Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September 3, 1908.

Having recently returned from one of the most extraordinary events I could imagine any one person experiencing, I feel I should record all that I’ve seen and learned for the benefit of mankind.

On May 6, 1905, my wife Maria and I were taken from our home under circumstances I still do not fully understand--but, well, I’ll have more to say on that matter in later parts of this journal. The fact of the matter is that we were away for three years, leaving our young son unexpectedly in the hands of Maria’s sister Gail. He is still in her care, even as I write; I was never much of a homemaker, and all that aside, leaving him in more capable hands gives me the time that I need to put pen to paper.

It was an evening in late spring, much like any other, when we both awoke to a sudden disturbance outside of our bedroom window. I intended to investigate it alone, but Maria insisted on accompanying me, and I was never particularly good at saying no to her. So, together, we ventured outside to find the source of the noise.

It was a shock, to be sure, when we encountered something that… wasn’t quite human. How else am I to describe it? The being bore a closer resemblance to a child’s toy than to any living creature I had ever seen--and yet, being apparently bipedal and intelligent, it spoke to me in a manner I had never encountered before, and have yet to encounter since.

I find it hard to describe the voice with which it spoke, precisely because there was no voice, and by the traditional definition, it did not speak; rather, I heard its message on a plane beyond words, communicated directly into my mind. At first, I attempted to convince myself that I was merely fabricating an explanation for the phenomenon. Immediately after this attempt at rationalization, much to my surprise, Maria responded to its message--which, as I remember, went something like this:

“Hello. We come in peace. Are you representative of the general state of your species?”

This is, unfortunately, reducing what was conveyed to me that day--stripping it down to what can be expressed in the English language. There was a tone of authority, but also compassion; firmness, but also welcoming. In a way, it seemed like a parent trying to discuss some matter with their child which seems obvious to an adult but is a foreign concept to an individual still growing and exploring the world.

As I attempted to make sense of this message, Maria was indeed quick to respond in her usual friendly manner: “I think so, yes! Sorry, if I’d known we’d have guests, I would’ve had a meal ready.”

The way she trembled betrayed her fear, but she was always one to swallow back her anxieties, and certainly when she was attending to others. I noted the way she stepped to her left, just far enough to stand between this creature and our front door--a quiet barrier between strange invaders and our sleeping child.

This… strange bastardization of human life, wherever it came from, gestured to us with an arm that, again, strikes one as something more artificial than living. It had no appendages beyond limbs that resembled some sort of luminous ribbon, entirely jointless. The gesture, along with its communication which extended beyond human language, ensured me that this creature fully intended to take us with it wherever it planned to go--with patience, though it would exert force if necessary.

Maria understood as well as I that we only had the illusion of choice. She could have saved herself, in all likelihood, by explaining that she had a child in the home to care for. However, in that moment, as she explained later, she feared that drawing attention to our son would put his life in immediate danger.

Let me make it clear, before I move any further, that Maria would never have left her son’s future uncertain. We had invited her sister to breakfast the following morning; departing now would leave the baby unattended for a matter of hours at most. Despite our inexplicable disappearance, her sister would find our son and care for him for the duration of our absence--if we were ever to return.

So, it was the best decision, in her mind, to carefully avoid alerting this creature to the existence of our child at that point in time; and though it pained her to do so, she knew that the only way to ensure there was no further investigation would be to peacefully cooperate with our captor and give the illusion that we were leaving our home completely uninhabited.

I’ve recently learned that, upon her arrival the next morning, Gail found our son red in the face from crying out for Maria to no avail. The image of this in my mind haunts me even as I write.

Ah, but perhaps that is a sign that I should stop writing for the night. Though recounting these events is necessary, it is a painful ordeal to call the memories to mind, and I believe it is in my best interest to stay as far removed from my detailed account as possible, at least, where emotions are concerned. I shall pick up the record tomorrow.

Chapter Text

September 4, 1908

I return to this journal with significantly more clarity of mind. I shall need it as I describe the day we vanished from our home; it is an experience any man would rather bury in his past.

Following our surrender to the invaders before us, Maria and I found ourselves encapsulated in a brilliant white light. The sensation which I felt coursing through my body was foreign and deeply unsettling. It was as if something took control of my every bone and tissue and displaced it to a place far outside of reality. Then, in a moment’s time, I found myself standing whole and unharmed in an unfamiliar place.

