Page 109 of Strange Lights

Who else is out there? This question is perhaps the biggest existential question a conscious creature can ask. This question is as vast as the universe we shout it to. Yet our need to hear an answering call is rooted in something much more specific, something much more intimate. From our first cry as a newborn baby, we are simply begging for a connection.

We sent messages to the stars asking, “Are we alone out here in our corner of the cosmos?” But I think what we’re really asking is, “Am I alone, or does someone care about me? Is my life consequential? Is there anyone out there to make my loneliness bearable?” It was never about aliens; it was about connection.

Isn’t that the point of it all? A sister to share the burden of the memory you can’t bear to shoulder alone. A lover to pick up your pieces and patch you back together after you shatter. A child to take the worst of you and shape it into something better. Whether we’re humans or extraterrestrials, we’re all looking for the same thing. Someone to keep warm with through the cold nights. As we hurtle across the vast emptiness of the universe, we search for someone to make the journey alongside us.

I know, I know, I can already hear you shouting warnings. “What if the answer to the question is as bad or even worse than I feared? What if I am alone in the universe? What if a predator lies in wait?”

We now know that predators do lie in wait. Beasts. But we also know there’s a multitude of friendly souls out there. Chupacabras, Helpers, unnamed but no less important others. We humans too. A few brave souls have already come forward, humans among us who have long sheltered these intergalactic refugees. Humans who, when asked, “Is there anyone here to help me?” answered with a resounding yes.

Are we alone? We have our answer. So should we keep shouting our question to the cosmos, or should we close our door and windows, batten down the hatches, and cower in fear? To that I say, we have to be brave. We have to throw ourselves into the dark unknown because what we might miss is worth the risk.

Humanity isn’t built from a few pieces of DNA spliced together. It’s built from connection and community. We’re tethered to our friends and our family by something more than shared blood. Life isn’t about the destination; it isn’t about the answer. The meaning we crave is in the journey. It’s with the people we travel through life with. It’s in the company we keep as we make our way around the sun. In the words of Carl Sagan, “For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.”

Are we alone in the universe? Far from it. Am I alone? No. Absolutely not. Answering those questions has forced me to reevaluate more than a few things about my life⁠—including this podcast. Now, before you panic, no, I’m not going to quit researching and attempting to debunk the paranormal. Nor am I going to stop making those banjo videos you all swoon over. But some of my content will be getting an overhaul. Including formally retracting my previous conclusions concerning werewolves and doing another episode on lycanthropy. So maybe you can lycan-subscribe to hear more? Sorry, I’ve been spending a lot of time with a toddler lately, and I’m working on my dad jokes.

I’ve always said I abide by science, that I’m willing to change and grow when presented with evidence. Turns out change is something that comes naturally to a werewolf. I’m not going to stop questioning. Certainly, I’m not going to stop being skeptical. But I am going to be a little more open minded. A little more accepting when I can’t disprove something. So this is me saying I was wrong. Maybe there’s a lot more truth to the mysteries I investigate than I initially thought.

Though my podcast may change, I hope you keep listening. Because you are the reason that I do what I do. You’re the ones who answer the pleas for connection I shout across the airwaves. You’re the universe that answers me. If you take anything from my words, I hope it’s this: We’re nothing without each other. So keep shouting your questions, your hopes, your dreams to the universe. Keep searching, because who knows who you’ll find out there.

47

Mobile Goat Farm

I’m in Alaska, in the magical basement of my Winnebago with several extraterrestrials and a pair of werewolves, getting the galactic coordinates of an alien star system tattooed on my arm.

Calvin is interviewing the first of the alien children we’ve tracked down⁠—a Chupacabra child who wears the disguise of a human girl of about ten. She’s borrowed the precise shade of the blond hair of one of her fathers, but the wide green eyes and winning smile of her other father. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to pick and choose my features like that.

Her name is Wren, and she stumbled her way into the perfect family for a stranded alien. We weren’t sure where to look for the rest of Orion’s and Eldi’s lost escape pods. They’ve been dubbed “the Seventy-Four,” and we have our work cut out for us, tracking a bunch of resourceful and resilient chameleons with a knack for endearing themselves to people.

