Artifact 29: John Mentions Gugalacs

Despite the danger, John and Rusty decide to get help to expose the unexplainable.

Artifact 29: John Mentions Gugalacs

 

            John Thompson and his foreman Rusty have returned from investigating the puzzling crash site. After surveying the site, the two brought back some strange and not so strange pieces of crash debris. As John watched, Rusty drew a picture of the strange body he had seen the US Army carry away. Later, while Rusty experienced emotional torment over what he had witnessed, John hatched another plan he hoped would lend some credence to the strange and remarkable event and expose what the US Army wanted to remain secret.

 

             John remained in his office during those few minutes when Rusty turned in. John sat as his desk looking at the crash debris pieces, picking one up at a time, turning them over, and examining each one once again. His office window faced the bunkhouse and he saw Rusty smoke his cigarette while talking to one of the other ranch hands. He hoped Rusty had the good sense not to reveal any of what he saw or the unworldly characteristics of the strange pieces they had brought back. John pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth and set it in the ash tray that was piled high with several burnt cigar tips and a pile of ash. It seemed his cigar smoking habit had increased as of late even though presently his mind remained too occupied to think about lighting his cigar.

            John took the simple pencil drawing that Rusty had drawn and studied it attempting to see in his mind's eye what this person or thing looked like in real life with color and details. Rusty said the body was a gray color without normal human features. John was convinced that this thing Rusty had drawn was not an imagined or dreamed up elf or demon by the younger man. With one last moment of thought, he folded up the picture, placed it in the desk’s top drawer, and turned off the desk lamp.

 He made his way to the door by the glow that emanated from under the door. Opening it, he stepped through, quickly closed and locked it with one of the keys on a ring. With a jingle, he dropped the ring into his pocket.                  

            Going into the bedroom, his wife Melba waited for him. 

            “Did I hear you lock the office?” She asked. “You men have been acting the most strangely since you took the truck out. Where’d you go? Just what are you two up to?”

            Without looking at her, John just grumbled a bit as he sat in the corner chair and pulled his boots off.  

“Melba, some things are best kept quiet. Rusty and I have some ideas about the army airplane that crashed out there, and we think we should keep it to ourselves for now.”

            “But I...” Melba started.

            “But nothing, Melba. Don’t pry and I promise I’ll tell you later on. Rusty and I have some important morning business tomorrow so I need to get up early. You just go to sleep now,” John said sternly.

            “Yes John,” Melba answered penitently and rolled over to face the wall.

            John pulled off his clothes and carefully laid them out on the press-back chair. He pulled on his sleep clothes and lied down. The poster bed elicited a groan and a creak while the feather mattress sagged due to his rotund form. Before turning out the small light, John picked up and set the alarm of the large, loudly ticking clock on the bedside stand. He gave the wind-up key a few clicking twists just to reassure himself.

            “Goodnight, Melba. Don’t you worry what me and Rusty re doing. It is nothing dangerous or against the law so you can just rest easy. I’ll tell you everything later on.”

            She turned over again and placed her hand on his chest. 

            “I know. I trust you, John. Good night.” She kissed him on the cheek. 

            John slept uneasily those next couple of hours harboring doubts, strange questions, and just enough excitement of the unknown to keep his adrenalin from settling down. John determined that there had never been this level of excitement on Corona Ranch like this event provided.  

            The alarm came alive fast. John felt he had only finally gotten asleep when the dual bells atop the alarm clock clanged erratically. He reached over and pressed the button to silence it. Melba stirred.

            “Go back asleep Melba, it is only four o’clock in the morning,” he whispered in his gravelly voice.

John pulled on his clothes and boots again and made his way to his office in the dark. Fumbling a little with the office door lock, he opened it, went in, and lit the desk lamp. Going to the far corner from the fireplace, he clicked on the waist-high radio. The green light glowed from the numbered and incremented dial casting a strange glow in the room. John went around his desk and wheeled his chair closer to the radio.

As the radio warmed up, sounds began to emanate from the tinny sounding speaker in the lower ornate fabric-covered portion of the radio console. Sitting in his chair, John thought a few seconds to recall the radio station’s frequency number. With brief snippets of words, music, and static along the way, he spun the black knurled knob moving the indicator needle slowly across the dial’s numbered arc like an upraised saber under a rainbow.

