Submitted for the July 2025 prompt: Aliens Among Us

Dearest Cousin Evi,

 

Remember that Barentsz Clock that ticked upon Grandmere’s mantle? Those painted angels and demons turned in a torus around its circular face, wrestling with one another as day passed into night. We’d stare at it, drawn by some paranormal code embedded in its intertwined mechanics. And though it feels as if its ornate second hand has leaped forward only a few roman numerals, indeed, it has been years since that idyllic summer.

 

That sweltering day, we swam through Amsterdam’s canals. We upset boats, sang merrily, and warmed our chilled bodies by lying in the fields. Bees collected clumps of gold from tulips. Clouds sailed toward us through the sky as ships’ sails mirrored their skyward sisters upon the Markermeer harbor.

 

Our aquatic adventure struck us down with sickness. Grandmere tut-tutted away. Her eyes peered over her spectacles as she explained that evil spirits lurked in the canal’s dank waters and were responsible for our vomiting.

 

Her better angels won out. Her veiny hands plucked leather volumes from her walnut bookshelf. Moore’s Utopia and Dante’s Inferno mixed with verses from the Bible. Her words synchronized with her clock as it cycled through a never-ending battle between above and below.

 

As all good things do, our time at Grandmere’s came to an end. I was called for my apprenticeship, and you were presented at court and wooed and wedded by Count What’s-his-name. My calling was the lower one, but as the fourth son of a merchant, my only prospect was to pursue a trade in which I could put my keen sight and nimble fingers to good use. And so I found myself under the shingle of Hans Lippershy. He was a kindly master who taught me well in the art of lens grinding.

 

Business was booming. Commerce required men who could read and write the byzantine contracts that bound sea captains, investors, and retailers into a network of energy that flowed spices and silk into the Netherlands.

 

Soon, my skills matched the master's. Mr Lippershy allowed me to work unsupervised. What joy! I hummed the Italian madrigals we’d learned when Grandmere hosted her musical soirees as I blew the glass spheres, spun them upon the lathe, and ground them into lenses. Word of my ability spread, and the little bell above our door began to ring and ring.

 

An energetic fever of activity spun me like the lathe until one day, the spinning stopped. I was testing a concave lens, blowing off remnants of emery flour, trying to read a cobbler’s sign ten doors down the Geestkerkhof. I accidentally held up a convex lens on top of the concave one. A force akin to a magnet pulled my line of sight up to the leaning steeple of the Oude Kerk Tower.

 

By plain sight, the Tower appears to be one color, but with the aid of the lenses, the different hues of individual bricks became apparent. I had the oddest feeling that I could read some message encoded in these alternating colors, that some sort of celestial beckoning was calling me forward and upward.

 

That night, I fit both lenses into a hollow wooden tube and secured them with brass rings. Then I snuck out of the shop and into the Tower. My heart pounded as I flew up the stairs that wound up to the steeple. Having reached its balcony, I held the tube to my eye and examined the heavens.

 

My being soared out into the abyss. I saw the rugged landscape of the moon and odd pinprick stars that crowded around Jupiter. I witnessed stars clustered so closely together, they swirled in a shape similar to the snails we used to collect from Grandmere’s garden.

 

Awe flooded my being, followed by a massive wave of dread.

 

A presence entered my consciousness. It reminded me of when Grandmere lifted the top of her harpsichord and showed us how two strings can vibrate together to form a new note. Similarly, my thoughts became influenced by a new tone that had entered my mind.

 

I was not alone in my own body. Another captain had its hands upon the wheel of my will, steering me back to the workshop and into bed. I tossed and turned. It investigated my thoughts, picking through my memories, leafing through my dreams.

 

Light. Morning. I peered at my haggard visage. Birds sang, perched upon a tree outside my window. I felt its energy surge. A tinge of light emanated from my eyes. Wind shook the tree. The birds fled. A shadow passed over my face.

 

My first customer was a wealthy merchant who’d been burning his eyes out poring over contractual law in hopes of mitigating the risk and enhancing the profits of those investing in trade with the East Indies.

 

This puzzle ruined his sleep, swept away his appetite, and preoccupied his mind to the point he could contemplate little else. As he tested his new spectacles, our eyes met. I felt a fraction of the presence flow from my eyes into his. The same light I’d seen in my own eyes just a few minutes before now radiated in his.

 

He said he’d suddenly had a breakthrough with the contractual law conundrum. He would establish something he called The East India Company, a corporation of investors that would have the same rights as a man and therefore would be limited in its liability for damages.

 

As he explained this, his eyes shone so brightly I could not see the color of his irises. I had a premonition. The presence would invade more bodies, causing them to veer into behavior of its own design. Its light would create more streams of energy that would span oceans.

 

The question remains. Is this presence sent from heavenly hosts of angels or demons? Grandmere’s clock is still ticking and turning. When its gears unwind and it eventually stops, which image will remain above?