The Owls Have Come to Take Us Away Read online

  Contents

  * * *

  Title Page

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  One Hundred Years Later

  Sample Chapter from HOODOO

  Buy the Book

  Read More from Ronald L. Smith

  About the Author

  Connect with HMH on Social Media

  Clarion Books

  3 Park Avenue

  New York, New York 10016

  Text copyright © 2019 by Ronald L. Smith

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 by Pierce Kelly; Owl created by Freepix

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

  Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  hmhbooks.com

  Cover illustration © 2019 by Pierce Kelley

  Cover design by Lisa Vega and Sammy Yuen

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Smith, Ronald L. (Ronald Lenard), 1959– author.

  Title: The owls have come to take us away / Ronald L. Smith.

  Description: Boston ; New York : Clarion Books, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Summary: After something strange happens during a camping trip, twelve-year-old alien-obsessed Simon suspects he has been abducted, but was it real or just his overactive imagination?

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018051971 (print) | LCCN 2018056564 (ebook) | ISBN 9781328526892 (E-book) | ISBN 9781328841605 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Alien abduction—Fiction. | Extraterrestrial beings—Fiction. | Family life—Fiction. | Children of military personnel—Fiction. | Military bases—Fiction. | Racially-mixed people—Fiction. | Science fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Horror & Ghost Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Bullying. | JUVENILE FICTION / Science Fiction. | JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Family / General (see also headings under Social Issues).

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S655 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.S655 Owl 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018051971

  v1.0119

  For Lynne Polvino

  Chapter One

  I first started freaking out over aliens when I read a book of my dad’s called Communion. The cover showed an alien with big bug eyes and a little slit for a mouth. The nose was just two tiny pinpricks. Dad said it was all make-believe—​that the author was crazy, that he needed to see a doctor—​but once I started reading, I couldn’t stop.

  The aliens I’m talking about are called Grays. They come from a binary star system called Zeta Reticuli. It’s about forty light-years from Earth. They’ve been coming here for ages, all the way back to Egyptian times.

  There are other types of aliens, too. The Reptilians—​who look like lizards. The Nordics—​who are tall and blond and resemble humans. But the ones that scare me the most are the Grays.

  Grays.

  Just saying it freaks me out.

  It’s such a simple word. A color. Not black or white. But something in between. Something unknowable. Something that makes me not want to sleep.

  In the book, the Grays come to Earth and take this guy on one of their spaceships. They do a bunch of experiments on him and then let him go. But before they do, they put an implant under his skin so they can track him. Just like we do to animals.

  Animals.

  That’s what we are to them.

  Lab rats.

  Have you ever seen those pictures of weird crop circles in cornfields? Or heard about cows being cut open and dissected? The aliens do that, too. No one knows why.

  I’m going to stop now because I’m really freaking myself out.

  * * *

  My dad is in the Air Force, and we live in what’s called base housing. All the houses look the same. Everything we need is right here: a commissary, which is what you’d call a grocery store. The BX, which stands for base exchange—​kind of like a small department store. There’s a swimming pool, a movie theater, a library, even a McDonald’s. And there are rules, too. Lots of them. If you don’t cut your grass, someone will come by and tell you to do it. You can only water your lawn at 1800 hours. (That’s military time for six o’clock.) You can’t play loud music in your backyard. And soldiers in crisp, white uniforms come by without warning and inspect the inside of your house. They want to make sure you’re not living like a slob or growing marijuana in your basement. A guy in school named Jerry Finfinger had marijuana in his basement, and his dad was arrested and his family kicked off the base. What would that be like, I wondered, to have to live out there? With them. Civilians.

  I knew there was a world beyond the main gates of the Air Force base, where men with guns stood at attention all day long and checked cars coming in, but I’d never been outside of it, except for family trips. It was huge out there, with crazy highways and giant stores and parking lots. Kids got kidnapped all the time. But here on the base we were safe. Safe from the outside world. And the Grays. The Air Force had weapons that could probably defeat them if they ever attacked.

  One time I asked Dad if he knew anything about aliens, or if any of his pilot friends ever talked about them. He said the only alien he knew was a man named Danny Bones, who once drank thirty-three beers in one night.

  I don’t believe him, though. The Air Force is known for keeping secrets. All you have to do is look up Roswell.

  This is what happened:

  A UFO crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947. The Air Force quickly covered it up, and said it was a hot air balloon. But that was a lie. Before they sealed off the area, several farmers found some wreckage—​shiny pieces of silver, like metal or steel. There was something strange about it, though. You could ball it up in your fist like aluminum foil and then it would just uncrumple back into shape, as smooth as a sheet of paper. And there was writing on it, too. Alien writing. All those pieces are stored away now at Area 51, a top secret military base in the Nevada desert. And you know what else they found?

