Angels of the Quantum Gate Read online

  Angels of the Quantum Gate

  WILLIAM DAVID HANNAH

  Third Edition

  Copyright © 2017 William David Hannah

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To all who are more important than they know.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my wife, Alexandra, my Sewing Sue, who kept me grounded and told me when things didn’t make sense.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1 The Oval

  2 Sewing Sue

  3 The Glass Cave

  4 Self-Evidence

  5 Chosen

  6 The Quantum Gate

  7 Drake

  8 Crater

  9 Cruising

  10 Jacksonville

  11 The Magic Screen

  12 Perfection

  13 The Dome

  14 The Crupp Case

  15 Knowing It All

  16 Better Angels, Or Worse?

  17 The Light

  18 Rapture

  19 Grover Glass

  20 Driscoll’s Ditch

  21 The Girl with The Star Tattoos

  22 Angels

  23 The Garden

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  I’ve always hated not knowing what to expect. I hate it even if something good is about to happen. I hate it even more when it’s one of those things that slaps you in the eye and festers in your brain and seems to change the world and the space and time around it. That’s what happened to me recently. That’s why I wrote all this down. It was what Jim Drake told me would happen, but who believed him? It’s what the government people, if that’s what they were, kept telling me to write about, over and over. It’s what changed my happy home and my pleasant little farm into chaos, for a time. And through it all, Jim Drake lived, or seemed to live, nearby, at the end of the road, or around a star.

  Chapter 1 - THE OVAL

  It came as darkness in the sun’s bright light. There was no warning, no sound, no flashing lights. Nobody else was home when it arrived. My wife, Sue, had gone to the nearby town, and Rob, from down and across our shared dirt road, was using my truck. And so, I was alone. The great shadowy mystery had come to visit only me.

  I cursed Jim Drake for being right. Yes, he predicted this. Yes, he frequently told me of his extensive documentation, his history of sightings, the activities of what he, with twisted humor, called the Un-Alien-Able Rights Society. I hurried home to call him…or to call someone. There was no dial tone. Nothing electrical or mechanical would work at all. Without any other way to communicate or create a record, I jotted down the first of what would become many notes. I stuffed the note into a pocket and hurried back to the monster above my cornfield. The shadow remained, huge, featureless, a giant black oval set there without support. It appeared completely flat, but as I approached, its edges began to curve toward me. Soon I imagined that I was looking into the belly of a great ship, beached on its side, nothing left but the vast interior of a huge darkened hull.

  Suddenly and silently, from its darkness came a long black tongue that licked forward and down. The tongue brought with it a minor swarm of small creatures. Beings with large heads and big eyes on thin bodies were gliding down this tongue-like ramp to reach the ground below. I didn’t see arms or legs or any other means to create their movement, just a procession of solid gray or mottled pink. Passing from curious to paralyzed, I stood before them in silence, and I began to feel sick.

  They glided by, oblivious to my presence. Soon, they disappeared into the corn, and the tongue slipped silently back into its origin.

  I ran toward my house, but I stopped short. The creatures were ahead of me, in my front yard, on my porch, surrounding my home! I realized that familiarity had been declared void in my world gone suddenly mad.

  I started to run. And I ran, and ran, frantic, not stopping, not seeing anyone, on and on, until everything went black.

  Chapter 2 - SEWING SUE

  I woke in the first of many hospital rooms. Or in what looked like a hospital room. Sue was there, and she told me that she found me passed out on the road, almost a mile from our house. She spoke of men who were guarding the room we were in and said she needed to tell them that I was awake. She was replaced by a guy in a very dirty lab coat. Before I knew it, the dirty-lab-coat guy put something in my IV, and once again the world dissolved.

  ****

  I was home when I awoke the second time. Sue was there, and she was sewing. I tried to question her about my experiences, but it was pointless.

  “But what about the hospital?” I asked.

  “What hospital,” she answered without expression.

