant Terry got back into the brown Sheriff's Department car and reported "10-8" on the radio, that he found out there had been other sightings in the county that night. On Doc's report, however, he now wrote the word, "Unfounded". He and the other Deputies on duty would take reports for the rest of the night.

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