Chapter 1

My name is Tim Michelson. I bet you can’t guess why I use this name for my story. You’re mistaken, but then again, you could be right. In any case, I will never say because it is not my real name. It can’t be, and you will understand why at the end of the story. My story begins in the future—somewhere in my past future.

Confused? Well, so am I most of the time. Then again, I am not complaining about it that much. After all, what I got in trade for what I didn’t have the last time was more than worth any inconvenience.

You see, I was seventy-two years old when it happened. By ‘it,’ I mean ... oh heck, you’ll just have to figure it out as the story progresses.

So, anyway, picture this:

I was on my fishing boat, engaged in my favorite activity. That’s right, fishing. At seventy-two, my fishing pole was all I could get to rise into the air to give me any excitement in life. Not that it mattered anymore, as I was alone once again.

There is no satisfaction when there is no one to share it with. Even fishing is a lonely activity by oneself. I was supposed to be out here with my friend Eddy. However, Eddy had begged off going at the last minute because of his arthritis. It was the first time I had heard him complain about that problem. I mean, I had known him since childhood, even if we had never been that close through school. Eddie is among the few people I knew who survived being in the stoner crowd.

He said it was acting up too much. Strangely, he never had that problem before. And Eddy loved to fish as much as I did. I think he was more interested in seeing his grandchildren that day.

They were supposed to be coming over ... maybe.

In other words, maybe they would come over, and maybe not. Usually, that meant they were not coming. Then again, miracles happened once or twice a year for Eddy.

Sadly, even your children don’t have time for you when you get old. Well, ‘shit happens, and then you die’ was a phrase coined by the elderly, after all. Or did older people adopt that? It doesn’t matter. I think you get the idea.

So here I am in this boat in the middle of Saginaw Bay, about five miles from Bay City. Oddly enough, Saginaw is about ten miles inland. I never have figured out why it is called ‘Saginaw’ Bay.

Anyway, I am by myself with a cooler full of beer and more time on my hands than brains in my head. You see, there was enough beer in that cooler for four people, and being out here alone, I was trying to drink for four people. That and catch fish, as well.

Oh, I was catching fish, all right. The other cooler was already almost full of yellow perch. I would have more than enough fish to last me a few months.

But I was in no hurry to get home. I was as alone there as I was here.

My life had been a string of disastrous relationships. Well, the last wife wasn’t a disaster. She was a gem, but I only had a few short years with her before she died of cancer. That had been a horrible loss to me.

Once again, I found myself alone, without anyone to share my life with. Don’t get me wrong here. My wife suffered horrible pain because of the way she died. However, in the end, her pain ended. It was my loss that I was left to deal with. Self-pity? Perhaps, but I had truly loved her.

So, at seventy-two years old, alone in a boat, I began ‘drinking like a fish.’ Well, just for today, anyway. I knew I was drunk because I had managed to hook myself three times so far this afternoon. I never do things like that unless I am so drunk that I am not paying attention to what I am doing.

It was late evening, and I was tired. It’s strange how you feel like a nap so early in the evening when you get to this age. Well, I pulled in my pole and stretched out in the bottom of the boat for a bit. I figured I would wake up in twenty minutes and return to shore.

You can imagine my surprise at waking up to a full moon at two o’clock in the morning. And that surprise was nothing in comparison to the sounds I was hearing.

Well, it was the sound that woke me up, after all. I started to look around to see what could be making that noise. I found it shortly, in the sky above me. I couldn’t believe it. Right there above me was one of those flying saucer things. I was sure I had not had that much to drink. Besides, I don’t remember ever having had visions when I drank before. And after more than eight hours of sleep, I couldn’t have been very drunk at the moment.

Anyway, I was looking up at this thing approaching my boat. And wouldn’t you know it? The saucer went and stopped right above me. It sounded like a whirlwind and hummed at the same time. I briefly wished I had a camera; the old goats I played euchre with would never believe me when I told them about this.

That’s when this blue light came out of the bottom of the thing, right on me. Talk about a weird sensation. What was even stranger was the feeling of being in two places simultaneously. That is the only way to describe it. It only lasted a moment, and then I stood before them. They were three of the giant black-eyed aliens. They looked like, well, like aliens. What can I say? That’s what they looked like. Hollywood had them down pat, even to the long arms and grey skin. It was apparent that someone hadn’t used their imagination much to develop them. All they had to do was see one, and you could describe them to a tee. The fact was, they were so short that they looked like children. Having had a lot of experience with children, you can understand how difficult it would be to be afraid of them.

That’s when I heard voices in my head.

‘Why are you not afraid, like all the others?’

Now, that was not the type of question I was expecting. At my age, the brain had forgotten to tell me to be afraid. I was sure it would remind me when the time came. Then again, maybe it was their child-like size. So, I found my voice somehow and replied.

“To be afraid, I would have to forget my curiosity. At the moment, I am a bit more curious than anything else.”

It seemed to be a fair answer at the time, anyway. It also had the advantage of being truthful.

The voices then spoke into my head again.

‘We are called The Three Thieves. Are you afraid of us now?’

It was an odd name to give oneself, but it was like your seven-year-old grandson announcing he is the grim reaper, and he has come for your head. It’s tough to take something like that as a real threat. However, I realized they were waiting for a response, so I gave them one.

“I’m seventy-two years old. My life is nearly over. So, it makes no difference to me what you do to me next.”

I am sure that is not the answer they were hoping for. Besides, I could move around ... and well, they did look so fragile. Shouldn’t it be them that were afraid of a giant monster of my size? Well, maybe not a monster, but I was twice their height compared to them.

Then again, a voice in my head said, ‘We want to understand why you are not afraid, Tim of Earth.’

“Well, let’s see. I have had a lousy life. I am old, have only one friend, and have nothing to live for. So, if you are going to end my life by gutting me like some farm animal or something like that...” I paused to decide if what I was about to say was how I felt. Then I continued, “Well, I guess you should just get on with it because I don’t care anymore.”

Did I say that? Well, yes, and I guess I believed it as well. I mean, since my wife, Annette, passed away a few years ago, what did I have to live for? Not much, let me assure you.

The three of them looked at each other like they were talking. I didn’t hear anything they said or thought, however.

‘What would make you afraid?’ they asked.

Ok, that was an easy question. Thank God it couldn’t possibly happen. I mean, after all, I had outlived my two ex-wives. So, I guess it would be safe to tell them. Besides, I felt they were reading my mind as much as my thoughts.

So, I said, “Well, seeing either of my ex-wives would do it. Then again, if you wanted to make me afraid, seeing my first ex-wife, Jackie, would be more than enough.”

They looked at each other again in the conference I decided they were doing.