What Came Down by Newton Webb

A Contemporary Cosmic Horror Short Story: Ernie's peaceful night shift is shattered when he guides a passenger plane through a terrifying encounter with an impossible, unseen craft.

Contents:

1. Horror Compilations

2. What Came Down

Horror Story Compilations

Summer Screams: 29 FREE horror stories, including: ‘The Spinster’, ‘Invasion of the Hipster Beards’, ‘Waves of Madness’, ‘The Blighted Child’ and ‘Gomorrah’

Screams for Sale: 71 horror stories, including ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 2’, ‘Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 3,’ ‘Festival of the Damned,’ ‘The Morrígan.’

Free Horror Stories: 29 FREE horror stories, including: ‘Gomorrah’

The Fiction Giveaway Extravaganza: 44 FREE horror stories, including: ‘Gomorrah’ and ‘The Blighted Child’

What Came Down

[Instead of a short story, I rather suspect this might do better as a cold open for a novella. What do you think my dears?]

Newton Webb

2018, Exeter Airport.

The last dregs of Ernie Moss’s tea had gone cold in his mug, leaving a brown tannin stain at the bottom. It was 01:28, the deadest hour of the deadest shift. Outside the panoramic glass of the control tower, the airfield was illuminated by the dim green lights of the runway. Ernie basked in the familiar sounds of his office, the gentle hum of the radar console, and the occasional rustle of his bag of cheese and onion crisps. Between snacks, he tapped at his phone, playing Clash of Clans, watching as a tiny, animated barbarian smashed a wall with pointless enthusiasm.

Another thirty minutes and I can have the pork pie.

The pork pie was the high point of his night.

A sharp crackle from the speakers pulled him away from his game. He was losing anyway. "Control, this is Bravo Charlie Seven Three Niner."

Ernie straightened his back, the worn chair squeaking. He tapped the console, bringing the channel into focus. "Bravo Charlie Seven Three Niner, I read you loud and clear. Go ahead."

"We’re on final approach, Control. Bit of a headwind slowed us down. Requesting clearance to land."

He recognised the voice. It belonged to Jasper Barrett. Both Ernie and Jasper preferred the night shifts. Flight BC739 was an Embraer 145 jet inbound from Aberdeen, a regular passenger flight.

"BC739, you are clear to land on runway two-six. The wind is negligible from the west."

Ernie watched the flight’s icon, a small green cross, crawl across his primary screen. Suddenly, the transmission cut out with a jarring hiss of static. A second later, Jasper was back on the line.

"Control, I’m showing another aircraft on my scope. Extremely close proximity. Do you have confirmation of this traffic?"

Ernie’s fingers, which had been loosely tapping the desk, now tightened on his mouse. His own screen showed nothing but BC739 and the faint, ghostly outlines of the landscape below. "Negative, Seven Three Niner. Our radar is clear. You are the only traffic in the controlled airspace."

He ran a quick diagnostic on his own system. All green. No errors.

"Well, I’ve got something here," Jasper insisted. "Could be a small prop plane. No transponder. He’s running completely dark."

A prop plane? At this time of night?

Ernie felt a flicker of professional irritation. "Sounds like a radar ghost, Jasper. Atmospheric conditions can sometimes throw up false returns on aircraft systems. Can you confirm a visual?"

Ernie leaned forward, his face close to the cool glass of the tower, and peered through binoculars into the vast, starless blanket of low cloud. He scanned the sky, a monotonous canvas of deep grey and black. He caught the rhythmic blink of BC739’s lights before they were swallowed whole by a cloud bank.

"Negative visual, the cloud base is too low. But this is no ghost, Control. It’s solid." There was a new edge sharpening Jasper’s voice, a thread of anger that felt out of place. "Could be Russian. You know, one of their little games, probing the airspace with a drone to see how we react."

No mate.

Ernie shook his head but kept his tone professional. "My screens are clear, BC739. If it were a prop plane at that altitude, I would be seeing it. But for safety’s sake, I advise you to alter your course by five degrees to starboard to maintain a safe separation."

There was a pause.

Jasper’s voice came through sounding strained. "Altering course. I’m telling you, Control, it’s there."

The silence that followed stretched for less than a minute, but Ernie still tapped the desk nervously. His eyes were fixed on the radar.

Jasper’s voice returned, sounding scared. "Control, it’s matching me. Every move I make, it mirrors instantly. It’s closing the distance."

"Seven Three Niner, maintain your new course." Ernie’s heart beat faster. He forced his voice to remain calm. "I am still showing nothing on my scope."

What the hell is he seeing out there?

"It’s impossible." Jasper’s voice was ragged now. "This thing is moving too fast. It turns on a dime. A prop plane can’t do that. No plane can do that." The panic was escalating into pure terror. "He’s coming right for us. We are going to collide!"

A cold spike of adrenaline shot through Ernie’s chest. It didn’t matter what he saw on the scopes. Procedure dictated his next action. He reached for the direct connection to the Area Control Centre.

"Stand by, Seven Three Niner. I am escalating this to Area Control."

As the phone connected, Jasper spoke through the radio, his voice infused with wonder.
"The sound, it’s so beautiful."

