Vox Incorporea.

@page { size: 21cm 29.7cm; margin: 2cm } blockquote { margin-left: 1cm; margin-right: 1cm; background: transparent } p { line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.25cm; background: transparent } em { font-style: italic } strong { font-weight: bold }

Vox Incorporea

The wind is beautiful, or at least it feels that way. Can something be beautiful if you can not see it? This wind reminds me of the events of July 2nd, 1982.

I’m probably what most people would call a conspiracy theorist, or someone just trying to stir up chaos with his lies. I’ve had to endure a lot over the years. Nutcase, lunatic, idiot — they even called me a murderer. But I see myself, and I know it to be true: I am a survivor, tasked with bringing the truth to those who cannot see it. Like a flame that simply refuses to be snuffed out by the wind — just waiting to reignite the beacon of the lighthouse of truth.

But I don’t want to judge the sheep too harshly. They don’t even do it deliberately. It’s a passive reflex of the subconscious — a defense mechanism, preventing them from overturning their understanding of the world and falling into a pit they could never climb out of again.

I haven’t even introduced myself yet. Though I’m sure you already know my name. But for the record: Elliot Sterling. Well — Elliot Parkins Sterling, to be exact.

Back then, the weather was just the same, you know? Birds singing, the last rays of the sun slowly fading after a warm day, the air filled with pleasant scents, corn thriving, and the fields dancing gently in the evening breeze.

Davins and I were sitting on the porch, drinking cold beer and talking. I still remember how off he was that day. He’d broken up with his fiancée, and it weighed heavily on him. Davins had been my best friend, and of course I wanted to cheer him up a bit. We sat there for hours, late into the night. I remember every detail — how could I ever forget?

“And then — and then that bitch just went and fucked that stockbroker from the 7th. Sold her engagement ring to some goddamn pawn shop. Who does that?! And the damn lawyer says there’s nothing I can do,” Davins stammered through his sobs. “I know, man. I know,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Maybe you’ve had enough beer for today,” I added, pulling the cooler a little closer to me.

It had gotten dark by then, but the air still carried the warmth of the sun, which had shone relentlessly all day. Davins had shown up in the afternoon, and I’d already expected he wouldn’t be in the best shape after coming back from the notary’s office. Six beers and many tears later, night had fallen. Davins was slumped halfway in his chair, and I was staring at the beautiful starry sky above us.

“Fuck, Elliot. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again,” he said. “I know it feels that way now, but it will get better. I promise. What do you say — we head out this weekend? Go fishing, maybe shoot a few ducks, you know? Just to clear your head a little,” I offered gently.

I said it carefully, and fitting the mood of the moment, everything around us seemed to quiet down. Nature seemed to want to show respect — the birds’ chirping grew fainter, the wind softened, and even the hum of the mosquitoes faded. It was a brief moment of silence, and in hindsight, it fits all too well with what came next.

I suppose the saying “the calm before the storm” carries a certain truth, because that silence was broken with a growing intensity. I didn’t expect anything of the sort in that moment. The first thing we noticed was a kind of wave or impulse. Something invisible swept through everything it touched, leaving us with ringing ears. It was like being hit by a shockwave — but without the pressure, if that makes any sense.

I felt it in my arms first. It was as if it had shot straight into me, pierced right through me, starting at the arms and spreading everywhere. A sensation between tingling and stabbing, the feeling that something much greater than yourself was suddenly very close to you. Back then, I didn’t immediately think of things beyond our reality — but it had a kind of foreboding quality to it.

Then the wind came again — but much stronger than it had any right to be. The cornfields were swept by a humming gust that shouldn’t have existed on a calm summer night. My hat flew off, dust swirled up from the sandy driveway, and empty beer cans rolled across the porch.

Davins and I already felt that something was off — that this wasn’t normal. But we might still have been able to explain it away, dismiss it, or just ignore it altogether. Until we saw the light.

A bright, blue light suddenly streaked across the sky, shooting over the farm at a speed the naked eye could barely follow. It left streaks of bluish vapor in its wake before sharply descending seconds later — apparently crashing several kilometers away.

The crash made a sound so loud, we could hear it clearly all the way from the farm.

Davins and I stared at each other in disbelief, as if each of us were looking for confirmation that the other had really seen what just happened — that it wasn’t just a trick of the imagination.

“Elliot, I didn’t drink that much. You saw that too, right? What the hell was that? Did the Commies team up with the Martians or something? What did I just witness?” he asked, shocked and half-joking. “Whatever that was — it sure wasn’t a plane. Maybe a meteor?” I replied, just as disbelieving, in the only tone that seemed appropriate for the situation. “What do we do now? Call the Feds, NASA — or maybe just Forster?” he asked with a hint of sarcasm. “No idea. Why don’t we just drive out there real quick? Couldn’t have been far. A couple miles at most. Might’ve come down in the woods over by Talington. Who knows — maybe a few tons of deep space gold just landed right in front of us,” I said, glad to see his mood finally starting to lift.

Davins groaned and said:

“Ah, screw it — might as well take a look. I’m not tired anyway. And who knows? Maybe we do find a Commie satellite or a pile of space gold.”

