Clouds drift in front of the full moon, sometimes veiling it entirely. The moon gleams regardless, highlighting the forest that sits below… the Black Forest, as it’s been named. Chilling winds swoop from these dense clouds to sway all its trees, their leaves shuffling noisily. At this late hour, the owls and the crickets are singing their usual tunes; it’s anyone’s guess what they’re really up to since very few people would dare set foot here, mainly due to the tales surrounding this place.
But somewhere on a highway, not too far from this forest, something draws everyone’s attention to the sky. One after another, trucks, cars, and other vehicles, pull up to the side. People, drivers and passengers alike, spill out from their doors to raise their smartphones to video and capture stills of what appears to be… a falling star with an icy trail tapering behind it.
It’s moving quite fast… towards the Black Forest near them.
Very soon, the crowd feels the ground rumbling beneath their feet, the glass on their windows shaking as well. Once it becomes clear just how close these people are to this ‘star’, their confused murmuring escalates into cries of panic… there’s not enough time to get clear of its anticipated blast radius, assuming that it’s a meteor. But they try regardless, scurrying back to their vehicles to either take cover or wrench their ignition keys into full gear… all in vain.
But there are a select few who are standing their ground, still recording this alien event with their devices; this is either an act of transfixion, defiance, resignation, foolish bravery, or perhaps all of the above.
Closer… faster… a deafening noise that can be described as a crackling jet engine drowns their voices… this is it.
As soon as the ‘star’ disappears into the trees ahead, there’s a resounding impact. A bluish white glow, more blinding than the sun can ever be from its distance to the earth, spills out from the forest, and everyone shields their gaze, the brightness nonetheless seen through their eyelids. Bold shadows contrast with the illuminated canvas, stretching far out endlessly. An invisible blast, an ear-splitting thundercrack, knocks everyone off their feet.
But quickly as it happens… it passes.
Night returns. The people, for a certain period, remain petrified, their ears ringing, their vision refocusing. The road is now sprinkled with glass… some even painted like ruby. Steadily, as if waking up for work, the uninjured rise to their feet, supporting their weight with whatever they can grab onto. No one had been obliterated like they expected – there were bones broken, cuts, gashes, head traumas… but no casualties as far as anyone can notice.
By some miracle… they’re all still alive.
It doesn’t take long for help to arrive soon after. Fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars, color the highway with their sirens. They tend to the injured and shellshocked. The streamers and vloggers, in their crazed excitement, make sure to document this immediate aftermath, much to the annoyance of the officials.
The impending news coverage that this incident will get is only the beginning…
It hadn’t taken days nor hours for the unidentified falling object to become viral… it had taken minutes. Not only is it all over the news and social media, but it’s now the talk of an otherwise quiet fishing town, Port Rhapsody.
But to one man in particular, a young drifting college student, it’s just another Thursday. Andrew Coffey drags his feet through the campus of Albie community college, wondering why the hell he too isn’t fixating about this overnight sensation like everyone else he sees – it maybe has to do with the fact that he has seen more than enough of it already. Admittedly, seeing those videos on his feed the first few times did raise a few eyebrows from him, but nothing more.
Even in class, everyone has their faces buried in their phones. With a side-glance, he can see them replaying the same videos a million more times while flooding the comments, but when they aren’t doing that, they’re busy editing shorts with their own apps… he’s already sick of it.
“Good morning, class.” Their lecturer, Ms. Starling, draws their attention to the front. “I hope you all had a good night’s sleep, all things considered.” With their tables arranged in a horseshoe, she paces in the middle of the room so her voice can spread evenly. “While I understand that all of you are busy obsessing over the supposed UFO that fell from the sky, I genuinely need your undivided attention, because this final project will not only determine your grade, but it will also determine your chances of getting work in whatever industry you’re aiming for.”
Andrew leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, juxtaposed with his peers who are all sitting upright and listening intently.
Briefly, his teacher glimpses him with a raised eyebrow before proceeding. “It’s no secret that having a shiny degree or diploma to carry around can only get you so far, so here’s what I want from you.” Turning around, she points everyone to her slides. “I want you all to come up with a theme for a showreel and pitch it to me.”
