The Man Called Moscow Crane

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years but one night, a candle burned in the window. Just a few miles away, Morgan Bridge was just ending his last scheduled shift of the week from his sales position at the local men’s and women’s designer shoe store, Manny's Shoes. He had been working for the owner, Torrence Langhall for 20 years. That night, they had worked late to catch up on some of the week’s overdue projects. The two often went out for a drink on Friday nights, especially after a late shift at the store, but that night Torrence felt under the weather and had decided to go home to rest instead.

Morgan brought out a heavy cart of shoes and started loading them into the small trailer attached to his maroon Chevy Corvair. Heavy sweat began to form on his forehead as he continued bending and lifting; despite the temperature outside growing colder. He planned on bringing the shoes to another store in the next town over in the next following weeks. A go-go boot fell out of one of the boxes as his boss walked out of the store’s entrance. As Morgan bent down to fetch the boot, he winced in pain and reached for his lower back. He looked up and nodded to his boss "Have a good night Torrence, I hope you feel better soon." Torrence grunted back, "Yeah, let's hope. Goodnight Morgan. See you on Monday." Torrence got into his blue Lincoln Continental and started the engine. The aging lumbering beast produced a low rumble that could be heard across the parking lot. They waved to each other goodbye and he drove off.

"I better get home soon before Fran starts to worry," Morgan told himself, "I haven't called her."

He turned quickly onto the main road and noticed that it was darker than usual for that time of day.

Every day on his way to and from work, Morgan passed the old, dilapidated cabin that had been long forgotten. It sat perched on the top of a high hill at the forest's edge. On this particular night, he noticed the flame of a candle shining in the window from the road below. His curiosity got the best of him and he decided to go up and investigate. An old widowed mother of 6 children, Mrs. Gretile, lived a few miles from the abandoned cabin and he was worried that whatever, or whoever, had disturbed the cabin might disturb her too.

He took a sharp right turn into the unfinished driveway and muttered "damn it" as the car bounced violently over several oversized rocks, causing the tires to slightly slide on the gravel, producing an audible "thump." He heard several of the shoes in the trailer being tossed around. "Well, that's gonna be fun to clean up later." He huffed as he semi-frantically tugged at the steering wheel to regain control over the vehicle. He stopped for a second to take a deep breath before continuing up the long half-mile driveway to the cabin. The darkness of night was steadily ascending upon him at that point, forcing him to flick on his high beams and drive slowly and cautiously through the overgrown brush. It was late September, so all the greenery would be dying off soon.

"What the..." he muttered as he pulled up to the front of the cabin. It looked far worse than it did driving on the road below every day. The entire yard was unmaintained and covered with litter made up of empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and more trash; likely left behind by delinquents who used the space for their adolescent mischief. He stepped out of his car and walked towards the cabin's entrance door. From there, the entire wooden structure appeared to be drooping and held up by a single support beam. There was a hole on the side of the cabin big enough to walk through and a piece of tarp was attached swaying in the wind, back and forth; making a "thud" every time it hit the wooden structure. Morgan suddenly became very nervous for his safety, but was still determined to find out who lit the candle in the window; and what were they doing there.

He opened the old, thick, wooden door at the entrance of the cabin. He noticed no walls were intact, so he was able to see every room with just the candlelight and the headlight beams shining through the window. The entire floor was covered in trash, just like he had seen in the front yard. He cautiously took a few steps in, scanning the space for any signs of movement. Nothing. "Weird," he thought and called out "Hello" He waited and called out again, "Hello?" Still nothing. Whoever was there was long gone by now. He blew out the candle that was nearly at the end of its wick and walked back out to his car. He decided if he saw anything in the next few days, he would go up and investigate again.

Driving home, Morgan's energy started to wane as he felt the work week heavy on his shoulders. It wasn't easy working at sixty-two years old. "It's about time I consider retiring," he thought to himself as he merged onto the highway heading back to his home in Stone's Mill, VA. He was about twenty minutes away and was excited to see his wife of twenty-five years, Francesca. She was always worried about Morgan's safety driving his car, as he had been starting to show signs of Parkinson's disease. He recalled a memory of a conversation they had the night before. "I'm going to need to start driving you to and from work from now on," Francesca said. Morgan responded, "Over my dead body!" Francesca glared in his direction, "that's not funny, Morgan!"

His thoughts suddenly got interrupted by a loud whirring and cracking sound, which he thought to be his Corvair breaking down. Suddenly, he noticed another car speeding past him on the left, and what he thought was a car in his peripheral vision to the right. He had to double-take as he realized the vehicle in his peripheral vision was not just another car. It was completely rounded and shined metallic in the moonlight. It floated mid-air, about five feet off the ground, making very smooth and fast movements like a giant boomerang. It moved in front of Morgan's car; blocking both of the lanes on the interstate. "What in god's name," Morgan thought to himself as he slowly came to a stop. The strange metallic vehicle had also made a full stop. They sat for a moment seemingly waiting for the other to make the first move.