Not long after that, we set out in Davins’ pickup to investigate the whole thing. It hadn’t been particularly hard to find the object — we just had to follow the smoke, and there it was. It couldn’t have been more than seven or eight miles we drove, and I still remember silently praying that the police weren’t also out searching for the culprit behind all that noise.

Turns out I was right — it had crashed in the woods owned by old Mr. Talington, taking down a dozen of his beloved oaks and lindens in the process. The memory of when we first saw the light and slowly got out of the pickup is still just as vivid in my mind as it was in that very moment.

We pulled over to the side of the road. It was a somewhat remote country lane — maybe you even drove on that same road yourself. There was no one around. No authorities, no Talington, not even animals. Nothing at all. The birds that had been chirping so loudly earlier were now silent, and even the relentless, ever-buzzing mosquitoes had vanished completely.

A bluish light glowed through the trees, and a hundred or two hundred meters past the edge of the woods lay the smoldering source of that strange, pulsing light. It’s indescribable. Some things, I guess, can only be perceived, not explained. So any attempt now to put the effect of that light into words is probably in vain.

What I can describe, though, is the voice. Davins had stepped out without saying a word and was slowly moving toward the light, his gaze fixed.

“Davins. Wait a second …” I whispered.

I couldn’t even explain to myself why I was speaking so quietly. But even then, I felt it — maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea. A growing unease welled up inside me, but Davins kept walking. He didn’t seem to hear the silent warning cries my subconscious was screaming as loudly as it could.

“Davins,” I whispered again, louder this time. “Hold up for a second… What if that thing blows up?” “It won’t,” he replied. “I just want to take a look.”

He was a few steps ahead of me, cautiously but purposefully moving toward the wreck. Against all my instincts, I followed.

I’ve never taken any so-called “mind-altering” substances, but standing in front of that wreck was an experience that surpassed any ordinary state of emotion. It felt like being pulled into it — and yet, at the same time, as if I were rooted to the earth beneath me. A sensation of complete wholeness, and at the same time, of being shattered into countless fragments of existence.

We were now standing right before the wreck. Maybe twenty meters in diameter — or even more — it sat there among broken trees. It was metallic, with a shimmering silver surface and glowing with a blue light whose source I couldn’t identify. Small fragments of the object were scattered everywhere, embedded in the ground or lodged in the trunks of nearby trees.

I swallowed hard, eyes locked on the wreck. I barely registered that Davins was still standing beside me.

And then I heard something.

Something spoke to me — with words I didn’t know, with sounds that seemed impossible to pronounce, and in a tone I had never heard before and doubt I could ever reproduce. It didn’t speak to me, but directly to my mind. I didn’t understand the words, but I understood what they meant.

Davins didn’t hear it, and the urge he had to approach the object began to fade.

“Elliot, don’t get too close. What if that thing does blow up? Wait a second,” he said, slowly snapping out of the object’s trance.

And the more he seemed to pull away, the more I felt myself being drawn in.

Odorless, transparent fluids had begun to seep from the wreck and were slowly soaking into the earth. Smoke still rose from the back of the object, but reason — reason had drifted so far from my thoughts that, no matter how hard I might have reached for it, I couldn’t have grasped it.

“I have to go inside,” I said to Davins without looking at him. “Don’t you hear it too? Come on, hurry up,” I added as I stepped forward without glancing back even once.

“Are you completely insane?!” he snapped, as if the words alone could pull me back. “We have no idea what this thing is. Looking at it is one thing, but going inside?! What if it explodes, or there’s toxic gas in there? Didn’t you see those fluids? What if it’s fuel and the whole place goes up in flames?” he hissed in a whisper, but it was far too late for logic to stop me.

“Didn’t smell like anything. It’s not fuel. I’ll be fine,” I replied and climbed through a larger opening, careful not to cut myself on the sharp edges.

“Elliot!” Davins called after me, but I was already inside.

My hands glided quietly over the cold metal of the walls. Whether this was something man-made or created by another intelligent lifeform was no longer a question. I was certain then, and still am, that this was a ship—or some kind of dwelling place—for something. I moved further down the slanting corridors, guided by an invisible presence whose words I could not hear. With each step, it became clearer that the voice wanted me to come closer. Only me.

If I had to describe the atmosphere on the ship, I’d say it felt both alien and somehow familiar. The walls were covered in thin tubing, and unlike the smooth metal exterior, the inside felt like a network of black veins covered in a metallic skin. As if drawn to a destination, I followed the spiraling passageways until I came to a room. The corridor continued on the far side, but I paused and took in what lay before me. I saw things that were likely more technical constructs—smaller machines made of silver metal, with pointed edges and sharp contours. I think I even noticed a glass-like material, though I doubt it was actual glass—the shapes were impossible. Panes with sharp tips, spheres that seemed to have edges. I can’t quite say what I saw, and I don’t know if I’d want to know the answer.

I was pulled, just slightly, from the spell of the voice when I heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind me. Davins had followed and caught up to me.

“What is this place?” I asked him. There was fascination in my voice, and I couldn’t relate to the worry and urgency he clearly felt.

“We need to leave, Elliot!” he said firmly. “NOW.”