“I found her digging in a dumpster behind the tattoo parlor a few years back,” Calvin’s cousin Archer says. Archer called Calvin after the whole mess at Agency 51 and the release of the now superviral video of Calvin and Orion calling for an Agency 51 raid. He finally told Calvin the true story of his daughter’s supposed adoption.

Wren’s other dad, Theo, pipes up. “Anyway, out of the blue, Archer brings this only vaguely human, totally feral little monster to my work one evening and asks me to investigate.” Theo investigates missing people for a living and works real-life X-files as a side hobby.

It only takes me about five seconds after meeting Theo to decide that I adore him. When they pulled up to our campsite and I opened the Winnebago door to greet them, Theo came bursting out of the car well ahead of Archer and Wren and stomped right up to me. I’d only had the impression of curly hair as unruly as mine and a sweet baby face that belied his age before he was rapid-fire talking.

“So I need you to know, if you hurt Wren in any way, I’ll make you disappear. I’ll hide your bones so deep in the forest, they’ll never find any trace of you. Poof, no more you, got it? I investigate missing people, and that means I know how to make problems disappear and⁠—hey, sweet shoes. Oh shit, how many pairs of Converse do you have? I haven’t ever seen a pair in that color before⁠—”

He said this all without waiting for me to answer and then slid right past me and started digging around in my disorderly pile of shoes, leaving me reeling from death threats and compliments in the same sentence.

Archer had been close at Theo’s heels with a sigh, a fond wry grin, and a “He tends to do this, sorry,” while tugging Wren along by the hand. Archer is model pretty, perfect bone structure and carefully styled blond hair, and even more tattoos than me.

Theo is thrilled to get a tour of the Winnebago, and Archer has brought along his tattoo kit, so we settle in to listen to Wren’s story. Eldi and Wren shyly stare at each other while Orion watches more subtly. Luca sits unobtrusively, petting Bandit, who loves all the new company regularly trooping through the Winnebago. Zara and Meredith and our various allies at Agency 51 and in the Whistlemen (I’m still pestering Zara to change the name to something less gendered, but baby steps) are all in Nevada, cleaning up messes and restructuring things, but this interview is being recorded for them.

“And then before we knew it, she kind of lived in our house and was a part of our lives,” Archer says with a shrug, raising his eyebrows at Theo meaningfully. Theo only gives him a wry smile in return, before Archer turns back to his work on my arm.

“Couldn’t find a thing about a missing person even remotely matching her description, but since we already had an idea that Wren was different, it wasn’t surprising,” Theo explains. “I dug up some strange stories about an odd creature in the woods. Strange lights in the sky, little things that no one could explain, but none of it really told me anything about what or who Wren might be. It isn’t . . . unheard of . . . for strange things to happen in those particular woods. Eventually, we decided it didn’t matter.”

“Wren learned to communicate and blend in better,” Archer says. “We figured out how to feed her safely; she likes raw food, but we went for fresher than dumpster fare like she was finding on her own. Alaska’s a great spot for fresh game meat. She particularly likes moose. We named her Wren, made up a backstory, forged some paperwork, and here we are.”

“Up until recently, only a few of our immediate family members knew,” Theo says. “But they all took it in stride too. My sister said it’s the monsters who don’t look like monsters that you have to watch out for. The ones who actually look like monsters are usually misunderstood or very specifically genetically adapted. Plus, Wren never really seemed dangerous⁠—a little wild maybe, but what kid isn’t? We figured what was the harm in letting her stay as long as she needed.” He shrugs.

“Dad watched me sleep the whole first night to make sure I wasn’t going to eat them all,” Wren cheerfully adds as Theo scoffs.

“But then he spent the next five years straight checking every night while you slept to make sure you were breathing, like you were some delicate newborn,” Archer says.

Theo blushes and mutters to himself but doesn’t dispute this.

Wren and her family hang out all afternoon. She gleefully plays with Eldi and follows Orion around with ill-disguised hero worship. Orion’s working on his own projects full time now. Besides the obvious, traveling with Luca, Calvin, Eldi, and me, tracking down more lost Chupacabras, Meredith and Zara have given him a remote position as liaison. He was already the obvious choice, but now it’s official⁠—paperwork and salary and all. Orion’s other pet project is our new pets⁠—the goats.