Lollipop, Lollipop

Based on a true story…

It was Josh’s second time being the new kid at a college dorm, and this time, he knew better than to shut his door completely. This room was smaller than his last, tucked within a blocky dorm on Goldfinch, one of the serene streets crisscrossing the campus of Maharishi University of Management. Nearby, there was the Tower of Invincibility, built in honor of the university’s founder and the world-renowned guru’s call to create a peaceful, prosperous society through “higher consciousness” and “invincible defense.” A little further were the two enormous golden meditation domes that the university, and the town itself were known for. But the inside of that room, with its pale wood furniture and blank walls, could have been anywhere. This cheap twin bed, like the one at Earlham, creaked under Josh’s weight; he sat propped up, laptop balanced on his outstretched legs. Every so often, his green eyes flicked toward the starkly lit hallway beyond.

Josh wasn’t looking for friends—never had been, really. With friends came demands on his time and energy. Still, it would be good to know some of the other boys on his floor, to at least recognize a few faces. If someone wandered in, he could always mutter, “Homework. Sorry,” and retreat back into the safe, anonymous scroll of the class’s Facebook group.

Outside, the season had fully unfurled its colors. Tall maples, wide oaks, and old gingkos trembled in crimsons and oranges, their branches clawing at the sky as the wind stripped them bare. The university’s iconic gilded domes, visible from nearly every vantage point on campus, glinted in the fading light, their surfaces reflecting the last stretches of sun. These domes were more than just architectural features; they were the heart of the university’s spiritual practice, where students gathered daily for group meditation. The locals spoke of the energy emanating from these domes, claiming it connected them to a higher consciousness. Josh had been told there was something auspicious and sacred here, a kind of energy that enveloped the campus like a protective bubble. But that wasn’t why he had come.

Just then, a figure darkened the doorway. The fluorescent light cast deep shadows on his face, exaggerating the angles and making the already large head seem intensely unnatural. The man’s skin was a pallid, sagging gray. Josh blinked, startled by how much the man resembled an oversized, grotesque lollipop, but the absurdity of the thought vanished as he met the man’s eyes—small, dark, and piercing. The man’s gaze crawled over Josh’s skin, cold and invasive, sliding deeper as though categorizing, labeling, and dissecting Josh. Then Josh blinked again, and the man was gone.

His fingers lingered over the keyboard, hesitating. Had he imagined it? The desk, bed, and window in the room seemed to stretch and writhe, as if reshaping themselves in the figure’s wake. Should he get up, check the hallway, make sure he wasn’t losing his mind? But his body refused to move, as if it was still paralyzed by that cold, clinical stare. A gust of wind rattled the windowpane, and a memory surfaced, unbidden, dragging him back to another night.

He was in a smaller bed, sheets warm against his side. The room seemed big, perhaps because he was much smaller. One sister lay asleep on the bed across from him, the other in the bunk below, and he’d been drifting off when he saw the figure emerge from the closet, its robes darker than any black he’d seen, and growing darker still. Josh pulled his sheets tighter around himself, leaving only his wide, terrified eyes exposed. Was this one of the evil spirits his parents talked about?

The figure moved slowly, deliberately, its shrouded head turning towards Josh. Those eyes—sharp and frigid as icepicks—stared at him. The man’s black lips never moved, even as a word pierced him like a yell: “Beware.”

The figure moved slowly, deliberately, its shrouded head turning towards Josh. Those eyes—sharp and frigid as icepicks—stared at him. The man’s black lips never moved, even as a word pierced him like a yell: “Beware.”

Josh’s heart pounded as he clutched the sheet. He wanted to cry out, to wake both of his sisters, but the stranger’s presence seemed to smother all sound, pressing a heady silence across the room.

The figure turned towards the window, then, with agonizing slowness, it floated towards it and vanished. Josh kept his eyes on that window, readying himself to scream if it came back. When the first rays of light from the window stirred him, he couldn’t decide if he’d been asleep all along.

He saw his younger sister stir and slip out from the bunk below, still holding the lamb puppet she slept with  curled in her arms. “Hey Grace,” he asked, not wanting to scare her. ”Did you see anything last night? Anything strange?” 

“Yeah,” she said casually. “The man from the closet that went out the window.”

He asked her again, in the decade and a half since, and she always confirmed: it wasn’t just him.