“What kind of theme?” Andrew asks, swivelling all heads to him now.
“Welcome back, he finally speaks.”
The class chuckles at her little jab while he manages a meekly accepting smirk.
“It can be any theme, one that resonates with you.” she answers with a hand motion. “And once you have your theme, pitch it to me like you would to a client. Once I give you the green light, you can go ahead and shoot your footage.”
“How many videos?” asks another student.
Ms. Starling turns back away. “As many as you like for the story you want to tell, so long as it’s high quality. And just so we’re clear,” she waves a hard finger, “videos from any stock libraries are strictly prohibited… trust me, I’ll know.” She lowers her tone and narrows her eyes. “If I catch any of you trying to pull this, I will make you start over.”
Andrew’s mind wanders – for some reason, he just isn’t feeling it today. Lots of things cloud his thoughts, and none of them have anything to do with that stupid UFO. He’s just sitting here… or there… going through the motions without really engaging.
“Here are a few examples from my alumni.”
These past showreels are as equally distinct as they are cinematic; they each displayed the creative personalities of their respective visionaries.
Just how in the world will I compare??
“It doesn’t matter to me how you put your piece together, whether it’s by a script, or a storyboard, or just a run-and-gun.” Ms. Starling continues once the last video finishes. “All that matters is what you show in the final product, but that’s not to say you can’t come in a few times for some consultation.”
Andrew’s mind scrambles on… What the hell am I going to do??
“Andrew, a minute, please?”
Just as he has one foot out the door, Andrew is summoned back to his lecturer’s desk. All of a sudden, he starts thinking of every possible thing that he could have done or said wrong; no matter how old or big he is, having to see the teacher after class is rarely a comforting affair, especially when it happens so unexpectedly.
Immediately, he is on the defence. “I-Is something wrong, Ms. Starling?”
“You tell me.” the woman replies, wearing a concerned scowl rather than a tense one that he’s accustomed to. She has her back leaned to her desk, her hands laced in front.
“What do you mean?” he persists.
“I’ve been picking up some strange waves from you.”
His face scrunches in confusion, though his hands get fidgety.
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” she raises her hands before lowering them again, “but there lately seems to be something looming over you… you just seem depressed, that’s all.”
The young man blinks a few times, more than he should, while shifting his glance. He then tries to cover it up with a chuckle, albeit poorly. “You know me, miss…” he scratches his head, “… I’m always quiet unless there’s something I can add to the conversation.”
Ms. Starling raises her eyebrows and veers her face a little sideways, hardly convinced, if at all.
“I just…” his bluff hangs by a thread, and then he finds it, his excuse, “… I may have also stayed up a little too late last night watching videos about that stupid UFO.”
Her face doesn’t change. “And… the weeks before that?”
Now, he’s cornered. He bites his lip, his mind racing for another excuse… another lie… but he’s all dry. “I don’t know.” is all he can say while looking away.
Please, just let me go home already.
Studying her student for another prolonged moment, she backs off with a sigh. “Okay, then.” With that, she turns away from him to clear up her desk. “Whatever it is you’re dealing with, just take care of yourself, alright?”
“Okay, miss.”
With a brisk nod, Andrew himself turns heel to make his hurried exit from the classroom, a mixture of relief and… disappointment?
He should be grateful that his teacher decided not to push the matter further… right?
Maybe she’s right…
Maybe there is something wrong with me… but what??
Back outside, Andrew stands near a fountain in front of their art building with his DSLR camera, lens wide open, while scanning this crowded area for a subject… anything that should resonate with him. But of course, what exactly does he expect to find here of all places? Everything here is too commonplace, but even the things that aren’t don’t interest him anyway... all except for one.
Squinting ahead, he spots an owl; it’s perched on a tree, watching him with its yellow eyes in broad daylight… or maybe it’s just staring in his general direction blankly, who knows?
Raising his camera… he stares through the viewfinder… framing the shot… sharpening its focus. Too bright… he lowers the exposure… until it’s just right… he dances his finger on the shutter… steadying his hands… almost there.
