The stale air of the interrogation room clung to Arthur like a second skin, heavy with the scent of old coffee and unspoken anxieties. Fluorescent lights, too bright and unforgiving, hummed overhead, casting a sickly pallor on his face. He sat hunched, hands clasped tightly on the polished, scarred surface of the table, his knuckles white. Across from him, Agent Davies, a woman with eyes the colour of slate and a composure that felt almost inhuman, watched him with unwavering intensity. Next to her, a younger agent, whose name Arthur had already forgotten, scribbled notes with a quiet, persistent rustle. "Hello, my name is Arthur," he began, his voice surprisingly steady, though a tremor ran through his chest. "I'm here to talk about the incident." Davies offered a curt, almost imperceptible nod. "Arthur, thank you for coming in." "Of course," he managed, the word feeling hollow in the sterile silence. "Could you tell us in your own words what happened on the night of October 23rd?" Her voice was smooth, devoid of inflection, like a recording. Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His gaze drifted, trying to find purchase on the drab, institutional walls, but his mind was already back there, on that cold, desolate road. "It was... it was dark," he began, the words tumbling out, almost a whisper at first. "The power was out. Had been for hours, after that freak storm. I was just trying to get home." He remembered the biting wind, the way it had whipped through the skeletal trees lining Miller's Creek Road. His old pickup had conked out a mile back, a sputtering cough and then silence, leaving him to walk the rest of the way. The moon was a sliver, swallowed by thick, bruised clouds, and the stars, usually a comforting blanket over the rural landscape, were nowhere to be seen. It was a darkness so profound it felt like a physical weight, pressing in on him, stealing the very air from his lungs. He'd been cursing the failing truck, the storm, his own luck, just wanting to be inside, warm, with a cup of tea. "And what did you see, Arthur?" Davies prompted, her voice a gentle prod. He blinked, the memory sharpening, cutting through the fog of the present. "I saw... a light. A strange light. Not like anything I'd ever seen." The young agent stopped writing, his pen hovering above the pad. "Can you describe it?" Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, trying to conjure it perfectly, to make them see what he had seen. "It was... iridescent. Shifting colors. Like oil on water, but... brighter. Infinitely brighter. It pulsed." He opened his eyes, meeting Davies's gaze, trying to convey the sheer impossibility of it. "It wasn't a car, not a plane, not any kind of flare. It was... alive." "And where was this light?" "In the sky. Above the old mill." The mill. An abandoned relic of the town's forgotten past, its skeletal silhouette usually a familiar, comforting landmark on his trek home. Tonight, it had been a looming shadow, until *that* light had crowned it. "And what did you do?" "I stopped. Just... watched." The cold wind had vanished from his awareness, replaced by a strange, almost hypnotic warmth radiating from the distant glow. "It was mesmerizing. And then... it started to descend." A shiver traced its way down his spine, despite the stuffy warmth of the room. He could still feel the raw, primal fear that had gripped him, warring with an irresistible curiosity. "Toward the mill?" "Yes. Slowly. Like it was looking for something." His voice dropped, losing some of its earlier composure. "Or someone." Davies leaned forward, just slightly, a subtle shift that spoke volumes. "Did you see anything else, Arthur?" He hesitated, the next part of the memory a jagged shard in his mind. "A figure. Tall. Slender. Stepping out from the light. It wasn't... human." The young agent cleared his throat, a nervous, almost apologetic sound. Davies remained impassive. "How so?" "Its skin... it was like the light. Iridescent. Like it was made of the same stuff. And its eyes... they glowed. A soft, blue light. Not a reflection. A light from within." He remembered the unnerving stillness of it, the way it seemed to absorb the profound darkness around it, rather than reflect it. No sound. No movement beyond its slow, deliberate emergence. "And what happened next?" "It looked at me." The memory was a sudden, sharp pain behind his eyes. "I felt... a pull. Like it was trying to communicate. Without words. A thought, a feeling, reaching out and touching my mind." He had felt utterly exposed, his every secret laid bare, his very essence probed. He couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't even think. Just that overwhelming, penetrating presence. "And then?" "It reached out. A long, slender hand. Not quite like ours, more delicate, almost translucent." He flexed his own calloused fingers, the memory of that alien touch almost palpable. "I felt... cold. A deep, bone-aching cold that started in my chest and spread through every nerve ending. And then... nothing. Just... nothing." He paused, the silence in the room stretching taut. "I woke up in the ditch by the road. My head was throbbing, my clothes were damp with dew, and there was a strange metallic taste in my mouth. The light was gone. The mill was dark again." Davies picked up a file from the table, not opening it, just turning it over in her hands. "Thank you, Arthur. We'll be in touch." The casual dismissal hit him like a physical blow. He pushed himself up from the table, his voice rising, a tremor now evident. "Wait. What about... what about what I saw? What about *them*?" Davies looked up, her expression unchanging. "We'll investigate, Arthur. Don't worry." "But I *saw* something," he insisted, his voice cracking. "I know I did. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't the storm. It was real." "Yes, Arthur. We understand." The words were calm, soothing, utterly without conviction. He slumped back into his chair, the fight draining out of him. The fluorescent hum seemed to grow louder, mocking him. "They're not going to believe me, are they?" Davies offered a faint, almost imperceptible sigh. "We'll take everything you've said into consideration." "Right." The single word was laced with a bitterness he hadn't known he possessed. He knew what "taking into consideration" meant. It meant filing his story away, chalking it up to sleep deprivation, trauma, maybe even a touch of madness. It meant he was alone with his truth. He was just Arthur, a man who saw a light, a figure, and then nothing. And the world, in its vast, indifferent wisdom, would simply move on. He stood, feeling a profound weariness settle deep in his bones, heavier than any fatigue from his walk home that night. The incident was over for them. For him, it had just begun. He was marked, changed, haunted by iridescent light and glowing blue eyes, by the terrifying void of lost time, and by the chilling certainty that he was not alone in the universe, even if no one would ever believe him.