He watched as the floating object's door began to open. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Similar to the automatic sliding doors at a fancy supermarket, except smoother and a lot faster. He couldn't believe his eyes. As the door opened wider, Morgan felt a strange head pressure come on as he heard the words, "Please roll down your right side window, I'd like to talk to you, Morgan." Morgan immediately obliged, reaching over the passenger side seat to crank the window down. Beads of sweat continued running down his forehead from loading up the shoes earlier. A drop of sweat made its way into his right eye, stinging as it made contact. He wiped it off with his sleeve and simultaneously looked up to see a man standing a short distance from his passenger side window. Startled, Morgan jumped and fell back onto his seat. At the same time, the large, silvery rounded vehicle caught his attention outside his windshield as it flew straight up in the air about fifty or sixty feet, and just floated there, almost like a cloud.

He looked back at the man standing at the passenger side window. He was about seven feet tall and wore a full suit that looked metallic, similar to the vehicle he was piloting. His arms were wrapped around himself indicating to Morgan that perhaps he had felt cold. His hair was long, dark brown, and slicked back. Pieces of hair that had escaped the gel he used shined silver. There was nothing alarmingly unnatural about the man, other than the fact that his face held a grin like the Cheshire cat.

The strange man introduced himself, "Hello, I am Moscow Crane and I have come from another world to speak to you."

Morgan was flabbergasted as he realized the man's giant smile never once moved and was speaking to him completely telepathically. He froze in fear.

"Don't be afraid my friend" Moscow said to Morgan, "I'm just here to talk with you."

Morgan responded with shaking lips, "Why... why me?" Moscow let out a chuckle that could pierce the ears of a dog. Morgan cringed at the sound. Moscow responded, "You were the only one who stopped for me."

Morgan paused, realizing the strange man had just made a joke. He tried forcing a half-smile. However, terror was the only thought occupying his psyche.

"Be not afraid of me anymore, Morgan," Moscow replied. "I just want to talk to you about your life as a human being."

Morgan looked up and tried to make eye contact with Moscow. His eyes held a deep glow within, sort of like the candle he had seen in the window of the abandoned cabin only a short time ago. He questioned if he was even talking to another human being. Moscow responded, "I am not your typical being. I am a searcher sent from another world far away to talk to humans like you, Morgan. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Ye… Yeah….” Morgan shakily responded.

“Do you work for a living?" Moscow asked.

Morgan hesitated with his response. Although curious to have a conversation with this "spaceman" he was equally as terrified. "Y....yes I do work for a living, down at Manny's shoes. We sell all the best brands, Go-go boots and Mary Jane pumps for the missus, and suede Oxfords and Chelsea boots for the gentleman."

"Interesting”, Moscow replied. His smile still held big and bright. He unfolded one of his long, lanky arms in the direction of the nearest town and pointed with his long, lanky finger. "Can you tell me what that is?" He inquisitively asked.

Morgan looked and saw a few flickering lights and some nightlife buzz going on in the town a few miles away. "That town there?" Morgan pointed in the same direction as Moscow. "Yes, Moscow responded, " a town, what is the purpose of this?"

Morgan was taken aback by this question, "You don't know what a town is?"

Moscow slightly shifted his gaze to meet Morgan's eye. The pressure in Morgan's head worsened, causing a bit of pain. "Sorry, I'm sorry..." Morgan responded as he looked away to put his temples in his palms and massage gently. "That's the town, Wytheville. I grew up around here. We all did. We work for wages to live in our homes, drive our cars and eat our food."

Moscow paused for a long two minutes. "I see.."

Morgan looked back up at Moscow who had now bent down and appeared to be inspecting his car. His full smile was still intact. Moscow stood back up abruptly. "Are you happy living a life like this?" He asked.

Morgan was again taken aback by the strange man's questions. "Of course. I have a great job and a beautiful wife, we had a son but he died a few years ago in a car crash."

Moscow seemed to be in awe at Morgan's response, "Death is but a beautiful thing.” He responded.

“Well, I miss my son more and more every day.”

“I have lost many myself, Morgan" Moscow responded, “It’s the cruelty of nature.”

Morgan was confused and asked, “You mean God?”

Moscow let out another piercing chuckle.

The metallic vehicle above made more strange whirring and clicking noises, Moscow and Morgan both looked up. "Morgan, I have to go now, I promise I will be seeing you again."

The space vessel dropped back down, floating a few inches off the ground. Moscow disappeared swiftly through the door. It closed tightly behind him, sealing it shut. Fog rose into the night sky, and just like that, Moscow and his strange vehicle were gone.

Morgan was breathing heavily to the point that his windshield had completely fogged up and there were now many cars on the highway speeding past him. "I better get a move on before I get pulled over by the state troopers," he thought to himself and continued the drive back home. The highway seemed like it was darker and longer after meeting Moscow.

