Miles—scarab beetle and humble photojournalist—strained to listen. He glanced at the surrounding trees, spectral colossi in the moonlight. A fallen log sat rotting, just ahead.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Calvin—atlas beetle and journalist—stood stock still. His three horns curved upward in a graceful silhouette against the dark horizon.
The jungle island loomed ahead, a silhouette against the rising sun. I hurtled across the tips of the waves in my best tuxedo. Six of the most accomplished and highly trained Navy SEALs to ever swim for Uncle Sam followed close behind.
We made for a cave hidden at the back of a narrow cove,
“Don’t you want to solve the mystery?” My friend Tina had a travel bag thrown over one shoulder.
“No,” I replied, laying my long neck back down and relaxing in my bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Humans are a myth.” We had stories, sure, but they were just that—stories.
“I’m gonna find them.”
Tommy hopped down the basement steps, cupping Cotton’s fluffy brown and white body tightly in his hand. The hamster squeaked like he was saying “Oof,” with each step. The Christmas music Tommy’s mom played faded away as he descended. Seven days till Christmas
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I love you. –Jack
I sat on the roof of the barn, reading the note over again. I didn’t know a Jack.
I’d already searched the school, asking every unknown boy if his name was Jack—yes, I’m that type of person.
No Jacks went to my school.
The spaceship rattled again, the second violent vibration in as many minutes. Leaves fell from the trees above, and water from the large koi pond splashed my spacesuit. Vibrant colors danced and pulsed in the transparent dome of the garden’s ceiling, which offered a view of nearby space.
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A torrential downpour flooded the grassy clifftop. The octopus turned the key yet again, but all the engine produced was a pathetic cough. The fuel gauge lay well below E, and no amount of glaring on the octopus’s part would make it rise.
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