This new environment, to my shock and wonder, appeared to be an entire society composed of creatures much like the one who swept us away. Perhaps even more startling was the shift in my own observations about their species--and, at this point, I felt I could not recognize them as anything less. They were elegant and fluid as they moved about, and almost entirely silent. Though I had once found their bodies foreign and disturbing, this small glimpse at their behaviors made me all too aware of my own dense and clumsy body. I found myself almost paralyzed by the thought of taking a step and hearing my shoe squeak on the polished, metallic floor. I feared that such a small noise, even, would draw the attention of every last creature in sight.

It was then that our captor spoke to us for a second time, again in a manner that confined its words to our own minds.

“Welcome to our (city? community? space?). We know that humankind has had limited contact with any other (intelligent? aware? innovative?) species. We hope you are not alarmed. You have been selected as visitors and (teachers? examples?) for us, and will be returned to your (world? home?) once your mission has been fulfilled here. You will be more than adequately (compensated? rewarded?) for your work. We are grateful for your willingness to (visit? migrate?).”

I must apologize for my disorganized transcription of the being’s speech. As is the case with any language, much of their vocabulary did not hold a perfect translation to ours. Though this language stood apart from any other in that Maria and I understood the intentions of the message without any sort of fluency in said language, it is a matter of extreme difficulty to try and put a sentence to paper when it is composed halfway of sentiments or emotions. Even the most simple word, “city”, does not accurately portray the pride, warmth, and confidence with which the concept was conveyed.

In any case, it seemed that Maria and I had unwittingly agreed to, for an indeterminate amount of time, act as mentors or tutors of some sort to this foreign race. If I had known that the strangers from another world were peaceful, I might not have so willingly surrendered myself and my dear wife to their will. We had made our choice, though, and were condemned to see it through.

I must warn the reader that a society this stunningly advanced was capable of peace, but also of extremely violent acts of war. I would caution those in possession of my writings to keep your perceptions reined in very closely, lest you fall victim to the same trap of empathy which ensnared so many of their captives.

At the time, Maria and I remained blissfully unaware of the darker side of this race’s advancements. Dare I say, we were even optimistic about our new roles as educators! It was further explained to us that we would be specialists concerning the human race, and our objective was to present the most accurate image of our world’s cultures and ideas that we possibly could--at least, given our limited experience. I have asked myself many times whether they would have been better off kidnapping perhaps a world leader of some form or fashion, rather than an aspiring researcher and his perhaps too loyal wife. Regardless, we had been chosen and plucked from the surface of the Earth for one purpose; we were loath to take it lightly.

Returning to the moment we learned of our assignment--our captor then led us through the crowd, following a pathway lined with light on the sleek metal beneath our feet. Just as I’d feared, the soles of my shoes rather clumsily plodded along, drawing a mortifying amount of attention to us and putting our foreignness on display. Still, aside from the occasional sideways glance, most of the beings expressed little interest in us.

We were not their focus. We were alien, separate from them. I could not float along with the elegance they had. My movements were primitive by comparison… everything I knew was primitive by comparison. I chose, in that moment, to assume that our new hosts--I felt increasing amounts of discomfort with referring to them as “captors”--were not constrained by any laws of the physical world with which I was familiar. I felt that once I committed to this assumption, their world would offer far fewer challenges to my expectations.

We arrived, eventually, at a door of sorts. It glittered with the brilliance of diamond, or perhaps carefully crafted glass. I had little time to take it in; the door slid open for us without even the slightest touch, and we passed through without a break in stride.

“This will be your accommodation.”

Evidently, some study of humankind had already taken place. Within the room was a bed on a frame very similar to the one Maria and I had left behind: four wooden bedposts, and a simple red and blue quilt. A wardrobe, too, stood against the far wall. The wooden furnishings were out of place in this setting, but certainly not unwelcome.

We were encouraged by the host at our side to rest and to recover from the shock we surely felt on our arrival, with all of the patience and understanding in the world. It stepped back and disappeared behind the glittering door, leaving Maria and myself alone.

If we spoke to each other at all, I can’t recall it. I believe we were both so exhausted and overwhelmed by the situation that we collapsed onto our bed and elected to sleep, so that we might take on the adventure with newfound energy after our rest. I do remember, rather vividly, the moment in which I realized that the linens on the bed weren’t real. Despite appearing to be made of soft cotton, their texture was slippery like satin, and they smelled very strongly of freshly baked bread. My last thought that night was of Maria baking bread for these alien creatures, showing them what that heavenly scent actually alluded to.

I shall expound on our experiences as teachers come tomorrow. My prototype light system for my makeshift basement laboratory has abruptly failed, and I feel it prudent to investigate before I inadvertently engulf my home in flames.