By Arlan Gerig
Moonlight glistened on the Bahamian waters surrounding South Beach. Waves lapped the shore and plantain tree shadows snaked across the sand. Pastor Shantel paced, anxiously scanning the horizon as immigration officials scrambled along the beach. A flash of blue and gold in the clouds caught her eye. Weird.
Shantel stumbled into another uniform with a flashlight. “Sorry.” She continued to pace, repeating the simplest prayer, “Give me strength.”
Charlie, the leading immigration official, directed the others into their positions. “The refugees should arrive soon,” he shouted. “Be ready.”
Shantel tapped Charlie’s shoulder. “Remember our agreement. I take the sick, dying, and malnourished.”
“I called you, didn’t I?” he snapped. “But something’s strange tonight. There are reports of boats falling from the sky.”
“Could they be helicopters crashing?”
“The Haitians are fleeing poverty and political upheaval. How could they afford helicopters?”
He strode off, leaving Shantel to her thoughts.
She peered at the majestic full moon. Last time, the refugees had been dying of hunger and sickness. Many never reached shore alive. After she and her team had restored the survivors to health, immigration deported the Haitians back to the hell they left.
Shantel couldn’t watch that happen again.
Those lights! Now they were in the water, rotating blue and gold. Can’t be refugee boats—they try to stay hidden in the darkness.
Charlie marched to Shantel. “The immigration board is worried about this new group of… Haitians. They’ve called in outside help. You’ve got to leave.”
A knot formed in Shantel’s stomach. “No. You agreed.”
“The board says different. They suspect Russians or something. But you have to go or you’ll be arrested.”
An image flashed in her mind: blue-skinned beings in darkness, malnourished and desperate. Shantel, help us.
She froze, unable to speak, cold chills tingling down her spine. Was her brain playing tricks on her?
The blue- and gold-lighted objects drew closer, bobbing in the water.
“The tide is bringing them in,” Charlie said. He turned to Shantel, shining his flashlight on handcuffs that dangled from his fingers. “Pastor, don’t make me do this.”
Help us.
Shantel clenched her fists at the strange voice in her head. If God had created billions of galaxies, was it likely that He put life only on Earth?
“I’m not leaving until I know who’s there,” she told Charlie.
The first crafts struck the beach. Charlie pulled her wrists behind her and snapped on the first handcuff as immigration officers dashed into the water to secure the boats. He stopped, staring open-mouthed at the crafts. Oval-shaped, like a halved egg, they glinted silver in the moonlight, and hatches on top opened with a whoosh.
Beings crawled from them, similar to the images in her mind. Swaying like thin blue trees draped in dingy gray cloaks, they struggled to step onto the sand. Shantel studied their unblinking eyes peering from smooth, spherical heads.
She coughed. Their stench was overwhelming.
I’m Tsu. We need your help, Shantel.
Her eyes flicked around to find the voice’s owner, but none of the aliens made eye contact.
“W-Wait here,” Charlie stammered. He joined the other officials in dragging over forty aliens onto the sand.
“Why are you here?” Shantel muttered the words under her breath.
We fled war on our planet, but came under attack and our ships were damaged. This was the first hospitable place to land.
Her heart pounded. An exciting chance to make a huge difference, but one question immobilized her. “Why me?”
I know your thoughts. You are honest. We need you.
Shantel took a deep breath of sea air, staring at the handcuff dangling from her wrist. “You’ve picked the wrong person. I’m probably going to jail.”
I will exit from the last vessel. Protect its treasure.
She wasn’t sure she could, whether it was precious gems or advanced technology. Shantel backed away from the beach, fighting the urge to run. The officers had handcuffed the sick aliens together.
Just like they did the Haitians.
Shantel padded through the sand to Charlie, who wrote on his clipboard.
“You can’t take them,” she said, fingering the half-clamped handcuff. “How will the world react, knowing Bahamian immigration jailed the first visitors from space?”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
“I’m a preacher here on Nassau. I have influence and the media will be interested in hearing me, too.”
