We were staring at an alien craft—not a light in the sky or a fuzzy, out-of-focus image in a shaky video, but an actual, tangible machine mired in ancient sediment before us.
I realized then what was so surreal about the site. It was eerily silent. No one was speaking.
All of us were overcome with awe and were compelled to stare spellbound at this strange and uncanny apparition confronting us.
Angelina was so overwhelmed she sunk to the ground and sat cross-legged staring at it.
I wasn't expecting this reaction and it disturbed me. I sat down beside her, not touching or talking, just being present and quietly supporting her.
Out of respect, the crew stopped working and the earth-moving machine went silent.
We were stationary, frozen in place like tableaux vivant, living figures unmoving and transfixed with wonder staring at an unearthly apparatus that defied explanation.
"I wasn't expecting this," she muttered, "I couldn't imagine or prepare myself for this moment. It's so awesome but dreadful."
I put my arm around her and the human touch seemed to break the spell.
She looked at me with fear in her eyes, "How do I deal with this, Zach? I'm absolutely terrified."
I had no words to comfort her—I felt exactly the same way--it was so unearthly, I felt sick to my stomach.
"There is nothing about this object that is remotely familiar," she moaned. "I thought I could just come out here and oversee the excavation and treat it like unearthing an archeological artifact. I—I just can't get past my physical aversion to touching it."
It was plain to see she was deeply disturbed—the only comparable comparison that came to mind was encountering something so utterly other that it seemed demonic.
And I realized that panic and terror reminded me of my childhood nightmares and the helplessness I felt confronting something totally beyond me.
How the hell were we supposed to examine something so creepy and foreign to our senses that it physically repelled us?
I read a lot about supposed close encounters but none came close to describing what we actually felt.
Angelina had been musing deeply about something but now she suddenly turned to me and asked a pointed question.
"What exactly are you feeling right now, Zach?"
"I hesitated to reply but finally blurted out, "it feels evil to me."
"What make you say that?"
"It reminds me of a part in the Bible where it talks about the abomination of desolation—that's how it appears to me as something disgusting and repugnant"
"Really?" she asked, surprised.
"Yes, really. I mean, look at the workers—they're operating an earth-moving machine to clear away the sediment, but no one physically wants to touch it for fear they'll be contaminated."
She reflected on what I said and then seemed to come to a decision.
She got to her feet and paused for a moment and then began to walk deliberately towards the object.
There was a slight murmur among the crew when she started across the site and all eyes were upon her as she approached the craft.
Again, she hesitated as if struggling with indecision and then stretched out her hand and touched the surface of the hull.
We all were completely astonished when the craft responded with a faint humming noise and then appeared to come to life.
But no one expected what happened next—a hatch door opened to admit her.