As he pulled into his home's driveway he saw his wife, Francesca, standing in the doorway. He sighed in relief and started getting out of the car.

Francesca exclaimed, "My god Morgan, I was so worried about you, what happened?" She yelled as he stepped out of his car. Morgan looked at his watch and realized it was 1:00 AM.

Some rain had started lightly sprinkling on the ground, causing an unusual shine across the yard. The raindrops reflected the light of the clear night sky and Morgan could feel Moscow's presence still lingering.

Morgan ran up the cobblestone stairs leading up to their house and embraced Francesca tightly. "Fran, I am so sorry I scared you, you're not going to believe what just happened to me out on the Interstate..."

“Come in, come in!” Francesca said, choking back tears. "I thought something bad happened to you!" She held Morgan in her arms. He sunk into her shoulder. “You’re not going to believe me”, he said over and over again.

She let go of his embrace and cradled his head in her hands, “Morgan, baby, what happened out there? Did you go out with Torrence? You never called…”

“I’m sorry about that Fran, he went home right after work and I didn’t know I was going to end up being out so late. You’re not going to believe what happened.” He was in a state of shock. All he could think about was Moscow’s giant, nightmarish toothy grin.

“I’ll believe you, honey, I’ll believe you, I promise!” Francesca proclaimed.

He locked eyes with her. “I encountered a real spaceman, Fran. He came to me. His name is Moscow Crane. He said he is a “searcher” and that he had been searching for me.”

Fran paused for a second, bewildered. “What do you mean a real spaceman?” She huffed.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me." Morgan upsettingly responded, "He dropped straight from the sky and stopped to talk to me about my life and asked me what a town was. It was truly the strangest moment of my entire life.”

Francesca was skeptical, but she had promised to believe him. “Well, what did he look like?”

Morgan focused on the floral curtains hanging in their dining room window. “Well, he was about 7 feet tall and his hair was brown and slicked-back. He was wearing this real goofy-looking suit, it was shiny and extravagant like he was some kind of showman."

Francesca nodded, "I'm following."

Morgan hesitated. “Well, he smiled and he never stopped smiling Fran, he was talking to me telepathically.”

“Wait.” Francesca stopped Morgan. “He was talking to you telepathically?"

Morgan looked over at her, “Yes, He was speaking to me through my mind and he could read my thoughts too. He responded to all my thoughts.”

Francesca had a shocked look on her face. “Actually, now that you mention it, the neighbor a few doors down, Bill Derben said he had a similar experience a few weeks ago. His wife Stacey told me the other day at the supermarket, we thought he was just drunk and went on with our days," she responded hastily.

Morgan’s face lit up, “So you believe me, Fran?”

She paused for a few moments, looking down at the floor, and responded, “Yes, I do. I believe you.”

Morgan stood up and embraced her in another hug. “I thought I was going crazy. What do we do now?”

Francesca thought for a second, “Morgan, we have to get this story out there. What if other people have experienced this too? What if that strange man is hurting people?”

“I don’t think he’s hurting people, Fran.” Morgan explained, “When he took over my mind it gave me a bit of a headache but he seemed fairly tame from the looks of it.”

Francesca shifted awkwardly out of Morgan’s embrace. “Morgan, honey, I think we should get this story out there regardless of if he’s hurting people or not. He’s still a spaceman.”

"True,” Morgan reluctantly replied.

She examined his face, concerned. “Are you ok? Do you need something to eat? Do you need to go to sleep? Please tell me how I can help you right now.”

“Thanks, Fran, I’m just really tired. It’s been a long week and I have a big mess of shoes to clean in my trailer, too. I stopped at that old abandoned cabin before I met Moscow.”, Morgan responded.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Well, I noticed that there was a candle burning in the window on my drive back home, and I got worried about Mrs. Gretile. You know she’s old and can’t defend herself. I wanted to make sure there were no threats up there.”

“And that led to you running into Moscow?” Francesca questioned.

“I don’t know, I met him about 10 minutes after I made the stop. He blocked the lanes on the interstate and he was flying this strange shiny, round vehicle.” Morgan responded.

“I’ll believe it when I see it”, Francesca replied sarcastically. “As I said before, regardless of whether he’s hurting people or not, or if he’s real or not, you need to get your story out there. We’re calling the press tomorrow.”

Morgan nodded his head in agreement. “Ok, let’s do it.”

The next day, they contacted the press to tell them about Morgan's encounter with the spaceman. Over the next following months after that, Morgan’s story got so big it nearly reached worldwide. Moscow apparently had visited multiple people around the entire globe, and many of those people had stepped out with the stories of their encounters with a spaceman who could talk telepathically. Leaving no trace of himself but a memory. A story. A smile.

-Jerica Harms