By Sheri Yutzy
The oil rig’s platform shuddered and lurched into the air.
Matthew Finnburg the Third watched the earth fall away beneath them, then turned to his companion. “Xena, what is happening?”
Xena’s black eyes widened, then clenched shut as the platform picked up speed. Her slender arms quivered from her grip on the rail. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
Matthew clutched the rail tighter and leaned over the edge. A plume of oil followed them upward like a slow-motion explosion. No, not slow motion. More like real-time, and gut-wrenching.
“Has the well exploded, sir?” Xena’s eyes remained closed.
“My oil rig appears to be taking a walk into the sky.” Matthew tilted his head back, careful to maintain his grip on the rail but not let his suit sleeve brush the rusty metal. He’d have to wash his hands thoroughly when they returned.
“Xena, you should open your eyes.”
“I’d rather not, sir.”
“I think you’ll want to see this.”
Xena pried open one eyelid, took in the massive metal shape above them, then snapped her eyes shut again.
Matthew cocked his head and squinted. “Is that what I think it is?”
“A spaceship sucking us into its belly?”
“Yes, that.” The roundish shadow blotting out the sky did appear to be sucking them into it. Along with the entire contents of his well. “I hope they plan to pay me for my oil.”
Xena pursed her lips, eyes still shut. “I wouldn’t depend on it. They haven’t signed a contract.”
A large doorway at the bottom of the spaceship loomed open.
“Preposterous. One can’t simply suck up oil at will.”
“I haven’t studied extraterrestrial trade laws, sir.”
Matthew clicked his tongue. “It’s obviously time you started. We’ll need to bring in the linguist too. What’s her name—”
“Stacy, sir.”
Their platform entered the dark hold and continued to rise. The oil floated in beneath them, blotting out the sky. The very meaning of pitch black.
“Sir?” Xena’s voice trembled.
“It’s the very meaning of pitch black, Xena. Surely now you can open your eyes.”
A strident green light blasted down on them, followed by a shrieking alarm.
“Never mind.” Matthew released his grip on the rail and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands.
Another door at the top of the hold opened, and this time the beam focused solely on Matthew and Xena. They zoomed upward, leaving the rig platform behind. The suction deposited them in a wide workroom, surrounded by plump, big-eyed aliens with grease smudged all over them.
“Oh dear.” Matthew tucked his suit closer.
“Is it aliens?”
“You’ll need to see someone about this fear of sight, Xena.”
“We’re doomed.” She clutched her hands together.
“Certainly not. My suit may be, though.” He cast a wary glance at the hands of the nearest oil thief.
The aliens appeared to be holding a confused conference, accompanied by much gesturing of feet and hands. Matthew crowded Xena as a greasy, ten-toed foot swung too near his pant leg. She shrieked, and the conference stopped.
“Sorry,” Matthew said. “This is my favorite suit.”
“We’re going to die, and you’re talking about suits!”
“There, there.” He patted her head, then scrubbed his hand with the handkerchief again. “You know, since you won’t open your eyes, I could be making all this up. We could be standing in a grassy meadow, not an alien in sight.”
“That’s a nice thought.”
The conference began again, this time ending in nods and gestures toward a blue door to their left. One of the aliens flipped a switch. The door opened, and the suction started up, dragging Matthew and Xena toward the open sky.
“Oh, thank God they didn’t touch us.” His suit was saved.
“Are they dropping us out of the spaceship?
“Not at all. It’s more of a sucking action, wouldn’t you say?”
The Earth appeared below them, and they began to plummet. Matthew grabbed Xena’s arm. If she refused to look, he’d have to make sure they both landed on their feet.
“We’re going to die!” She began to sniffle noisily.
“Don’t be silly.” The rushing wind tore at the bottom of his suit. “They turned the suction backwards.”
“That just means…” Xena’s sniffling turned to hiccuping sobs. “We’ll die faster.”
“Nonsense.” Choppy ocean waves appeared beneath them, shifting sideways as they drew farther inland, toward the plateau where his oil rig used to be. A few broken pipes and frayed cables poked up from the ground, all that remained. The suction slowed, then dropped them gently on a field that ended in a cliff.
“Ah, one grassy meadow, madame,” Matthew said grandly. Once she’d stabilized, he let go of Xena’s arm and brushed the sleeve of his suit. It had lost its crisp look, but nothing a dry cleaning couldn’t fix.
Xena collapsed to the grass and finally opened her eyes. Her face was whiter than his shirt. “Was it…was it all a dream?” she whispered.
In the sky behind her, the spaceship disappeared toward the next oil well along the coast. Matthew pulled out his phone and opened his news app. As expected, the headlines screamed about spaceship sightings across the globe:
“Alien Attack!”
“Earth is Harvested of Her Oil”
“Oil Thieves from the Stars”
“Yes,” Matthew murmured. “All a dream.” He pocketed his phone and contemplated the loss of his wealth and the impending collapse of the global economy. He’d miss his tailors the most. How long would his closet full of suits last? He’d calculate that another day.
He offered his hand to his dark-eyed assistant. “Let’s go for a drive in the Lamborghini, Xena. One last time.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wow. So innovative, and had me chuckling the whole time. I love how nonchalant Mathew remains during the whole ordeal.
Great story! What’s next now that the world’s carbon footprint will very soon fall to zero?
OK – this was hilarious and very well-written! I love the twist on the typical alien-abduction scenario :D