Crop Circles, Cows, and Crazy Aliens Read online

  Crop Circles, Cows,

  and Crazy Aliens

  The Harper Files

  Case 3

  Steve Higgs

  Text Copyright © 2018 Steven J Higgs

  Publisher: Steve Higgs

  The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved.

  The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copywrite law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  ‘Crop Circles, Cows and Crazy Aliens’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Note from the Author:

  Hello Reader,

  Thank you for choosing to read this book, I am sure you will not be disappointed. The main character, Amanda Harper, came about as one of those happy twists of fate when readers of my original series wanted to know more about her. She appears as a character in my original Blue Moon Investigation series, in fact, she is the first character to appear in the first book, but she was simply too much fun for me to not create a separate series of adventures for her to lead. You can read The Harper Files without ruining the Blue Moon Investigation series, however if you do like this book, I will tell you that the two series overlap and intertwine and are best read in order. The full reading order can be found at https://stevehiggsbooks.com/

  If you would like to keep up with what I am up to and get a FREE copy of Zombie Granny from the Blue Moon series, then you can sign up to my newsletter service where I will email you a couple of times a month. No spam, I promise, just bargains, discounts and fun.

  Here’s the link: http://eepurl.com/dnm8Dj

  Books by Steve Higgs

  Click the links to find the books in your local Amazon store.

  Blue Moon Investigations

  Paranormal Nonsense

  The Phantom of Barker Mill

  Zombie Granny – a Short Story

  The Klowns of Kent

  Dead Pirates of Cawsand

  The Witches of East Malling

  The Harper Files

  Can I Kick a Ghost in the Nuts?