***

“You need to go somewhere where you’ll actually get the grades to graduate,” his mother had said, her tone edging toward exasperation after his dismal first year at Earlham. “Even Sean is on track to graduate,” she’d added, as if that settled the matter. It was a persuasive argument, considering no one had ever expected his older brother to go to, much less finish college. The weight of that comparison had hung over Josh, nudging him toward compliance.

Not that he was exactly convinced by the traditional model of “education.” Classes always felt like a chore, something he was guilted into enduring. “Your grandmother set up a trust fund for you to go to college,” his mother would remind him, the words laced with an unspoken accusation. “Do you know how lucky you are?” Lucky. The word clanged in his mind. He’d attended his classes at Earlham out of obligation, but by the end of each lecture, his mind had wandered into ideas for the sci-fi thriller he planned to write—about how cannabis saved the world—or strategizing on how to master “The Game” to catch girls’ attention—the right balance of negs and praise, he’d learned, was the trick. By the end of the year, his mother was already filling in his application to Maharishi University of Management, or MUM, as everyone called; if he was accepted, he’d go, he decided. And so there he was, giving college another shot.

If it was meant to be, it should all come easily, he thought. After all, from what he’d read online, people who understood and practiced The Secret could manifest their desires simply by visualizing them. In the two years since he had discovered The Secret, he’d proven it true on more than one occasion—having a crush on a certain girl and then finding himself with her, or imagining a random item he wanted, like a video game, only to have a friend give it to him a week later.

But if MUM turned out to be another institution full of rules and obligations that would suffocate his happiness, he was ready to take the trust-fund money that would be his when he turned 21 later that year and forge his own path. He envisioned himself learning in his own way, drawing on information from the people he respected and admired on YouTube and Twitter. It would still be education, he reasoned—he’d still be respecting his grandmother’s intentions for the money. But he’d be doing it on his terms.

“Josh,” his mother’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, Mom,” he thought. “I’m trying it out.”

***

Weed helped with thinking. With relaxing, with his lower back pain, with everything really. Which was why he started and ended his day with it. He brought the hand-rolled joint to his lips now, inhaling deeply. The swell of smoke filled his lungs, and for a moment, the dis-ease in his chest, the swirling thoughts that never seemed to quiet—felt laughable, silly even. Everything was fine, everything was just…funny.

He smiled as he exhaled, watching the smoke curl upward, dissipating into the evening haze. Here, in this sacred-bubble of a campus, he could be someone else—someone who wasn’t haunted by the whispers of being a “Fallen Blessed Child.” But what did that even mean? Did it matter? Did anything? He tipped the joint to his lips again, savoring the green taste on his tongue.

Ever since he arrived at Fairfield, he felt like there was a quiet stripping happening, like he was becoming someone else, someone who didn’t need to care so much. The town itself seemed to invite a quiet, contemplative, stilling energy, as if the soil itself was pulling him into some deeper state of consciousness. “This place is pure, unfiltered magic,” his wide-eyed brother Sean had said when Josh had arrived. Sean had gone on about quantum physics and transcendental meditation, and this being the epicenter of it all. And this place had seemed to change his brother—to give him purpose, passion, and faith, everything they had lost when they decided to no longer follow their parent’s faith.

He could almost hear his mother’s voice, laced with disappointment, echoing in his mind. If Mom and Dad saw him sitting there with weed in his hands, in his lungs… The thought twisted in his gut, sharp and unrelenting. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the guilt pecked out at him, as if reminding him. Of what?

“Josh, man, you alright?” a voice cut through. Nick, his roommate, slouched in the armchair across from him, eyes red from their shared indulgence. Josh envied that. Nick had already embraced the local culture, participating in the university’s daily group meditations, but to Josh, it still felt like another set of grating expectations. If he was doing this college thing, he reminded himself, he was going to do it his way. He was going to do what felt good.

“Yeah,” Josh mumbled, taking another hit. “Just…thinking.”

Nick chuckled, leaning back with a lazy, wide smile. “Thinking too much. You gotta let go, and just be. That’s the whole point.”

Let go. Josh was doing just that. He was embracing living away from home, eating when he wanted, sleeping in late, smoking when he liked. But every time he pulled out his stash to roll a joint, every time he took a cold beer from a fridge, or thought of touching a girl he barely knew, he felt heavy with dread. He wasn’t being the person he was supposed to be. The person his parents wanted him to be: a man pure of sin, married to a woman who met the same high standards. The more deeply he strayed, the less of a chance he’d find his way back.