  “Where are the men? What about the field?”

  She ignored me and continued sewing. She seemed not to want to talk at all.

  I looked in the bathroom mirror. My clothes were dirty and slept-in. My face was unshaven, and I needed a shower. But first, I needed to know. Back in my cornfield, a perfect circle of collapsed stalks, more than 100 yards wide and surrounded by a pattern of smaller circles, closely resembled photos in Jim Drake’s collection.

  I went back home, showered and changed. Sue was still sewing. In fact, she wasn’t interested in anything but sewing, or whatever it was she was doing. I saw nicely sewn pieces of fabric scattered on the floor, draped over chairs, covering the sofa. Some of them had buttons and zippers sewn in at odd places. Some had collars inserted at strange angles. None had a useful shape. There was nothing anybody could wear.

  The phone worked when I punched 1-800-UNA-LIEN. Drake’s message machine answered, “Thank you for calling Un-Alien-Able Rights. Please leave your message. And don’t forget to phone home!” His humor always annoyed me.

  I left Sue to sew, and I hopped in the car. Jim’s place was difficult to reach without four-wheel drive, but it hadn’t rained in awhile, and even though the road was a washboard, it was passable. His cabin, more a nasty, old shack, was almost hidden by trees and brush at the end of the road. Drake was an eccentric. He loved his collection of UFO photos, stories, and memorabilia. He claimed that he’d been abducted by aliens from outer space. He kept saying they’d be returning to this area, but when I asked him how he knew that, he never explained. Still, he never missed a chance to talk about all the sightings and abductions that he’d heard of, or read of, or, I thought, made up.

  I knocked. Nobody was home, but the door was ajar. When I looked inside, I could see that his place, ordinarily a disgusting mess, was perfect. Everything had been arranged carefully, and it was spotlessly clean. I checked each room, and they were the same. The fridge and the cabinets were empty.

  I walked out on the back deck. There, floating, was a scale model of Jim’s cabin, in perfect detail. It was so detailed that I could look through the windows and see the books on his shelves, but when I tried to open the door, my hand passed through the completely opaque but not at all solid wall.

  I decided to call the local police non-emergency number. I would report that Drake was away and his door ajar and that his house looked abandoned but unusually clean. I wouldn’t mention events at my place. Before I could call, the phone started ringing, and then the answering machine started to speak.

  “Pick up. We know you’re there. Donald Henson, please answer this call.”

  They knew my name? What the...? Who...?

  “Donald Henson, we are federal agents investigating some unusual happenings in your area. We know that you will be interested in talking to us. Please pick up.”

  “OK, this is Don Henson. What do you want?”

  “Meet us at the circle in your field at 5 P.M. This is very important. That’s all we can say right now. Do not, an
d I repeat, do not discuss any of these matters with anyone.”

  “All right.”

  “Five P.M., Mr. Henson.”

  “All right.”

  The phone clicked off.

  Well, at least now I would have someone to talk to. They mentioned strange things, so maybe we could get to the bottom of this, but did the bottom really mean extraterrestrials in my own backyard?

  Chapter 3 - THE GLASS CAVE

  I knew I had to be back at my farm for the 5 P.M. meeting, but I didn’t even know what time it was. I didn’t have my watch, which hadn’t worked ever since the oval appeared. What about the clock in my car? I turned the ignition key. It read 3:23, but was it right? The car wouldn’t start and seemed to be out of gas. I reasoned that Jim should have some spare gas somewhere, for his mower or something…if he ever mows. He had a storage shed out back. I went back through his house to reach his backyard since the yard had grown up so. Too bad the aliens didn’t clean up yards too. On the back deck the model was gone.

  I walked down the steps to the backyard, but his storage shed was gone too, a bare patch in the weeds where it used to be. Now why in the world would the aliens take Jim’s storage shed? I tried the car again. I was surprised when it started, but the clock was reading 4:40 P.M.