  Bodies.

  Alien bodies.

  Grays.

  One of them was still alive, but really messed up from the crash. They took him to see the president, a man named Harry Truman. The alien didn’t speak, but they were able to communicate through reading each other’s minds. That’s called telepathy. They made a d
eal: The aliens would share their super-duper advanced technology if the government allowed them to take humans every now and then for their experiments. They were a dying race and needed to find ways to continue their species.

  But the aliens broke their promise.

  They started taking more and more people.

  And there was nothing we could do about it.

  Chapter Two

  “Simon?” Mom called up the stairs. “Are you ready?”

  I groaned inside.

  Earlier that day, Mom said we had to go to the BX to get some new jeans and some other stuff. “You’re growing like a reed,” she’d told me. She said all kinds of old-timey things like that. I didn’t even know what half of them meant.

  I leaned in closer to the computer screen. Great. Mom had fantastic timing. A hive of flying revenants was headed in my direction. I smashed my finger down on the Attack key, unleashing a fury of spells. “C’mon!” I shouted. Zap! Fizz! A swarm of them went down in a cloud of purple dust. I ran from the battle site and hid near a gurgling river, away from any more threats.

  My character in EverCraft is a level-thirty High Elf Druid. His name is Rowyn. I use nature spells to defend the realm from Orzag, the Emperor of Bloodbane Forest. He was once a king, but got corrupted by a sorcerer and sold his soul. Now he’s wreaking havoc on all the townspeople. (I got that from a book I read: “wreaking havoc.”)

  I like playing druids because they’re smart, not just big brawlers. You can always tell what somebody’s like in real life by what kind of character they play in a game. If you’re a bully, you’re definitely going to pick an ogre or a berserker, someone who’s into smashing stuff. But if you’re like me, what my mom calls “shy and withdrawn,” you’ll choose a high elf or a gnome. Someone with brains. Someone who can think things through.

  I also like druids because they get a lot of cool-looking robes and spell effects. And you know what else? They can turn into wolves. That’s right, wolves. When I’m in wolf form, I can run faster and take more damage. There’s one spell I use called Thistle Protection that makes these thorny spikes bloom from my skin. You should see it. There’s also a robe that gives me more mana. That’s the stuff your character uses to cast spells. If you run low on mana, you can’t cast any magic. Plus, there’s the jewelry, rings, and magic totems. All of them give added powers.

  “Simon!” Mom’s voice boomed from downstairs. “Let’s go. Now!”

  I groaned and shut down the computer.

  * * *

  “Thought you’d never get down here,” Mom said. She looked a little ticked off, but I wasn’t buying it. I’ve never even seen her mad. “‘Cool as a cucumber,’” Dad always calls her. Why are cucumbers cool? Because they’re kept in the refrigerator? I don’t get it.

  Mom took a last sip of coffee and grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter, and we headed out.

  On the way to the BX, we passed where Dad works. It’s called the Ninth Airlift Squadron. The whole area is enclosed by a giant barbed-wire fence. He loads planes with cargo and weapons that fly to military bases all over the world. Or “hot spots,” he sometimes calls them. I’m sure he does other stuff too, but I don’t know what that could be. He was in the Iraq War, but that was before I was born. He never talks about it. When I asked him what it was like over there, all he ever said was “War is hell, son.”

  I leaned my head against the car window. Row after row of identical houses flashed past. They looked like Legos. Sometimes I felt like the whole Air Force base was just one big experiment from the government, like an ant farm, and they were probably watching us right now through some kind of giant magnifying lens and taking notes.

  The lights inside the BX were too bright, and the AC was too cold. People go nuts around here with the AC. Everybody’s house is like a refrigerator.

  Some kind of awful music was blaring from the speakers. I read somewhere that stores use certain types of music to make people relax. They think that if you’re relaxed, you’ll spend more money. That’s pretty creepy, if you ask me.

  Mom grabbed a shopping cart and started steering it down the aisle. One of the wheels was wobbly and made this ratchety sound that was driving me crazy.

  Ratchet

  Ratchet

  Ratchet

  We passed mountains of camping gear and a huge tower of wind-up radios with alarms and flashing lights. Everyone has to be prepared in the military for any kind of emergency. We have tons of bottled water in our basement.

  I lagged behind, hoping I wouldn’t see anybody from school. No one wants to get caught with their mom shopping for clothes. I slipped off to go check out the computers.