Outside, the evening bells from the nearby meditation tolled. The sound, deep and resonant, was meant to signal a time for reflection, a reminder to center oneself in the present moment. Josh sighed, leaning his head back against the soft couch. He remembered the day he’d finally gone to see the counselor at Earlham, the suffocating tightness in his chest pushing him to the edge. The counselor, a woman dressed in loose clothes and large glasses who listened more than he liked, held a pen on a notebook in front of her, but kept her eyes trained on him, like she knew if she looked away, he’d lose the courage to say it. 

“Sometimes I want to hurt myself,” he’d sighed. And it felt like a relief to say what he knew he deserved. The counselor had been quiet, keeping her hands folded on her lap. Her face was lined with slight wrinkles, and there was a gold band on her left hand. Josh wondered if she looked like she was following her bliss. If she knew about The Secret. If she believed in it. He wanted to ask, when she said, “Perhaps it’s not evil to want to do what everyone else is doing.” 

For a moment, he leaned into the couch. He’d let the woman’s words fill the space, without talking back, without telling her she was wrong. But as soon as he walked out, the desire to punish himself by restricting his eating, staying in bed, not talking to people, climbing to the top floor of a building…the thoughts that he was only making everything worse crashed over him again and again, relentless and unyielding.

“Hey, you wanna head out?” Nick’s voice poked through again. “I heard there’s a party over at Carson’s.”

Josh hesitated, staring at the glowing embers between his fingers. He pictured it—the spill of beer on a countertop, upbeat rap filling his ears, a sweet girl with a shy smile. 

Josh hesitated, staring at the glowing embers between his fingers. He pictured it—the spill of beer on a countertop, upbeat rap filling his ears, a sweet girl with a shy smile. 

“Maybe later,” he finally said, looking out towards the Tower of Invincibility, and beyond it, the golden domes, none of it quite visible, but not invisible either.  “I think I’m gonna stay here for a bit.”

Nick shrugged, unfazed. “Suit yourself. Just don’t overthink it, man. Life’s too short.”

As Nick grabbed his jacket and left, Josh sat in the quiet room, the silence pressing down on him. He was free, wasn’t he? 

***

A week after his encounter with Lollipop, who he hadn’t seen since, Josh found himself trekking into the surrounding forest of MUM with Nick and some other boys he’d met from the dorm—Jason and Peter. They walked along Harmony, then Taste of Utopia, aiming for a copse of trees beyond. The memory of that cold, unsettling gaze still lingered at the edges of his thoughts, but Josh pushed it aside, focusing instead on cool air and thrill of exploring this new place, with a new group of guys, who didn’t judge him for the flower in his pocket, his beaten up sneakers, or how he enjoyed waking up as late as he could. These were guys who were just as willing to be “out there.” Jason, especially, it seemed.

“I swear I’ve seen them,” said Jason, the group’s alfa, with an air of authority. Yet even his voice was hushed, respectful even. “Others have too. This place is teeming with them. It’s the meditative energy—it draws them in.”

Josh had read plenty about aliens and otherworldly encounters online. The idea of having his own experience with them sent a thrill through him. What if this was a sign? What if this was why he’d come here? What if he wasn’t doing everything wrong, and this was all meant to be?

The group moved from the manicured lawns of the university into the wild grasses that stretched between the campus and the woods beyond. A final gasp of golden light flared between the trees, sending tall shadows on sun-parched plants. They passed beneath a canopy of turning leaves as the ground turned crunchier, a mix of fallen pine needles, dead leaves, and brittle sticks snapping underfoot. Josh heard the scuffle of a pinecone being kicked behind him, its rattle small and persistent.

When the sky had definitively transitioned from a cloudless cerulean to a deep, velvety navy, and stars began to prick through the wide Iowa sky, he heard Jason’s drawl—“I’ve seen them right here. Just keep your eyes open…”

Josh followed Jason’s gaze, and his breath caught. There, suspended above them, was a circle of light, like a glowing ornament hanging in the sky. The object spilled coruscating white rays from its oblong body, its shape reminiscent of an eye—a single, backlit LED with no pupil, cold and unfeeling. Josh blinked, and the image burned against the back of his eyelids, a seared imprint that lingered long after the light had dimmed. When he opened his eyes again, the orb was gone, leaving only a soft, lambent glow, as if it had left a memory of itself behind.