What?

Ernie froze, holding the handset away from his ear. "Jasper? Report your situation."

"Listen," Jasper whispered in awe. "It’s like whale song. So peaceful."

He’s hypoxic. The pressure has dropped. He’s hallucinating.

"Jasper, listen to me. You are in danger. You need to focus."

The connection died. At the same instant, the green cross representing BC739 vanished from his radar screen.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday," Ernie returned to his headset, his voice croaking from strain. "Area Control, this is Westfield Tower. I have an emergency. Flight Bravo Charlie Seven Three Niner has disappeared from my radar and is not responding to hails. Last known position was ten miles from the threshold on final approach. I believe the aircraft may be down."

Area Control Centre immediately replied. "Westfield, confirm. You are declaring an emergency for BC739?"

"Affirmative. The aircraft vanished from my scope mid-transmission. The pilot reported an unidentified aircraft on a collision course moments before we lost contact."

Ernie’s hands were shaking. He relayed the scant details, the impossible speed of the supposed prop plane, and Jasper’s final words.

The voice from Area Control was sceptical. "Westfield, we have nothing on our scopes either. No primary returns, no military traffic. Are you sure your system hasn’t malfunctioned?"

"My system is showing all green," Ernie insisted, his eyes scanning the empty screen. "The plane is gone."

As he spoke, the green cross representing BC739 blinked back into existence on his radar. It was in the same position it had occupied the second before it disappeared. It was as if nothing had happened, as if the plane had remained stationary, hung in the same position for nearly three minutes.

His radio crackled to life. "Control, this is BC739." Jasper Barrett sounded calm, as if nothing had happened. "We had a momentary communication issue. Are we still clear to land?"

Ernie stared at the screen, then back at the radio. The terror in Jasper’s voice, the serene calm that had replaced it. The vanishing, the reappearance. He scowled. "Jasper, is this a practical joke?"

The voice from Area Control sounded frustrated. "Westfield, we are showing BC739 on approach. Is your radar malfunctioning, Ernie?"

"No, I… it’s back." Ernie stammered, feeling like a fool. "It just reappeared."

"Please confirm. You are no longer declaring an emergency?"

"No, I don’t think…" He clenched his hand around the phone. "I’ll call back if needed."

Ernie took a deep breath. He would have words with Jasper. "BC739, you are clear to land on runway two-six. Report when you have visual."

"Wilco, Control."

The rest of the landing was flawless. Textbook. Fifteen minutes later, the landing lights of the Embraer jet sliced through the darkness. It touched down perfectly, rolled smoothly down the runway, and came to a stop at the designated holding point.

The ground crew, illuminated by the floodlights, waited with their marshalling wands held loosely at their sides. Minutes passed. The doors didn’t open. The aircraft remained on the runway, a dark and silent shape.

Ernie keyed the mic. "Ground crew, stand by. Let’s give them a minute."

He watched through his binoculars, a growing sense of unease creeping over him. This was not normal. He picked up the radio. "Everything okay, Jasper?"

"Everything is proceeding as planned, Ernie." It crackled back.

Finally, the main cabin door swung open. The stairs extended. Ernie kept the binoculars trained on the door, expecting the usual chaotic trickle of passengers fumbling with bags, stretching their legs.

Instead, the passengers disembarked in perfect synchronised order. They emerged one by one, in single file. Men, women, children, all moving with the fluid, unnerving precision of a military drill. There was no chatter or confusion. No one looked around at the airfield. No one paused to put on a coat. Not even the kids. They simply walked, gazes fixed straight ahead, and filed towards the waiting terminal building.

As the last of the silent passengers vanished into the terminal, the secure line on Ernie’s console rang. He lifted the receiver.

"Ernie Moss?" The voice was crisp.

"Yes."

"I am calling from the Ministry of Defence. Your watch manager will contact you soon to relieve you of your duties for the rest of your shift, Mr Moss. A replacement is on his way and will be with you in twenty minutes."

Ernie’s mind raced. "Relieved? I have to file an incident report."

"There was no incident, Mr Moss." The voice cut him off. "There was an unscheduled classified training exercise. We are bringing you in for a debriefing."

Ernie stared out of the window at the empty runway, at the passenger jet sitting silent and dark under the lights. Jasper had been genuinely terrified. He knew the man. He thought of the eerie, silent procession of passengers.

"A training exercise?" Ernie was unconvinced.

"It is not to be entered into the official logs. You will make no incident report. You will not discuss the events of this evening with your colleagues, your superiors, or anyone else. Your watch manager will be informed that you participated in a training drill, they don’t need to know any further details. Do you understand me, Mr Moss?"

Ernie felt a deep suspicion in his gut.

"Yes," Ernie lied. "I understand."

"Good. Your replacement will see you out. Have a quiet night."

The line went dead. Ernie slowly replaced the receiver in its cradle. He looked out at the airfield, now still. Reaching out for his pork pie, he leaned back in his chair.

That was no exercise.

THE END

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Welcome to the complete collected works of Newton Webb. Tales of the Macabre, Vol. 1-3 are intended for mature audiences.