  When I got to the field, I could see that in the middle circle there was now some drilling equipment and a large hole. Two stern looking guys in dirty orange coveralls were standing there staring at me like they were ready to attack.

  “Mr. Henson.” I didn’t know if he was greeting me or asking my name.

  “Yes, I’m Don Henson.”

  “Put this on.”

  The one who spoke handed me a harness attached to a rope that went around a pulley attached to some of the drilling equipment. I looked from him to the harness and back again. Oh lord! He wants me to go down that hole. I hate it when my feet dangle.

  I put on the harness, and the mean-looking guys in the orange coveralls turned on a motor and lowered me into the hole.

  It was a long way down. I don’t know how far, but I thought, great, now I get to get buried alive. Maybe I’ll meet Jimmy Hoffa.

  Finally! I reached the end. I was in a cave, but not a natural one. There weren’t any stalactites and the like, and the surface was really smooth, almost like…glass. Yes, glass. I plopped down on my butt and wondered if I should take the harness off or leave it on. I didn’t want to miss a chance to go back up.

  The cave, or whatever, was big. It was unevenly lit by work lamps on long orange extension cords all stretched out and crisscrossing the floor. There were partitions making several rooms that I could see disappearing into the darkness.

  One of the guys from above had removed his harness and came up behind me.

  “Write.” He commanded. “Everything. Everything you saw, felt, and remember since the funnel appeared. It’s important to include everything. You’re all you have.” He handed me a notepad and pen.

  “Who are you?” I demanded to know. “What is this place? And why is it under my field?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Right now…just write! And take that harness off before somebody goofs and yanks your back out.”

  They walked off into the darkness. I put the pad and pen down on the glass and started unbuckling the harness. Just what I needed was to wind up dangling in this cave.

  Chapter 4 - SELF-EVIDENCE

  I sat there on that hard glass for what seemed like forever, scribbling out what I could on the notepad I’d been given. How much time had gone by since all this began I had no idea. I knew I’d been knocked out part of the time. I wondered what was happening to Sue? Did I have appointments? How would I ever explain why I missed them? Suddenly I thought, I may never get out of this damn glass hole under my cornfield. I thought I’d better look around. I was going to need a water supply…and a bathroom.

  It was hard to walk on the glass. If wet, it would be near impossible. The partitions were bolted in, and I looked for a door. I pushed on one that I found, barely visible in the featureless wall.

  Holy…! Jim Drake was sitting behind a little desk and studying some kind of diagram. One of the orange-coverall guys was there looking over his shoulder.

  He looked up. “Hello, Don. Welcome to a little bit of hell right under your cornfield. You thought I was a nut, didn’t you?” He had this peculiar, annoying little smile.

  “What are you doing here? Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you ever since the….”

  “Funnel? I imagine you have been. It’s fun to be totally disbelieved, isn’t it? Even by yourself. To know nowhere you can turn. Let me see what you’ve been writing?”

  I handed him the notepad. He read very fast. I stood there feeling like a fool in hell.

  “Excuse me, Colonel Drake. I’ve got some work to do clearing things up topside.”

  “You’re excused. Thank you. And thanks for making our guest feel…welcome.”

  Who said I felt welcome?

  “Colonel Drake?” I questioned.

  “Retired. Air Force. You thought I was just an old coot with crazy ideas didn’t you?”

  “Well, I saw all that stuff you had. But you never really had any evidence…”

  “No evidence? I’m evidence. You’re evidence. This is self-evidence, Don. You’re all you’ve got. That’s your, may I say it, un-ALIEN-able right.” The annoying smile returned.

  “Right now I’m in no mood for your jokes. I’m in a freakin’ hole under my cornfield. I’ve been passed out, maybe in a hospital. And last time I saw Sue, all she wanted to do was sew…and sew….”

  “Sewing Sue, huh? Good thing we got her. She would have starved. Literally. But she’s OK now.

