by Christine Logan
They sit in a circle, talking in one of their languages. Beings. People. Humans. We’ve been watching them for years now, hidden away in the skies and shadows. The darkness has been kind to us over time, but less so for them. Even now, there are flames springing up between them, shining light on their surroundings. We hear them say they are afraid of the shadows, before laughing.
If only they realised shadows could not exist without light.
It was difficult to learn their language at first. Our goal was only to understand, to eavesdrop if you will, not to truly learn. They placed such importance on words: rocks, cave, cliff, trees, forest. If we had known they were describing their surroundings, not foraging for food or seeking companionship, we might have figured it out faster. Our ability to have conversations with them would be limited, anyway. We have never been able to mimic the sounds they make, though not for lack of trying.
It makes us feel better to know they can’t speak our language either.
A small stone shaking loose from the cave’s foundation pierces the campfire chatter. Silence falls over them as they look around. We had nothing to do with it, but if we showed ourselves, we would likely get blamed. We are, after all, just creatures who cannot speak to defend themselves. The following silence scares us more than the unexpected noise. Sound is everything to us. We depend on it for survival.
The silence really should scare them too.
Now that they are no longer speaking we can hear something the humans cannot: an ominous humming that is slowly creeping closer to them. We know so many details from just that one sound: the size and shape of what is making it, where approximately it’s located, and how fast it’s approaching. We tremble as one, and take flight as one.
Somehow, we have to warn them about what’s coming.
The humans scream and wave their arms at us; attacks we can easily dodge. We screech at them to follow us, but it’s obvious they don’t understand. ‘Bats!’ one of them yells as they bend over and cover their head. We have a bad reputation among humans, but we have no time to repair that now. ‘Do you think they heard something?’ another yells as we skirt past them.
If they won’t listen to us, perhaps they’ll listen to one of their own.
We leave them and their shouting behind long before we would be in any danger. The humming comes to a halt behind us, and a wave of gasps and murmurs begins upon the ship’s arrival. Only too late did they realise the danger they were in. We can hear the beam of light that takes the humans one by one, on a voyage they did not want. The abductions are not our fault, we whisper to them in our language as they disappear.
Blame the ones who came from beyond the stars.
CHRISTINE LOGAN is a writer with a passion for hidden truths and spot-on sentences. As a web design enthusiast, she has previously been published in Smashing Magazine. When she isn’t playing video games, you can find her perusing fiction novels for her next great inspiration.