“Stay right where you are.” he whispers before holding his breath. “Almo— fuck!” he cusses out loud, dropping his camera to his side in annoyance – the owl had flown away before he could get his money shot.
Just my fucking luck.
Suddenly, for whatever reason, he hates himself now. He feels like smashing his camera on the ground, if not on his own head. He feels like throwing his weight around, despite his short and skinny stature. He wants others to feel his hurt, because how dare they be happy while he’s feeling sorry for himself.
But of course, he knows better… it only feels good to think about doing such things.
Andrew spares another moment to look inside himself. He can’t understand why he’s becoming so sensitive over the smallest inconveniences these days – he thought he was through this years ago. Has it anything to do with social pressure? Isolation? The feeling of being stuck? He can’t decide right now… all of the above, perhaps.
All he knows right now is that without his creativity… he is worthless. After all, what else is he even good at?
“That’s quite a scowl you got there.”
He recognizes that voice. Pivoting his head, he is met by a taller long-haired man standing just a few meters from his left with a brow-raised smirk; even with the bracelets, piercings, and sleeve tattoos, Andrew recognizes the alumnus as one of his old friends.
“Edge!?” he cries out, quickly bagging his camera. “Holy shit, man!”
“Long time no see!”
Andrew greets him with a man-hug. “How have you been??”
“I’m good,” he answers, patting his back. “Just thought I’d visit town for a few weeks.” He pulls away. “And you?”
“Well…” Andrew bites his lip, hesitating, “… surviving, at least.”
Silently, he cringes at himself… You really couldn’t come up with a better response??
Together, they begin their stride from the premises, side-by-side while pacing at their own leisure. Unlike his friend, Andrew can barely hold a conversation to save his life. His mind races for a new subject, anything to break this awkward drawn out silence.
Back when Edge used to study here, he was just Chord Castor. They sometimes did a few film projects together, whether it was for a short film, a documentary, a skit, or even a simple vlog; Chord always led while Andrew always followed. Somewhere down the line, when his content grew some traction, he adopted the moniker of Edge after one of his favourite guitarists, and since then, after his graduation, he only grew.
A couple of girls, both attractive, wave in their direction – Andrew nearly waves back until he realizes that they are just greeting his friend… an embarrassingly close call.
Of course, Edge is always well liked around here with his natural charisma, not only in Albie College, but all around Port Rhapsody as well – Andrew’s pretty much invisible next to him as much as he is everywhere else.
Just who in the world is Andrew Coffey anyway?
Edge, who had been side-glancing Andrew during these minutes, decides to prod him. “Seriously, mate… are you okay?”
Andrew pauses in his tracks… a little too abruptly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” he replies in haste, mixed with a subtly exasperated sigh. Quickly regretting it, he tries to cover it up. “I mean… I’m just struggling with this final project I have to do for Ms. Starling.”
“Are you doing it for her or for you?”
“Okay, that’s…” Andrew trails off, not knowing what to finish his sentence with.
Resuming their walk, it doesn’t take long to find the parking lot. They find Andrew’s car, a small red automobile, sitting there; it’s a plain but neatly maintained hand-me-down. Unlocking it with his keys, he drops his things in the backseat before making his way to the driver’s side.
“I have a proposal,” states Edge.
Andrew pauses before he can pull the door open, curiously raising an eyebrow.
“You know that UFO from last night… or the unidentified falling object?”
He rolls his eyes at the mere mention. “Oh, my God. Who hasn’t?” A few seconds later, his face drops as realization sets in. “You want to go find it… don’t you?”
Edge grins wider, his dimples boldening through his stubble. “And I’m wondering… if you’d be interested?”
Slowly and mechanically, Andrew pivots his whole body to him, his mouth agape. “You’re shitting me, right?”
His friend shakes, now snorting.
“You want to go to one of the most dangerous forests in this country to find a ‘UFO’ that may or may not even be there anymore… that’s what you’re telling me?”
He nods.
On one hand, it would be like old times; perhaps if he does join, it might just reignite his own fire and get him out of whatever funk he is in. But on the other hand, the risks are too apparent – the Black Forest has a notorious reputation, and the last thing he needs is to become another statistic… a cautionary tale to warn other trespassers away.