“Why? No... not yet. I need to see what’s down there,” I replied, pointing down the corridor that led deeper inside.

“Listen, Elliot, I have a really bad feeling about this. Let’s just go back to the farm, call the cops, and let them handle it. This is too big for us. PLEASE. Let’s go. NOW,” he pleaded, grabbing my arm.

I didn’t really resist, and I probably couldn’t have anyway. But I remember I didn’t want to leave. It was a strange feeling—my arms wouldn’t move the way I wanted them to. Like the electrical signals just weren’t reaching the nerves in my arms.

We had taken maybe three or four steps when we both heard it—a sound. Davins flinched, and I only turned my head. One of the objects in the room had lifted into the air. It was one of the silver, cylindrical ones, with many needle-like spikes and protruding elements dividing it into sections. The thing floated slowly toward us while Davins backed away, pulling me along. I felt weak, dazed, like I wasn’t in control of my own body. Sweat ran down Davins’ forehead; he was clearly nervous. I, on the other hand, was eerily calm—like a child who doesn’t understand what’s happening. The object came closer and closer to Davins, then with a loud buzzing sound, it jabbed into his arm. We both collapsed to the floor. The thing had pierced Davins’ arm and now hovered again in the air in front of us. Davins groaned, the wound appeared superficial, but I saw blood dripping onto the floor. He looked horrified, shocked by what had just happened.

I slowly stood up, my thoughts now growing clearer. I looked at the silver object still floating there, inspecting us. Davins’ blood clung to it, slowly dripping from its surface.

“Fuck this” Davins muttered, pulling himself up and trying to run—but after only a few steps, he collapsed again. He tried to stand, but a terrible look of horror formed on his face.

“Davins…” I said. He clutched his own arm tightly.

“Arghh… Arrghhh.” His cries grew louder. His arm was smoking. Blisters formed under his skin, parts of it blackened, and blood poured out onto the floor. Davins screamed in agony, and now a look of terror crept onto my face as well. I watched as the bones in his forearm slowly became visible, bits of skin and flesh falling to the floor. He had fallen backwards and now writhed in pain. I couldn’t move—I just stared at my friend, the one I had known since I was a child, as he was torn apart in front of me.

Without warning, his arm exploded, covering me and the walls in red. The object, which had been hovering in the corridor the whole time, now darted toward Davins with a loud buzz and burrowed into his abdomen.

At that moment, I regained control over my body and just ran. I leapt over Davins, who was struggling with the machine on the floor. The fear of death had filled me too completely for me to resist my instincts. I’m not proud that I didn’t help him—but I don’t think there was anything I could’ve done. I slipped in the blood during my escape and hit my head hard. I think I still have the scar. In any case, I kept running until I reached the pickup. Davins’ screams followed me, echoing through the corridors, making them even worse. It was raining and storming heavily. You couldn’t tell from inside the ship, and it didn’t fit the mild summer night we had driven out in, but at the time, I hardly noticed.

I drove back to the farm as fast as I could and called the police, telling them what I’d seen. The woman on the line said that due to the storm and sudden tornadoes in nearby areas, no one could come for several hours—all police and emergency services were occupied. I didn’t mention a UFO at first. I just said my friend was dead and had been struck by something that fell from the sky, otherwise she probably would’ve just hung up.

It was early the next morning before the fire department finally arrived. I’d spent the entire night sitting in the dark, drinking, unable to sleep. After telling them what had happened, their reactions were exactly what I expected—but I was prepared. I told them we should all drive out together, and they could see the wreck with their own eyes. As we drove down the country road and stopped in front of the woods, I bit my tongue. It was gone. The destruction—uprooted trees, churned earth, broken stone—was unmistakably there. But the ship was missing. Every piece of metal was gone. You could still see the notches in the trees where wreckage had embedded itself. It looked like something invisible had crashed into the forest. No one ever found a real explanation, and when I contacted the local newspaper, they welcomed me with open arms. The unexplained tornadoes were already a media goldmine, but when the editor heard my story—linking the storms and Davins’ disappearance—I swear I saw his eyes light up. He called it “the story of the decade.” It was in the papers for weeks. I think I still have some of the issues lying around.

I’ve never really gotten over any of it, even though decades have passed. I don’t know what I encountered back then, but one thing burned itself into my memory. As I walked down the corridor inside that ship, I knew where it led. I never actually saw it, not even as an image in my mind, but somehow I knew. The corridor ended in some kind of chamber, deep inside the ship. In that chamber was a being—if you can call it that. An existence. An entity. A lifeform. Something maybe amorphous, formless—or close to it. A kind of life made of pure electricity. A creature of neurons alone. Something we might not even recognize as life, or something that doesn’t fit into our definitions of it. Maybe the entire ship was alive. It was something so far beyond me that I could never hope to comprehend it.

Anyway, that’s all, Mr. Monterio. I hope I conveyed everything clearly enough.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sterling. If you remember any more details or have any further thoughts, you know how to reach me,” said the journalist with black hair and a brown trench coat as he stood up. He took his leave politely and drove off down the road, past that very stretch of forest where Eric Davins had met his end.