The Dream Factory

Stranger Things

Stranger Things 

It was only when They came that I began to notice them. 

The shoes that is. 

Always in pairs. Never single ones. 

Of course I reported it to the local Police Station. I was sure the Government would want to know. After all they had been trying to communicate with Them for months. I assume they would have formed a special department like in The Men in Black. 

'What exactly is it supposed to mean then?' The Constable leaned over the counter and tried to prise a bit of chewing gum off its surface with his wooden ruler. 

'It means they're taking people. Doesn't it.' 

'For what?' he stopped scraping and gave me that quizzical look he reserved for nutters and people complaining about their neighbours bonfires. 

'I don't know. For experiments I suppose.' 

He raised his eyebrows wistfully at me. 'And I guess They don't need the shoes for these experiments?' 

'They wouldn't would they?' I knew where this was going. 

'But They need their coats, trousers, dresses and other...paraphernalia.' He looked pleased he'd slipped the word paraphernalia in. Like he'd made it bet on it with the other constables working in the office behind him. 

'I suppose so.' 

'Perhaps They don't have any feet.' 

'I hadn't thought of that.' For a moment I considered the possibility. 

He made some notes in a large file. 'I've made a report.' 

'Will I be hearing from someone?' 

'I doubt it.' He closed the file and stared hard at the door. 

As I left I'm sure I heard the word paraphernalia mentioned and some laughing.

The next week I went back in. I put a bag on the counter. 

It was the same Constable. He was going to give me his nutter look again but saw there was no point. I was a repeat offender. He took me into a room and poured them out on a desk. 

I arranged them in neat pairs. High heeled shoes, leather brogues, running shoes. A child's pair with little ribbon bows on them. Twenty in all. 

'Not just their shoes then but socks as well?' He lifted some tartan socks out of the brogues with his ruler. 

I was pleased he was now taking it seriously. 

He looked at me. 'I suppose you want me to file another report?' 

'You're not going to put me on some sort of weirdo register are you?' 

He picked up a pair of red heeled stilettos and inspected their soles before remarking dryly. 'Not unless you come in here wearing these.'  

I went back in later in the week. In the courtyard was a clear plastic bag containing my shoes, next to the rubbish bins. I sighed and added the new ones I'd collected. I didn't bother going in. I walked home through the gloom. 

I travelled by train up to town every day. From the station I could see their ship hanging over the city. Every major city in the World had one. Just hanging there silently, watching and waiting. Studying us. When we were about fifteen miles outside the city we fell under its shadow. It was then I began to see the shoes. That's how I knew it was 'Them'. 

We'd all gotten used to it, the commuters. When They had first arrived there had been panic. They had arranged their vast ships over the cities. The Government told us they had it all under control and not to panic. We knew what that meant and stayed at home and waited for the imminent death rays. Nothing. Our Government tried to communicate with them. If They wanted to talk they didn't give us any sign.

They just hung there. Watching and waiting. 

After a while it went back to normal. We just got on with it. 

I worked for a small broker selling environmental credits. I was doing well. China, Brazil, India all chucking the stuff into the atmosphere. They needed to buy in big time. 

After a while we didn't even talk about Them. They just became a fixture of our lives. At lunch on the good days when the smog cleared a bit we sat outside bars on little round tables drinking beers under the shadow of their ship. On bad days when the toxic waste clouds swept over Europe from the industrial wastelands of Russia we sat inside coffee shops drinking espresso and playing cards.  

All the while they just hung there in their pristine white ship. Just above the city's turgid yellow smog. 

But I knew they were up to something. The shoes told me that. 

On the last day I went up to Waterloo to catch the Jubilee Line. It was a normal day. I'd seen a pair on the train, at Waterloo there were two pairs on the platform. The crowd broke around them like a wave on a rock. Hardly anyone gave them a second glance. I picked them up and gave them in to lost property. 

I took the Jubilee Line to Canary Wharf. As I stepped onto the platform I looked up to where the packed train had expelled it passengers.

The platform was empty. 

Except for the shoes. 

Hundreds of them. 

I walked up the escalator. The top was crowded with shoes pushing up against each other like turtles' in the surf. A mound of discarded shoes had formed there. 

I looked up. Their ship was glowing a strange luminescent colour. This was it. I closed my eyes and waited. 

When I opened them I found myself on a beach, the gentle surf slushing up onto a long white bar of sand. I turned my face to the sun. It was warm to my face. I hadn't felt the sun for a long time. 

I put down my briefcase and folded my coat on top of it.  

In the distance round the palm scattered bay, a crystal white city rose into the sky, clean and bright. The water glimmered blue hues in the sunlight. A warm breeze rolled gently down the beach and tugged at my shirt. 

When I thought about it I supposed like naughty children they'd sent us away and had stayed on to clear up our mess. 

I sat down, rolled up my trousers and tucked my toes into the warm sand. I looked off along the beach toward the city. I knew my family would be waiting there. They would have arranged that. 

When I stood up for a moment I'd thought I'd forgotten something. I looked along the line of soft white sand, the shallow lapping water and then remembering, laughed. 

I didn't need my shoes.