“I’ll think about it.” he answers finally.
Entering his car, he starts his engine but rolls his window down.
“It’s good to see you.” he says.
“You too.” Edge responds, hardly surprised nor disappointed. “Offer’s still open.”
“Yeah, uh… thanks.”
Rolling it back up, Andrew pulls out of his parking space and drives off, watching his friend shrink in the rearview mirror. He can’t help but feel a twinge of regret at giving him a non-committal answer; a simple yes or no would have sufficed.
That’s why you don’t deserve him, Andrew.
Port Rhapsody, small and serene near the ocean. Its buildings, no taller than the trees here, are classically styled like its neighbouring houses. The layout of its streets, brick-clad and simplistic. The colour variation, spectrally vibrant, just like the flowers and greenery, even in the beginning of fall. And the sky itself, a rare tinge of pink that compliments the early sunset.
Andrew’s mind, however, is too cluttered to enjoy these sights; he drives to and from here all the time anyway. Despite it being a simple drive home free of traffic, it feels like it’s taking forever, even on the empty highway leaving the town.
The longer he tries to ignore and bury these intrusive thoughts, the louder and distracting they become – he’s lucky this is only a fifteen-minute drive on a familiar road, or something irreversible may have happened by now.
Thankfully, he sees his exit and turns off the highway. Reducing his speed, he cuts through a forest, his headlights activated. These trees are much taller than the ones back in town, their towering forms shadowing his car almost entirely, their autumn leaves raining down, landing on his windscreen a few times… he’s nearly there.
Soon enough, the trees thin, and right up ahead, there’s a lake house, light shining from inside its windows, and behind it, a floor of glasslike water stretching out as far as his eyes can see to reflect the distant hills on the other side.
Having reached home at last, he pulls into the garage.
At the dinner table, adjacent to his dad at the end, Andrew eats what should be one of his favourite meals, a golden-brown quesadilla; he chews with a vacant expression, tasting but not really savouring the melted cheese with the tomatoes and red sauced bread.
His dad, James Coffey, observes his son’s demeanour with a slightly raised eyebrow while also chewing his own food and sipping out of his steaming coffee mug. Andrew isn’t dumb, though he is pretending to be; he knows he’s got questions loaded that he’ll have to try and answer at any moment. His burly appearance doesn’t help to ease things either.
Screw it… if you want to ask me, dad, just ask me already.
Surely enough, after wiping his long beard, his dad shoots. “What’s on your mind, son?”
And… there it is.
Taking his time to finish his last mouthful, Andrew reluctantly faces him. He opens his jaw, only to shut it a few times, not knowing what to really say – he just knows that if he makes up an excuse, his dad will see right through him, even if he doesn’t state it outright, which is often so.
Fine… I may as well get it off my chest.
And so, with a deep sigh, he begins. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, dad. I’m just… lost, somehow.”
His dad leans forward, resting his chin on his hand.
“It’s stupid, I know…” Andrew slouches back, glueing his eyes to their ceiling light, “… I bumped into Edge today. He offered me a chance to join him on a trip, and I just flat-out refused him.” He shakes his head ashamedly before rejogging his memory. “I mean, I gave him a maybe answer, which may as well have been a no.” He looks back to his dad, whose expression hasn’t changed. “There’s clearly something wrong with me, isn’t there?”
“Why?” he simply asks.
The young man shrugs. “Because whenever I have the chance to do something special, I suddenly don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I…” he sighs, holding his forehead, “… I just can’t be bothered, and then I end up regretting it afterwards.”
Hearing this, his dad slouches back, mirroring his posture with a hum. “So, what you’re telling me, Andrew, is that there’s something in your mind that’s holding you back.”
Andrew shrugs again. “Like I said, it’s stupid… but yeah.”
“And what are you planning to do about it?”
He shrugs for a third time then glances away pathetically.
“Nothing, huh?” His dad’s tone becomes stern. “So, let me get this straight…” he begins motioning with his hands, “… you have all these opportunities, and despite being in a funk, you expect things to change just by sitting on your ass?” He snaps his fingers. “Look at me.”