Tsu’s voice filled her head. Don’t get in their way. They don’t intend to hurt us.
Shantel tensed. So what am I supposed to do?
Protect our treasure. I’m coming out now.
Shantel stepped away as the hatch on the last silver ship opened with a creak. “There’s more?” Charlie cried.
Out stumbled a thin alien who cast a glance at Shantel before falling onto the beach. Charlie glared at the new alien, then unclamped Shantel’s handcuff.
“I guess I need these, but it’s not over.”
He cuffed the last alien and led it to the others.
Shantel rubbed her wrist and followed Charlie. “Now what?”
Charlie straightened and scowled. “Tell whoever you want. I don’t have extra officers to leave here, but no matter. Americans are coming shortly to clean everything up. You’ll have no proof.”
He stalked to his vehicle.
Brake lights flashed and exhaust filled the air, leaving Shantel alone on the beach. A reddish light of dawn glowed along the horizon.
Running her hand over the last craft’s polished surface, Shantel wondered how to get inside and remove Tsu’s treasure before the Americans arrived.
A hidden hatch opened at the bottom. Smaller aliens, wrapped in gray robes, crawled onto the beach––over thirty of them––testing thin legs on the terrain. They surrounded Shantel, only as high as her waist, raising little arms to be touched and held.
One hugged her knees, and a voice filled her mind. I am Tsulee, daughter of Tsu. Mother said we could trust you.
Shantel knelt, tears wetting her cheeks, and gently hugged the young aliens. This treasure she would protect.
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What a wonderful illustration of how little we know of ourselves, let alone, what is out in the Universe. Arlan so eloquently states in his story, if God made the Universe and the Galaxies, what have we not yet uncovered and who do we not yet know as our “brothers and sisters”. May we all be able to trust God, ourselves and each other more and that will build bridges of hope. Thank you, Arlan for inspiring unity today that we can carry forward.
Kim, thanks for your insightful comments! We’re still learning so much about our universe. It’s hard to believe we’re the only ones he created. Even if we’re not, we still have a responsibility to help those around us.
Great story. I like that the Pastor is just another person doing her work.
I’m glad you liked it! Pastors often go unappreciated for all they do behind the scenes.
This story brought tears to me eyes. ❤️🩹 You not only shine light on the plight of real world immigrants by blending truth with the fantasy of visitors from space but you so eloquently connect to a feeling I believe everyone has felt at some point: “Why me?” I think often as flawed humans we question God’s calling for our lives. But, like Shantel, we must serve and do the Lord’s work through that service. (For He knows the plans He has for us.) And the treasure being the children? Beautiful. And so true. We need to protect all children in this world. A wonderful, poignant, and impactful story! Well done, Arlan!
I also saw in your bio that you recently completed mission work with Haitian refugees. My grandmother has gone to Haiti many times over the years providing mission work and healthcare services as a nurse. Bless you for spreading God’s light in both your mission work and your writing. ❤️
Thank you so much for your kind, insightful comments! In writing this story, I, too, shed tears over it. We don’t know how bad people have it until we see it.
God bless your grandmother for all her work! And thank you for taking the time to share this. You touched my heart!
I absolutely loved this story! I enjoy things that keep me on the “edge of my seat”. The way it was written did just that as I was in suspense as to *who was coming in the dark night and *what was this treasure going to be!
This story also touched my heart when this precious treasure that was obviously the main concern, even more than death, was NOT material but their children that were loved and more of a priority than all else.
It was so interesting to have a combination of a story about possible life that we still do not know about and the very real struggle we have in our world with some who experience such suffering on a daily basis.
I loved this story! Well done good and faithful servant/writer!
That’s high praise, Mike! Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it and discovering the treasure at the end.
So any chance we see more of these characters? Find out how far the pastor goes to save them? Great story!
That’s a good idea! I hadn’t considered it, but there are many possibilities there! 🤔
I loved that the treasure was the children! Absolutely beautiful work. :)
Thanks, Rose! It was a special story to me, and the editors helped me get it just right.