I could see the water in the pond wasn’t black, but an odd, crystal blue. It almost appeared to be glowing. At the bottom of the crystalline water, massive clumps of creepy, greenish-blue slime lurked, making me think of crocodiles lying in wait along the Nile for their prey.
A shiver ran up my spine. “Is that the portal?” I asked.
Grayson shook his head. “No.”
I frowned. “Then why is it glowing?”
“Phosphorous can give the water that appearance.”
“Huh,” Earl grunted. “What about that swamp cabbage crap growin’ down there in the bottom of it?”
“Blue-green algae,” Grayson said. “A byproduct of excessive phosphate contamination.”
“Phosphate,” I said. “Makes sense. Isn’t it an ingredient in fertilizer?”
“And bombs,” Grayson said. “But not portals, apparently. I’m not getting any fluctuations in electric or magnetic readings. The pond may look odd, but it’s perfectly normal.”
“Hey!” Earl called out. “What about this over here, Mr. G.?”
“Earl!” I yelled. “You’re not supposed to go—”
“Don’t move!” Grayson yelled.
Earl froze like a scarecrow hanging on the North Pole. “Am I gonna die?” he asked, barely moving his lips.
“Yes,” Grayson said as we sprinted over to the small clearing Earl had wandered into.
“How long have I got?” Earl asked, remaining stiff as a board.
“Who knows?” Grayson said. “We’re all going to die someday, Earl. But I don’t think today is your day.”
“That’s good to know, Mr. G,” Earl said between his teeth like a bad ventriloquist. “Then why can’t I move?”
Grayson pulled his cellphone from his shirt pocket. “I need to get some pictures of this area without your size thirteen boot prints all over it.”
“Ah, gotcha,” Earl said. “Sorry ’bout that.”
While Grayson documented the scene with his cellphone camera, I took a minute to figure out why he thought the place was noteworthy. After all, it was just a clearing in the woods.
Then I figured out what the fuss was about. In the center of the clearing was what appeared to be a circular patch of scorched earth. And the vegetation in the clearing itself wasn’t naturally short. It had been pressed down, as if an elephant had been rolling around on it.
As I glanced around, I realized the flattened area was perfectly round—just like a primitive crop circle.
My gut flopped.
“What could’ve done this?” I asked, only half wanting to know the answer.
“You thinkin’ them space-hole critters landed here?” Earl mumbled through pursed lips, voicing my secret fear.
“Perhaps,” Grayson said, snapping off another shot. “By the way, you can move now.”
“Whew!” Earl said, and shook out his shoulders as if he’d just bench-pressed a cow.
Grayson tucked his phone away and pulled out his EMF detector. “Now I just need to get a reading on the area.”
As Grayson walked the perimeter of the clearing, scanning it with the detector, I held my breath in anticipation. Then I spotted something in the grass that made me laugh out loud with relief.
“Ha!” I cried, giddy with relief. “A cigarette butt!”
“Hmm,” Grayson said, walking over. He knelt down for a closer examination. “That’s odd.”
“What?” I quipped. “That a space alien would smoke cigarettes?”
“No. That a lifeform intelligent enough for interdimensional travel would choose unfiltered cigarettes when there are so many other healthier options.”
My shoulders went slack. “Are you serious?”
As I watched Grayson pluck the cigarette butt from the ground with tweezers and drop it into a baggie, my faith in intelligent lifeforms faded away.
“Does Jimmy smoke?” Grayson asked.
I frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“How about Thelma’s cousin? What’s his name?”
“Wade,” Earl said.
“Right,” Grayson said. “So, does Wade smoke?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask Thelma.”
All of a sudden, a weird whine filled the air. My eyes darted up at the sky. Were we about to be beamed up?
“Dear God! What is that?” I whimpered.
Grayson’s cheek dimpled. He waved the EMF detector around in a circular motion. “Well, boys and girls. It appears we have ourselves a fluctuation.”
“What’s he talkin’ about?” Earl asked me.
Grayson took another step toward the center of the clearing. The needle on the device jerked to the right. “We could be looking at the telltale signature of a tear in the time/space continuum,” he said. “But I’ll need to measure for time dilation to be sure.”
My nose crinkled. “Time dilation? How do you do that?”
Grayson tipped his fedora with an index finger. “Well, first one sets up a laser to measure the speed of light in a given location, thus creating a catch point, or target. Then one sets up the laser in a secondary location and shoots the beam through a prism set up at the catch point. The prism bends the light beam and projects it back to the second site. If there’s been an anomaly or ripple in time and space, the speed of light will differ from one location to the other.”
“Huh?” Earl and I grunted simultaneously.
Grayson sighed. His arms went limp at his sides. “A discrepancy in the speed of light would mean time is passing differently in one spot versus the other. Like I told you before, this opens up the possibility for unconventional physics, where any number of unexplained phenomena can occur—including wormholes.”
“Golly, Mr. G.,” Earl said. “Seems like a lot a work just to find some old worm’s butthole. I know a guy sells baitworms for three bucks behind the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Not a worm’s hole, you dingbat!” I growled. “A wormhole.”
Earl frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Ugh! Never mind.” I turned to Grayson. “Look, do you have one of these time-measuring gizmos?”
“By gizmo, you’re referring to an oscilloscope, I presume,” Grayson said. “And no. I’ll have to borrow one.”
My eyebrows collided. “Borrow one? From who?”
Grayson shook his head. “Sorry to break it to you, Drex, but Dr. Who isn’t real.”
My jaw pressed down at fifty million pounds per square inch. “I meant—”
Just then, a raindrop splatted on my forehead like cosmic birdshit.
“No time for long discussions,” Grayson said, looking up at the sky. “I need to collect soil samples from around this ring before the scene is completely compromised.”
“What difference does it make?”