  “What do you mean, 'got her'? She’s OK? Where?”

  “Oh, she’s being taken care of. Where isn’t important. You’ll see her again when she’s been adequately deprogrammed. You’re lucky though. The Grays took her, Don. A lot of them never come back.”

  “Took her? Grays?”

  “OK, here, sit down. This is going to take some explaining.” He took a deep breath and I took a chair. My knees were wobbly, and I felt sick to my stomach.

  “Oh, they don’t have her now. But after the funnel arrived, while you were unconscious, she was abducted by the Grays, the aliens. Grays is what we call them, been calling them that for years. Actually most of them are pink, but the gray ones do most of the actual work. Kind of a social-class distinction thing. The Grays do all the flying around. They do the abductions, the examinations, etc. The pink ones, now they are the majority, but they mostly just seem to play, or tell the Grays what to do. They’ll only travel on the conduits. But we call all the aliens Grays anyway, just because for years they were the only ones we knew anything about.”

  Well, thank you very much, I was thinking, for your lecture in alien anthropology.

  “So what about Sue? She was…abducted? How do you know?”

  “Oh, we know. That’s why she’s been so, shall we say, strange? You see, the Grays like to pick up humans from time to time and run examinations. It’s part of their interplanetary exploration. They want to study our DNA, compare it to our physical attributes. Understand what makes us tick. Now they’d prefer that the abductees not remember anything. The whole process, they know, is highly traumatic. And they don’t want the abductees revealing what’s happened to them. Not that anyone ever believes them anyway. So they try to erase memory of recent events. Only they’re not very good at it. Oh, their technology is truly amazing, but they haven’t mastered the human nervous system. So, when they tried to erase your wife’s memory of her abduction…well, the effect is kind of like cross-linked files on a computer. It takes different forms but from what I personally have experienced, and what I know has happened to others, it would work like this: Sue is phonetically similar to sew, not exact but close enough. The memory erasure process essentially established the word, sew, as an identity. It causes interminable obsessive
-compulsive behavior, based on that new identity. The identity link is always toward some behavior that is customary for the abductee. And it always, for reasons we don’t understand, has some kind of phonetic link to the abductee’s name. So for Sue, it became sewing. Something she did frequently? I thought so. Good thing she wasn’t a lawyer.

  “Anyway, left by herself, she would have given up food, water, virtually anything else, in order to sew…or whatever other behavior became linked with identity. We…our people…took her away from anyplace where that behavior could be pursued. It’ll take awhile, the reprogramming. But we’ve been highly successful so far in re-establishing identity. We can’t always re-establish all recent memory, however, and sometimes the abduction is just too traumatic for us to try.”

  “Well, what’s going on with me now? Why is this glass cave under my cornfield? What’s a funnel? You said the pink ones travel on a what?”

  “A conduit. What you saw, the funnel, oval, disk, saucer, cup, whatever you want to call it, is actually an inter-dimensional conduit. It’s how they get around. How they get here. The Grays, and their ships, and the unmanned drone ships, which are the most common, use the conduits too. The Pinks use them exclusively. They don’t seem to like to ride in the ships. They’ll send a conduit to send in the drones first, then the Grays. Then if they want to visit an area, they’ll send a new conduit.

  “That’s what this place is. Each time they send, or set up, a new conduit, they leave an underground chamber, deep underground. We suspect it has something to do with implantation of something that anchors the conduit. When they leave, they remove the anchor, but the chamber remains. There’s one under every conduit site we’ve ever checked. Now conduits are big, so they like to plant them in relatively unpopulated, flat, open areas. Crop fields are frequently used, hence the crop circles of frequent mystery. Oh, some of them were hoaxes, made by humans, but most of them were the ‘real Bones McCoy’ you might say…that is, made by the Grays slash Pinks. Many were never conduit sites though; they were just decoys to perpetuate the hoax idea.