Drog

I want to tell you how it started, but first, some backstory...

“Grant!”

I called down into the pit. It was all that remained of the Murphy home, the pit - after the aliens came and took it. Not a common thing, this taking of houses. No one knew why. But when it happened there was opportunity to scavenge. I’d known Grant since the 7th grade, and though we were never good friends, there was at least familiarity, so we worked together rummaging and making some money. Not big money, mind you, but you never knew what you were going to find.

I looked over at a blue velvet couch sitting on the front lawn next to a weeping willow tree. An odd sight I suppose, but given that there was no house, and this big pit, it wasn’t so out of place. I’d concluded that it fell out the front door when the house rose. It looked comfy and it’d been a long day.

Down below, Grant came into view holding the end of the rope in one hand while clambering up the pit’s wall- then onto the few basement steps still safe to climb. His beige cargos were covered in dirt.

“Anything?” He didn’t answer- just some grunts.

Once he reached me we both began hauling on the rope. I asked again if there was anything. He replied this time, “Shawn...ya know, could be somethin’.” “Really?”

Nobody knew much about the aliens. We did know Ewan Murphy though, he of this address and of the house that formerly here stood. He was a hotshot investment banker, the richest man around. He’d been in the news recently having been cleared of bank fraud charges; and he followed up his acquittal with a bunch of cocky television interviews. Then the alien thing happened and he was no more.

Back to Grant. We met in the 7th grade as I said, and we hung out only occasionally through high school. The girls liked him- maybe because he was a tough kid- and nice looking- and I mighta thought that allure would rub off on me. But hanging out with him felt—vacant. Gord. Gord was my real and true friend from junior through to senior. Never was there a more harmonious union of minds. Forever laughing, reflecting, ruminating. Sadly, he died soon after graduation in a car crash- now a whole year ago. I honestly didn’t think I’d recover from it

It was a fluke that I reconnected with Grant, still vacant though it was.

We finally got our hands on that carton he’d filled. I opened the flaps and began rooting- while Grant stood back. Binoculars, a bunch of CDs, some LPs, some snooker balls, even a pristine coin collection in a fold open display holder. But at the bottom— at the bottom was a locked metal box! “Is this what you were talkin’ about?” I asked. He smiled.

I picked up a rock and gave the lock a couple of decisive hits. It snapped and fell away. In the box I found more coins along with a stack of bills! Twenty thousand dollars, according to the band that held them together. Twenty thousand in paper bills from the early 20th century to be exact (I used to work in a convenience store and had developed a knack for identifying old money). What a sight to see.

“I can’t believe it Grant.” He just stood there. I felt the texture of the old bills, smelled them- fanning the stack into my sniffer. And those coins. What a haul. I was so engrossed in the find I hadn’t noticed Grant pick up the rock. My mind pieced things together soon enough when it came down on my head. Funny how fast your brain can work, even when it’s bonked. I think it’s something to do with neural pathways, memory recall or what have you. My body dropped into the dirt. Eyes half open but powerless to move- I saw Grant scoop up the bundle of bills and the coins. I went “uhhh” and my eyes closed.

When I awoke it was morning. I’d hoped my brain would recall how I got from face down in the dirt to lying on the blue velvet couch. but here I was, beneath the weeping willow. My head was bandaged too, no idea by whom. Next to me was an ice pack. It was cold. And still something else- a little black book- maybe a diary or a journal- just sitting there on the cushion. I scanned the barren property. Nothing and no one. I opened the black book to see if there was a name, but saw only the word: Hi. Who writes hi in a journal, I wondered. I turned the page. ‘Shawn’. What? I flipped between the two pages. ‘Hi- Shawn’- and clapped it shut! Too weird.

My head. I applied the icepack and closed my eyes. Felt good. The long willow leaves expressed the sound of a waterfall as the wind whooshed through them. Not that the sound of rustling leaves lacked appeal but...what the heck was up with that book?! I reached for it again, warily. I flipped past the ‘hi Shawn’ pages to another peculiar entry: ‘You should stand up’. Strange. Next page. ‘Really, you should stand up’. And another- ‘Stand up NOW!” Why in that moment I’d obey some words in a nameless journal is beyond me but I instantly rose. Just then, a strange sound came and the blue velvet couch levitated. It floated there next to me briefly before hurtling up into the sky. My mouth would have been agape- but my eyes were so wide there was no more room on my face.

I lowered my eyes back to that black book. I reviewed the pages with ‘stand up’ and ‘really’ and ‘NOW’. Would the ensuing pages be so intriguing? I flipped to the next. Blank. I riffled through and saw that all subsequent pages were blank.

“You’re Shawn.” The voice came from...up...somewhere. The tree. The willow. I looked into and through the long leaves and I focused. Seated on a branch was - a person. A person in a sci fi space suit of some description. Kind of a 1950s retro look. And with a reflective bubble helmet that I couldn’t see into.

“Uh, hi?”, I offered, weakly.

“I’m Drog.”

“Drog?”

“Yes.”

Drog jumped down from the willow branch. It was a clumsy jump that left his knees dirtied. He brushed them. “Ow.”

“You okay?”, I asked.

“I am. Just a little scuff I think. I’ll look at it later.”

I held the black book up to him. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“Yes. But you seem nice so I decided to talk to you. Ow.” After another gentle rub on his knee, Drog reached up to his bubble helmet and with a click and a turn- he removed it. I will tell you that the reveal was baffling.

“You...you.” I backed up a step and tripped on a rock, landing on my behind.

Drog advanced. “I’m here on school assignment.”

“I-I see.”

From memory, Drog recited: “I need to resolve the wrongly resolved and fix what needs fixing... uhh...if what needs fixing can be fixed.”

“I see.”

“Will you help me?”

I felt a weeping coming on and my mouth quivered. “Yes.”

“I’m hoping for an A.”

Drog reached out his hand and I clutched it. And that’s how it started.