  Right when I was getting kind of bored, Mom found me and dragged me back to the boys’ department. She’d picked out three different pairs of jeans, and I had to try them all on. It was awful. At least she didn’t go in the dressing room with me. She pulled the waist of the jeans while I had them on and made me turn around so she could see how they fit. God, it was embarrassing. Having your mom touch your butt in public? Jeez. I didn’t really care what kind of clothes I had, as long as they were comfortable.

  Mom reminded me we were going camping soon, and said I’d need some new stuff to wear. I got a couple T-shirts and a new pair of sneakers. They weren’t cool sneakers, like some of the guys at school wore—​Air Jordans and Converse and Vans—​these were rejects. They were shaped like fish heads. I looked at the price tag. Four dollars. Jeez.

  Mom plucked a baseball cap off a rack and put it on my head. “To protect you from the sun,” she said.

  A lot of people think that if you’re black, you can’t get sunburned. I’m living proof that’s not true. Well, to tell the truth, I’m half black. Mom is black, and Dad is white. They call it biracial. I don’t know who came up with that term, but I don’t like it too much. If it were up to me, we’d all just be humans, and leave it at that.

  I think I got more of Dad’s genes, because I’m what they call light-skinned. But Mom says that’s not the way it works. She says that black people come in all kinds of shades. So yeah, I’ve burned in the sun before. One time we were at the beach, and I got so burnt Mom kept me in the house for a week.

  I followed her to the register. The wheels on the cart were still making the ratchety sound, and she didn’t even seem to notice. She just hummed to herself like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Mom took our stuff out of the cart and started laying it out on the conveyor belt. The cashier looked about a hundred years old. A bunch of buttons in bright colors were pinned to her uniform. Actually, it was a vest. I felt bad for her. Why would somebody make an old person wear a vest like that?

  The cashier scanned our stuff, and my eyes drifted over to a display where they kept all the magazines. A bunch of hats were hung up on a tall pole next to it. “How ’bout one of these?” I said, grabbing one that looked like something you’d wear on a safari. Mom cocked her head. “Okay. Sure, Simon. You look like an explorer.”

  I took off the baseball cap she’d put on my head a minute ago and set it on the pole, even though that wasn’t where it was supposed to go.

  I froze.

  The picture on the cap showed a spaceship, with a pair of alien eyes bugging out of the window.

  I let out a breath.

  People think it’s funny, you know? All this alien stuff. Like it’s some kind of cartoon or something. But it’s not funny. It’s the government’s way of preparing us for Full Disclosure. That’s the day when they admit the existence of UFOs and aliens.

  They want us to get used to the idea first so everyone doesn’t freak out when they come.

  Chapter Three

  In our living room, there’s a framed picture of my mom standing next to a Christmas tree, holding me in her arms. I’m squirming like crazy, trying to climb my way out of her grip. There’s snow outside—​great big drifts of it. The tree branches through the window look like they’ve been dipped in white cake frosting
.

  I don’t even know where that picture was taken. Growing up in the military, I’ve lived in a lot of places I don’t even remember. I was born in Maine, but when I try to think of it, all I see in my head is snow. It sits on top of car hoods and trash dumpsters, mailboxes and frozen playground jungle gyms.

  We’ve also lived in Illinois, Ohio, South Carolina, and Michigan. The only thing I remember from most of those places is being in school for a year or two and then suddenly leaving. All the names and faces of my friends just kind of blur together, like some kind of wacky kaleidoscope. Sometimes I think I shouldn’t even make friends, because in a couple of years, Dad will be stationed someplace else, and we’ll have to move all over again. It’s all just one big bummer, if you ask me.

  When I was four or five years old, I really didn’t understand why we moved all the time and cried when we started packing. It got to the point where I cried every time Mom or Dad left the house, because I thought they weren’t coming back.

  It took me a while to get over that.

  * * *

  School’s been out for a week, and Dad says we’re going camping as soon as he gets a break at work, so it could be any day now. He loves what he calls “the great outdoors.” It’s all he ever talks about. He goes on and on about fishing and hunting and camping. I don’t like any of those things. One time, he took me fishing, and I didn’t want to put the worm on the hook, but he made me do it. I felt terrible, and still have dreams about the way the worm squirmed and wriggled.

  Dad and my big brother, Edwin, went camping a couple of times, but I didn’t want to go. Mom was on my side, and said that all of the pollen would probably give me an asthma attack. That only worked once, and now I have to pay for it. We were going, and there was no way out of it.

  I don’t really like being outside. I’d rather play video games. In the summer, it gets so hot out I feel like I can’t breathe, and I have to take medicine. I use an inhaler. It’s called Alupent. I don’t use it a lot, but when the air gets so thick it’s like walking into syrup, I have to take a few puffs. One time I got so sick they had to take me to the emergency room, where they put a mask over my face and had me breathe in this misty white stuff.