“Woah,” Josh exhaled, the word escaping him before he could stop it. He strained his ears, expecting to hear something—anything—that would explain what he had seen. Back home in Panama, he’d lived near an airport; he knew the roar of jet engines, the hum of helicopters, the droning buzz of charter flights. But this orb had been soundless. There was only the chirping of insects, the creaking of branches, the rustling of leaves in the wind. It was as if the light had swallowed all sound, leaving a void in its wake.

Perhaps, Josh thought, this is how higher intelligence announces itself—by enveloping everything else in silence.

As they walked back, the others buzzed with excitement, their voices mingling with the cool night air. But Josh remained quiet, his thoughts returning to Lollipop, to the coldness of his inspection. There had been something about that gaze—a frigid temperature, a distance that came from a mind calculating, probing, curious but utterly devoid of feeling. It was the same coldness he had felt from the craft’s beam, an iciness that spoke of intelligence unbound by human emotion.

Yes, he thought to himself, I do believe there are other life forms beyond Earth. And yes, at night, everything ordinary seemed to sprout the potential for the supernatural—draped shirts became amorphous ghosts, squeaking branches morphed into hinges announcing unseen intruders, nocturnal animals scampered with the stealth of goblins, elves, and spirits. But those were human-made fears, born of the imagination. What he had seen tonight felt different. With the high potential for beings beyond Earth, Josh assigned a 50/50 chance that what had radiated into view was of interstellar origin.

The question that lingered now was, why did it appear? Was it the meditative energy of this place—a self-proclaimed mecca of conscious thought—that had drawn it here? Or was it something more personal? Was it because of him, because of the boys he was with?

***

He wasn’t the only one who could see Lollipop, he discovered after the strange man started appearing more frequently, weaving himself into Josh’s circle with a quiet inevitability. That oversized head with its ashen skin was at meals in the dining hall, outside classrooms, leaning against the dull-white walls of the dorm. Lollipop was there when Josh brushed his teeth in the communal bathroom, or when he ducked into a friend’s room to borrow laundry detergent. Always, Lollipop exuded a chill, his presence like a glacier melting into the air around him, leaving a lingering coldness that seeped into the space around him.

Peter had a theory. “It’s his girlfriend,” he reasoned one night. “That’s how he got in so quick.” The girl—no, the woman, if you squinted—was a slim silhouette with long blonde hair and periwinkle blue eyes that simmered like keenly-lit embers. At MUM, where the male-to-female ratio was laughably skewed, she was a beacon, a landing pad for attention otherwise starved. She bore the attention with a coyness that set Josh on edge, laughing in a way that made her hair toss just so, as if she knew exactly what she was doing. Sometimes, Josh thought she was playing a role. Other times, she seemed too young, too pure for such machinations. But there was a practiced, and yet natural confidence in how she carried herself, how she wielded her beauty, and it put Josh on guard. 

When Lollipop invited them to a barbecue at his place, no one hesitated. The Hindu-affiliated university only served vegetarian meals, and Josh’s stomach ached for the rare taste of steak—smoky, crisp on the outside, tender under his bite. Lollipop’s girlfriend would be there too, and Josh missed the gentle, kind, and open energy that only female company could provide.

Josh sat on the edge of his bed, the dull hum of the hallway lights filtering through his bedroom door. His fingers drummed absently on the closed laptop beside him, his mind drifting back to that strange encounter with Lollipop. The chill of that presence still lingered, seeping into the warmth of his room. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unease, when a faint rustle caught his attention.

The door creaked open just a fraction more, and there was—Lollipop, that oversized head casting its own peculiar shadow into the room. Josh tensed, his fingers pausing mid-tap.

The door creaked open just a fraction more, and there was—Lollipop, that oversized head casting its own peculiar shadow into the room. Josh tensed, his fingers pausing mid-tap.

“Hey, Josh,” Lollipop said, his voice oddly flat. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his ashen skin almost blending into the pale wood.

“Uh, hey,” Josh replied. He stood, feeling the need to move, to break the stillness that had settled over them like a shroud. “What’s up?”

“Just thought I’d see if you were ready,” Lollipop said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Josh swallowed. “Sure,” he said, with a shrug that felt too forced. “Where’s everyone?”

