Help Me Howard
by Rod Hamon © 2009
Howard hadn't slept well recently but could hardly admit to the reason for his sleepiness to those who commented on his frequent yawning.
Unmarried and in his forties Howard's passion was sport not as a participant but as an observer. No other subject however extraordinary roused the slightest spark of interest in him. His eyes would light up with excitement if the word ‘sport' were mentioned but would instantly glaze over at anything else.
Howard's was a simple life: he consumed alcohol in vast quantities at every opportunity and endured a job he hated.
That evening before going to bed he took some sleeping pills washed down with a large glass of whisky, hoping to avoid the strange happenings of previous nights.
Sleep came quickly but two hours later he was awakened by the sound of a mans voice.
“Howard, talk to me.”
He wasn't imagining it. The words were loud and clear unlike previous nights when he wasn't sure if he were dreaming or not.
“Must be going mad. Probably the DT's must cut back on the booze.”
“Howard, why don't you talk to me?”
Howard sat up in bed and looked around. Light from the moon shone through the window. But there was no one in the room.
Still half asleep he asked, “Talk to you, what about?”
There was no answer.
“Are you still there?” he asked.
“Yes, I'm still here.”
Rubbing his eyes Howard asked, “Who…are you?”
“I'm 31P7.”
“What sort of name's that? Are you human?”
“Human?”
“You know: man or woman.”
“I'm sorry Howard I don't understand you.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“I'm in trouble, Howard. I've been calling for days. You're the only one who has answered me.”
“How'd you know my name?”
“We just know these things.”
“We?”
“Yes, others like me.”
“Why can't I see you? Where are you?”
“I'm here.”
“Where's that?”
There was a pause then the voice spoke again, “Howard!”
“Yes.”
“ I'm in trouble, big trouble, I need your help. They're trying to kill me.”
“Who's trying to kill you?”
“The fiends, I'm hiding from them right now but they're coming. What shall I do, Howard?”
“How can I help you if I don't know who you are or where you are? What's your name again?” he asked with irritation.
“31P7”
“Can you describe where you are...31P…7 then maybe I can send someone?”
“Howard, somehow I don't think it's going to be that easy.”
“Why?”
“I've been checking the signal coming from you.”
“Yes?”
“You're a very long way from me?”
“How far?”
“I've a feeling we are on opposite sides of the universe, Howard. I think some strange aberration in space and time has connected me to you.”
Howard just sighed.
“I don't think you can help me, Howard.”
“Do you have police?”
“I don't think so.”
“Doesn't look good does it,” Howard murmured.
“Howard, I really think I'm going to die.”
Intense fear sounded in his voice. “They're going to kill me, Howard and you can't help me. They're coming now. Goodbye, Howard...”
Silence
“Are you there? Can you hear me 31P7?”
Howard got out of bed, walked to the window and looked up at the stars. After a few minutes he returned to his bed and with difficulty got back to sleep.
Over the next few days people at work remarked about the change in him.
“What's got into Howard?” they asked.
“You're right, he's different.”
Now, when they asked him about his local sports team he showed little interest and was rarely seen at the local bar.
Instead of sport he now took a lively interest in all sorts of subjects and had an insatiable thirst for knowledge.
Howard told no one of his strange experience however. The closest he came to speaking about it was some months later. He had been sitting on his back porch looking up at the stars, as he often did, when a friend joined him.
Looking up, the man asked, “Do you think there could be… life up there somewhere?”
Howard turned slowly and looking him in the eye said, “I know so.”