Stiff as a board now, his son complies.
“You’re nineteen already.” he impresses while widening his glare. “I’ve said this to you many times before, and I don’t know how many more times I’ll have to repeat myself, but you’re not a kid anymore… you’ll have to start leading your life eventually instead of just following.”
Andrew swallows hard without meaning to. His dad doesn’t shout at him with a hard-lined scowl – rather, he’s just casually slapping him with cold facts… which is arguably worse.
Reading his downcast face, his dad clarifies, “I’m not trying to be an asshole, son. I’m just looking out for you… alright?”
“Alright.” His son nods weakly, though it does little to make him feel better.
He continues eating the rest of his quesadilla in silence.
That night, Andrew retreats into his room. He sits at his desk, in front of his open laptop, considering his dad’s words, as well as the events of today with Edge and his teacher. All three of these encounters had one thing in common: their concern for his sorry wellbeing.
Enough of this shit…
To get his mind off, he opens his browser. Pausing his cursor over the search engine, he decides to look up more information about this so-called UFO in spite of himself. So far, as predicted, there are no new updates regarding the matter, just parroting articles with differing theories. So instead, he gears his interest more towards the Black Forest itself.
Surprisingly, it doesn’t take him more than a few scrolls to click on a peculiar headline that takes him to a page about this Savannah Wood, a young woman who went missing in those same woods about eight years ago… and she’s only among many, by the sounds. Down the rabbit hole he goes; the more he reads, the more he regrets it…. but he can’t stop either.
Despite his struggle to remain impartial, he finds his heart going out to the victim’s mother, Sarah Wood. Vainly, he searches through some other articles, hoping that one will come up with a happy ending for this family… but of course, there’s nothing.
Digging even deeper, he shortly stumbles upon a different article, this time of an urban legend… a supposedly ethereal creature that also happens to dwell in the Black Forest. Humouring the idea, Andrew discovers that this creature, dubbed the Gazer, is supposedly tied to these disappearances with its ‘gorgon’ gaze, one direct look into its singular eye spelling doom for any unfortunate trespassers.
Could be possible… or not.
Closing his browser, he spins in his chair to face his reflection in the window, and through it, an overlayed view of their jetty by the lake, while thinking again of his friend’s offer.
Should I… or should I not?
Standing out on the jetty to clear his head, Andrew stares across the rippling lake, the cold air licking his skin, which he hardly minds; it’s strangely soothing.
“Fuck it.” he utters to no one.
Making his decision, he pulls up his phone, its screen lighting his face. Finding Edge in his contacts, he places the phone in his ear, pleading that he will pick up.
“Come on… come on…”
No answer.
He lowers the phone, disappointed, then raises it again… it’s worth another try.
The beeping in his ear persists… and he waits… less patiently than before.
“Come on, please…”
I guess it’s true what they say… snooze, you lo—
“Hello?”
Relief showers the young man upon hearing his friend’s voice. “Edge, it’s me.”
“Obviously, since your name popped up on my screen. What’s up, mate? Thought more about my offer?”
“Yeah, I did, and, uh…” Andrew inhales, “… I’m wondering if it’s not off the table yet.”
There’s a pause from the other end, which has him fearing the worst until he hears, “No, of course not! You want to be part of our crew, huh?”
He bounces his eyebrows, smiling now. “Crew?”
“Yeah!” Edge responds. “I should have told you before, but we’ll be carpooling with a few others… including a model.”
“A model?”
“Yeah. And don’t worry, she may not look it, but she’s very friendly.”
“That so?”
“Yep, and trust me… unless she dislikes you, she’ll never leave you out of a conversation.” Andrew can only imagine him grinning.
“Okay… well… I’ll trust you on that.” He nods agreeably. “Thanks a lot, man! I’ll see you… tomorrow?”
“Saturday at fourteen.” he corrects.
“Gotcha.” He nods again. “Goodnight.”
“See ya, mate!”
And with a click, the call ends.
Still handling his phone, Andrew returns to the house with a satisfied fist-pump.