“Down the hall,” Lollipop replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Josh hesitated, glancing at the door, at the faint movement of just  beyond. “Yeah, okay. Just give me a minute.”

Lollipop nodded slowly, pushing away from the doorframe. “We’ll be waiting.”

As Lollipop turned to leave, Josh noticed a flash of blonde hair in the hallway. Cornflower. She stood just outside, her periwinkle blue eyes catching his for a moment before she tossed her flaxen hair back with a playful smile, and the appetite that he had for the steak disappeared, or reared itself, he couldn’t decide.

He waited until they were out of sight, then grabbed his flannel, pulling it on with deliberate slowness, and patted his pockets to make sure he had his stash, lighter, wallet. He wasn’t sure why he felt so uneasy—Lollipop was just another guy, right? But there was something off, something that didn’t fit, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot. And then there was Cornflower, with her calculated, or uncalculated charm.

Josh stepped into the hallway, where the group was gathered near the exit. Lollipop was at the center, his broad back to the others as he murmured something to Cornflower, who laughed softly, her gentle gaze sliding over to Josh as he approached.

“There he is,” Lollipop said, turning with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Josh replied, trying to match the enthusiasm in Lollipop’s voice. But as they headed out, his skin bristled, and seemed to shrink inward, as if he was becoming smaller with each step.

They piled into cars and followed Lollipop’s dirt-dusted SUV down cornfield-lined highways. On and on, more of the same stalks extending themselves towards the fading sun. Josh recalled a movie about an encounter at a farm, about the crop circles that preceded it. He wondered if there had ever been any of those kinds of signs about here.

Finally, the car’s tires ground against a dirt parking lot, and they pulled up to a dilapidated building. As he stepped out, Josh noticed the place was littered with discarded cans, bottles, and rusting old appliances, all of them sinking into the sagging soil. The place was a ruin, with paint peeling from crumbled edges and walls waterlogged to the point of collapse. It was too derelict to have working plumbing, let alone electricity.

Josh hesitated, staring at the decaying structure. It looked like maybe it had once been an old school. “You live here?”

Lollipop’s grin widened, a cold edge creeping into his voice. “What, you don’t believe me?”

Josh forced a laugh. “No, no, I didn’t mean…It’s cool man.”

Lollipop turned and the group followed him around to the backyard, where a couple of picnic tables sat on the dry, cracked earth. A cooler and a BBQ grill were set up nearby, the faint smell of charred wood hanging in the air. No one sat down, opting for a circle just beyond where Lollipop grilled. Cornflower joined them in a daisy-print dress that matched her eyes, immediately drawing the attention of the others. Josh watched her carefully as she lit a joint, and passed it around as she asked them questions, her voice sweet and lilting.

“So, Josh,” she said as he filled his lungs, “what about you? What are you passionate about?”

Josh met her sparkling blue eyes on him, and exhaled. “Hmm, that’s a good question. Writing, maybe.”

“Writing,” she repeated, her smile widening. “That’s interesting. What kind of things do you write?”

He wanted to tell her, and he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t share what he wanted to write: a story about a world where people could do what felt good and, instead of hurting people, it saved them.

He wanted to tell her, and he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t share what he wanted to write: a story about a world where people could do what felt good and, instead of hurting people, it saved them. “Just… ideas, mostly,” he heard himself say. “Nothing serious.”

“Hmm,” Cornflower said, tilting her head, as if she could read his thoughts. “I’d love to read something of yours sometime.”

Josh nodded, passing the joint, and burrowing his hands in his pockets. Why was she so interested? The question swelled the same unease that had settled in his chest as when he’d first seen Lollipop. It was like they were sizing him up, measuring him against some invisible standard.

“Why don’t we light some sage to clear the space?” Nick suggested, and Josh was only too happy to step back and take a seat at the end of one of the picnic tables. He watched as Nick struck a match and held the flame to a bundle of herbs. When the tip of the bundle burned yellow and blue, Nick lifted it, carving shapes into the cooling air. The swirling flumes mingled with the hum of his low chant, the sound and smoke gently soothing even as the day leaked its last light. Josh closed his eyes and breathed in, tasting embers, mint, and something green, like fresh bud. “Sage is clearing,” his friend said, and it did seem to loosen the air, this place, his crowded thoughts.