John slowed his turning when he approached the correct station at the dial’s lower end. He wiggled the knob back and forth to fine tune the station. Hank Williams sung a currently popular tune. John thought this had to be the correct station as he remembered they played C &W music in between talk shows and right up to the Truth Talk Show. He rested easier finding that he didn’t tune in late. Oddly impatient in those two odd minutes, John sat and listened to the music, though he didn’t really hear it. He didn’t even think about smoking that cigar from last night his thoughts spun so much!

Hank Williams finished his song and an announcer came on proclaiming, “the Truth Talk Show hosted by Robert Mavel is coming up next in only 15 minutes brought to you, our loyal listener by Ovaltine and Marlboro Cigarettes.” He then added, “if you would like to be heard on the air with your notable comments or questions call: Albuquerque 235-3700, again that is Albuquerque 235-3700 to speak with the famous Robert Mavel himself! Remember, it’s a busy number during the show so keep trying! Now, the local news…”
            John quickly got up and scribbled the number on a piece of paper lying on his desk. With his pulse pounding, he carried the paper into the parlor sitting room where the only phone hung on the wall. He quickly rang up the local operator.          

            With a background colophony of voices and static, a sudden loud female voice in his ear jolted John.

“Southwest Bell Operator, this is Mary. Mister Thompson, may I have the name or number you wish to connect with?”

            “Ah, er, yes thank you, Mary. Could you connect me with Albuquerque 235-3700?”

            “Of course, sir. That is a very popular number this time of  morning if I may add.” 

            John could still hear faint static and several weak, quiet conversations going on in the background as he waited. He could hear Mary quite distinctly talking to another operator in Albuquerque finally saying, “Thank you, ma’am.”

            “Hold, sir, “said the different-sounding Albuquerque operator. John heard some more conversations in the background and finally yet another operator answered.

            “To what office may I direct your call?”

The Albuquerque operator gave her the number again. John’s impatience grew as he waited with growing agitation; he paced in place tethered by the short phone cord. He imagined the show’s personnel preparing for the show going on the air soon. John hoped to talk to Mavel before the show went on the air.

At that moment Rusty walked in. John gave him the hush one-fingered sign to the lips and offered him a chair there in the parlor. A weary-appearing Rusty settled down in the comfortably upholstered wingback chair eager to listen to John’s conversation.   

            “Thank you. Sir, you are connected. Thank you for using Southwest Bell,” the office operator said, clicked off, and John heard a ring tone. Someone picked up immediately.

            “Talk 570 radio, Robert Mavel’s office may I help you.”

            With all the waiting, it seemed John had become dry mouthed, tight throated and tongue-tied. It took him a few long seconds to get his thoughts together to speak after clearing his throat. Rusty quizzically looked at him wondering what had happened to his usual clear-thinking, easy-talking boss because he could hear the voice on the other end trying to get an answer.

             “Ah…mmm�"yes, ah yes!” John stammered to get out. “Ahem! I have something very interesting to tell Robert Mavel and...”  The person on the other end cut him off.

            “Sir, Robert Mavel is very busy preparing for his show,” the voice on the other end said pithily. “If you have something pertinent to say about today’s show, feel free to call him DURING the show.”

            “But no wait! Listen!” John said rather frantically now. “I must talk to him; this is something very important, and I’m sure he’ll be interested.” Rusty jumped to his feet, shuffled in closer and craned his neck to listen in.

            “Then, you can call back after the show, sir,” was the curt voice’s reply.

            “No! NO!  I must talk to him now�"I have to�"tell him�"I have hard, REAL HARD PROOF of�"of�"” Drawing a blank, John’s mind spun trying to recall the terms for strange outer space beings he remembered from an old show. “Ah, those ah, people from outer space�"”  

            An excited Rusty wanted to defuse John’s difficulty, so he said softly, “Tab told us they are called Gugalacs! Tell him that!”

John first frowned, but with a nod, he acknowledged Rusty’s bizarre suggestion. Slowly and succinctly he annunciated,

“Tell Mavel this: I have�"CONCRETE proof of�" of GUGALACS!”