This story first appeared in Freedom Fiction Journal online magazine in June 2025 and is about a man that is reunited with his father in a place no one believed. Enjoy!
I stumbled upon a yard sale in my subdivision that was along my walk route without a desire to make a purchase. A man wearing a tattered flannel unbuttoned shirt over a t-shirt pimping his wares approached and asked if I was looking for anything in particular.
“Just browsing,” I answered, while spying an odd object at the end of a fold-out table. “What is that?”
“Dunno. I inherited it from the house that was foreclosed. I dug it out of the basement, blew off some dust, and put it out for sale. I heard the owner was committed to a mental institution many years ago. I think he escaped and never found.”
The object was a collection of nuts, bolts, radio antennas, and sheet metal shaping a twelve inch squared box without any coherent explanation. A clock face and multiple dials and instruments filled out its features. Still, it was an object that piqued my interest. “How much?”
The owner shrugged and asked, “three bucks?”
“Sold,” I announced, swiping the object from the table on a hunch it had an ounce of meaning.
I brought it home, placed it on the kitchen table and took a seat. My neck craned left and right while pulling the irregularly placed antennas out and in. There were a few knobs I investigated triggering static sounds that raised my eyebrows. I picked up the box shaped object and looked underneath and found small, faded cursive writing that required me to grab my magnifier from the cabinet drawer. ‘If found, please return to Luke Emmanuel, Roswell, New Mexico.’ “That’s just twenty minutes away,” I mumbled. I had a doctor’s appointment in Roswell in a few days, so I figured I could look this person up while I was there and hopefully get some back story on the item.
I exhausted every resource of information I could to locate Mr. Emmanuel, but came up empty with the notion this ‘John Doe’ lived off the grid. The best I could do is ask around while in town.
It was a sunny, cloud free but chilly day that required a jacket with temperatures expected to drop to close to freezing as the day went on. I placed the object in the trunk of my sedan and headed out. My trip to the doctor was event free, and my vital numbers were favorable. I hit town and stopped for some grub at an alien themed diner and asked the server if she knew of a Luke Emmanuel. She shrugged and walked away after bringing my beverage order.
“Psst,” said a man with ragged clothes and an unkempt beard sitting in the booth behind me. I turned around and he mentioned he heard of Luke and where he could be found. My face wrinkled at this volunteered information.
“You might find him by the church near the mission three miles away. I hear he lost it and believes his crazy old man was abducted by aliens. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree with this one. He rejects society and my guess is he is probably homeless,” he rasped. I nodded my thanks and turned back around as my burger and fries order arrived. I reasoned I would take the trip to the church while I stuffed fries and sips of my diet cola between burger bites.
The sun began its descent from the skies as I pulled into the church parking lot. I retrieved the object from the trunk and went inside, through the narthex, and into the church where I turned into a pew, knelt, and whispered a prayer. I continued my search and found my way to the back exit that led to a dead end alley where I saw a nun conversing with three meek men seated on the curb.
“Sister Lucy, I know it’s cold, but can you crack the window enough so we can hear the choir practice the Gregorian Chant tonight” asked one of the men.
“Yes Luke, you will be able to hear practice.”
“Luke…Luke Emmanuel,” I asked.
“Who wants to know,” asked Sister Lucy.
I met her request, and assured her and the men I was not there to cause any trouble. I learned Luke, and his two homeless friends, Stephen and James, lived in the u-shaped alley flanked by the back doors to the church, pizza shop, and hardware store. They were unofficial night security for these tenants and were rewarded with food, shelter when weather was inclement, and spiritual nourishment from the church. They never caused trouble and were quite respectful. “We chose this for ourselves. We are birds of the land,” Luke announced.
“I have something that might be of interest to you,” I stated, and then produced the object from a cardboard box.
Luke’s eyes lit up as if by a switch. “You found it. The box that will lead me to Mars!”
I backed away with a tilted head. Seems like the old man in the diner was right. “Looks like the object is back where it belongs. It’s yours,” I replied.
Luke thanked me with a tip of his stained, tattered fedora. He started fiddling with the antennas, turned the knobs, and with a slap to the side of the object, it began relating Morse code. Luke produced a pen from his coat pocket and wrote down numbers on his palm. “I am getting the coordinates where to meet the Martian ship that will abduct me and reunite me with my dad,” Luke exclaimed.
“He has been hoping for this as long as I have known him,” Stephen commented, with accompanying nods from James and Sister Lucy.
“I’ll need a ride to the meeting spot with the Martians,” hinted Luke, as all eyes turned towards me.
“How can you find the spot from coordinates,” I asked.
Luke explained the coordinates were north of us and the box will beep if we are going in the right direction. “The more frequent the beeps, the closer we are getting,” Luke added
“I guess it’s worth a shot,” I shrugged. I led them to my sedan, and they piled in; Luke rode shotgun, and Sister Lucy was flanked by Stephen and James in the backseat. I started off driving north without a sound from the box, so I hung a left at the next intersection that headed west. Beeps in five second intervals registered to Luke’s delight. After about ten miles, the intervals decreased so I hung another right and was going north again where the beeps picked back up, now within three seconds.
“We’re getting closer, ” Luke beamed, fidgeting in his seat. I continued north eight miles, and hung a left heading west again, as the box was beeping by the second. We were traveling country side now and on a heavily wooded two lane road. Nine miles later the beeps were more constant, and I slowed to a near stop and turned left onto a dirt trail. By now, the beeps were almost melded into a flat line sound as we inched along the trail that led into an open grassy area about three hundred feet in diameter.
“This has to be the spot,” Luke expressed with a smile as wide as his face. Luke bid adieu to his friends, Sister Lucy, and thanked me for the ride.
“Keep the box as a memento, my new friend. I don’t think I’ll need it anymore,” Luke said to me and shook my hand. He exited my car, walked to the center of the grassy area, and waved back to us. He looked to the skies as a soft hum emanated the area, followed by a light wind. Suddenly, a saucer appeared above him about one hundred feet up, as if by teleportation.
“He’s not crazy after all,” James whispered, with a mouth shaped like an ‘o’, with agreeable whispers from Stephen and Sister Lucy.
A cylindrical beam of a soft glow emanated from the bottom of the ship and overshadowed Luke, as he squinted through the light. Slowly, he was lifted off the ground and up into the ship. The hole of the ship sealed shut, and the saucer spun up and disappeared toward the stars.
“He’s gone,” gasped Sister Lucy, as we all looked at each other with bewildering eyes. We drove off back toward the church, without any chatter, together but alone in our thoughts.
“Sadly, no one besides us and the other shop owners will know he is gone,” Sister Lucy broke the silence.
“No one would believe us if we told what happened to him,” James added.
As we neared the church, the box communicated in Morse code again. “I have no idea how to translate it,” Stephen sighed. We were stopped at an intersection by a red light three blocks from the church when James noticed an electronics repair shop.
We decided to go in hoping the proprietor would know how to decipher the code. We got to the counter as the owner looked like he was finishing up for the day. We set the box on the table and inquired about the blips coming from the object.
The shop owner’s lips pursed in thought as he grabbed a pencil and notepad and began writing on it. His eyebrows moved like waves as he listened intently with the sound of scribbling providing an audible backdrop. The blips ceased, as he tore the paper off the notepad and handed it to me.
I read it to myself once and then out loud. “This is Luke. My dad and I are reunited, but he is in poor health. He wishes to spend the rest of his time here. I will remain here for a while and if my friends want to visit, please take them to the same spot along with the box.”
Moray Writes 