They ate quietly as the sky faded from a dusty yellow to a mellow cream, the shadow of the schoolhouse creeping toward the picnic table in a stealthy embrace. The oil from the meat on his fingers, the fat lining his cheeks, the spongy feel of the flesh—it all made Josh feel renewed. When everyone had been served, Josh eyed the grill, hoping for seconds. Lollipop was adding another layer of kebabs—red peppers, marinated chicken breasts, juicy pieces of beef. The sizzle was happiness, a sound that made Josh feel like there was nowhere else he wanted to be but here, with these boys, his plate nearly full of deliciousness.

After Lollipop called for a final round of meat and only one boy wanted more, their host suggested they all go to the roof. The boys cheered, their voices echoing with tribal resonance. They filed behind their large-headed leader, climbing the ladder propped against the schoolhouse. Josh was the fifth or sixth person to scramble up.

Up high, he wandered around, waiting for the others to join him. The dirt yard below reminded Josh of his neighborhood park back home, where he’d played tag as a kid, laughing as he outran whoever was “it.” Seeing the sun hanging low, Josh remembered someone mentioning the power of gazing into it. So he stood there, prying his eyes open as long as he could, careful not to blink. Him and the star seemed to enter a sacred communion, and Josh felt the self-leveling calm that came when he slowed down enough to see the complexity in the common.

When his eyes inevitably smarted and stung, he blinked towards the ladder, shutting and opening his lids until he saw the tenth and final person clear the landing.

“Yo, look up,” someone shouted, and Josh turned with the others. The sky, clear of clouds, was a vibrant, teasing blue. Against it, right above them, floated a blaze of orange—not the sun, but a beaming ball of light, not unlike the domes on campus, except this one was floating.

For the second time that week, Josh doubted that what he was seeing was man-made.

“Do you see them?” someone asked. The others excitedly confirmed with yeses, whoas, and holy shits.

A few moments later, a twin sphere appeared. Then others bloomed in the sky like pixels against the backdrop of the atmospheric ocean.

Josh couldn’t look enough, even as he wanted to turn away. He wanted to shout, to reach out to those lights, to understand what they were, why they were here. And he wanted to hide somewhere, anywhere, but there was nothing to stand behind on that roof. Then the lights, as if hearing him, began to fade, the orbs blinking out one by one until only the stars remained, cold and distant.

Quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Quickly as it had begun, it was over. The group stood in stunned silence, the echo of their excitement lingering in the air. Josh blinked, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Had it been real? A dream? A shared hallucination?

He glanced around, but the others seemed to have moved on, their conversation shifting to mundane topics—food, jokes, plans for the weekend. The memory of the orbs was already slipping away. He flashed his memory of the lights over and over. Next time, he thought, he’d record them on his phone. Someone must have recorded them. But asking them about it, it didn’t feel right. Not when they weren’t even talking about what had just happened.

Hadn’t they all just witnessed something extraordinary? How could they be so…normal? He opened his mouth to ask, but then the others were moving towards the ladder, and he was following. By the time they returned to their cars, he’d decided to wait until someone else brought it up. They passed the endless fields of corn, turned onto Taste of Utopia, and they passed the huge golden domes. He peered out at the Tower of Invincibility, it’s stone gray and eternal. Someone was saying something about a quantum physics genius on campus, and that seemed to make sense. Science, the sighting, the meditation practices all seemed of real consequence here. Something was happening. And he was a part of it.

Back at the dorm, Josh couldn’t help himself. He cornered Nick in the hallway. “Hey, did that really happen? The lights, I mean.”

Nick looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, dude. That was crazy! Especially when the spaceship flew down and shone lights on us.”

Josh didn’t remember that part, and said as much, noticing how his voice, his whole body felt removed, outside his mind. Further even. He was a character in a video game. He was there to discover the game even as he played it.

Nick shrugged, as casually as the night he’d asked him to come out to Carson’s party. “Must’ve been too freaked out to notice. But yeah, they say that happens sometimes—aliens abduct you, but you don’t remember it.”

Josh nodded slowly. He’d heard that too, read it somewhere online. Like a hint about a game, read on a blog. Use code “roses” to get more money in Sims. Find the extra coin behind the castle in Super Mario. Approach the young woman to hear the piano song in Final Fantasy. Yes, he thought as he slumped onto his twin bed. This was just a game. And, according to The Secret, his thoughts, their energy could change what happened. None of this needed to be scary. Because it wasn’t. It was a game, and he was ready to play.