  In the Doodoo With Voodoo with short story Guys and Dolls

  Crop Circles, Cows and Crazy Aliens

  Coming soon

  Whispers in the Rigging – Blue Moon Book 6

  Paws of the Yeti – Blue Moon Book 7

  Table of Contents

  A Visitation. Tuesday, November 8th 2203hrs

  Red Letter Day. Wednesday, 9th November 0745hrs

  Call to the Client. Wednesday, November 9th 0942hrs

  Aliens in Kent. Wednesday, November 9th 1030hrs

  Freeze Gun. Wednesday, November 9th 1115hrs

  Brompton Farm. Wednesday, November 9th 1312hrs

  The Farmer. Wednesday, November 9th 1412hrs

  Alien Quest. Wednesday, November 9th 1637hrs

  Phone Call to Mum. Wednesday, November 9th 1905hrs

  Not the Evening I had Planned. Wednesday, November 9th 1937hrs

  The Morning After. Thursday, November 10th 0614hrs

  Uncle Knobhead. Thursday, November 10th 1011hrs

  What’s in the Woods? Thursday, November 10th 1225hrs

  Every Idiot They Could Find. Thursday, November 10th 1451hrs

  Stroppy Wife. Thursday, November 10th 1612hrs

  Foreplay. Thursday, November 10th 1709hrs

  Crime Scene Guys. Thursday, November 10th 1802hrs

  Supermarket Carpark. Thursday, November 10th 1957hrs

  Lights in the Sky. Thursday, November 10th 2103hrs

  New Evidence. Friday, November 11th 0745hrs

  Research. Friday, November 11th 1000hrs

  College Geeks. Friday, November 11th 1058hrs

  Lunch. Friday, November 11th 1201hrs

  On the Farm. Friday, November 11th 1327hrs

  Rochester High Street. Friday, November 11th 1600hrs

  The Little Bookshop of Horrors. Friday, November 11th 1622hrs

  Donuts. Friday, November 11th 1647hrs

  Key Evidence. Friday, November 11th 1717hrs

  Brett Visits. Friday, November 11th 1900hrs

  Alien Quest’s Big Moment. Friday, November 11th 2100hrs

  The Awful Truth. Saturday, November 12th 0945hrs

  Rochester High Street. Saturday, November 12th 1115hrs

  Gordon McIntosh. Saturday, November 12th 1201hrs

  Getting Ready to go Out. Saturday, November 12th 1830hrs

  Bar Nineteen. Saturday, November 12th 2000hrs

  In da Club. Saturday, November 12th 2225hrs

  A Discovery. Sunday, November 13th 0915hrs

  Not a lot of Grey Area. Sunday, November 13th 1117hrs

  Solving the Case. Sunday, November 13th 1200hrs

  Farm Fight. Sunday, November 13th 1254hrs

  Aftermath and Aliens. Sunday, November 13th 1400hrs

  Lockup. Sunday, November 13th 2125hrs

  Number 18 Matthew’s Close, Cliffe Woods. Monday, November 14th 1912hrs

  A Visitation. Tuesday, November 8th 2203hrs

  In the darkness of the countryside, the creature crept forward. Through its visor, it could see the lights of the building ahead.

  A light rain was falling. Drops hit the creature’s protective suit but could not penetrate it. Underfoot the muddy soil squelched, the weight of the creature displacing the dirt as it walked.

  It crept forward, the sound of its breathing loud in its ears inside the protective helmet. Nervously, it scanned about, hoping to make contact with the lifeforms that inhabited this place. It was not so bold as to dare to approach the dwelling it could see between the larger buildings. No, timidly it hoped it would be seen.

  It had kept to the shadows as it approached, now though, to get any closer it would have to step into the light. It wanted to see inside the house. Light came from within, and noise too. Faint sounds of voices.

  Crossing the expanse of moonlit yard, it could feel the unnatural surface of the concrete beneath its feet. It was nearing a window, planning to take a look inside when suddenly the door opened, pinning the creature in a shaft of light.

  Frozen, it watched the new hole in the building. A human emerged. It was calling something, the voice high pitched, ‘Here, Kitty. Puss, puss, puss.’ A female of the species and clearly pregnant.

  The woman was looking about but had not yet looked up. When finally, she did, her mouth was opening to call again. Like the creature, she froze, but it was momentary. As her eyes widened, she started to scream. The noise pierced the silence of the night, jolting the creature into motion. The protective suit it wore limited its range of motion, but it hurried away as fast as it could.

  A second voice called after it, deeper than the first, but did not pursue. As it left the buildings behind, the creature inside the suit allowed itself a smile of elation. Seeing the inhabitants of the farm had been terrifying but exhilarating. It had been a necessary part of the plan – it needed to be seen, to be recognised for what it was.

  It had no way of knowing what the inhabitants might now do, but it was confident it had set in motion
a series of events that would enable it to achieve a glorious goal.

  Red Letter Day. Wednesday, 9th November 0745hrs

  Waking up this morning, it felt like a big day. The 8th of November had been the last official day of my career in the Kent police service. That I had handed my uniform and ID card in more than a week ago, didn't change that this was the first day that I would not be paid for my service since I was twenty-one years old.

  In the years that I had amassed in uniform, I had earned a pension. Not a big one, and it would be not until my fifty-fifth birthday that I saw any sign of it, but it was there tucked away, nevertheless.

  I was scratching to find positives from the experience. It was a lot like attending ballet classes when I was four. I did it because I had seen it on TV and convinced myself that it would be glamorous and fun and then had tried really hard because I believed that success relied upon me giving it my all. In the end, I had given it up because I found it neither glamorous nor fun and the only reward I got was blisters. Being in the Police had been exactly the same.

  It was behind me now though. My life had moved on. In some ways at least. I was still the same me; determined to be self-sufficient and capable while quivering inside half the time.

  I caught myself in the act of self-doubt and berated myself out loud. ‘Snap out of it, Amanda.’ I sat up in bed and stared at the mirror.

  My new job, working for Tempest Michaels at the Blue Moon Investigation Agency, was different every day. I was telling myself that this was a positive thing, even though I was not entirely certain it was. There was a part of me that wondered if maybe I should learn accountancy because it would be mundane and safe. Safe sounded good because in the few cases I had already pursued in my new job, I had been threatened, tasered, stripped naked and almost killed. Some of those on more than one occasion.

  My adrenalinee was getting employed more often than I had anticipated. My boss kept assuring me that this was not normal and that most of the cases he had investigated since opening the business had involved hours of research and careful deduction, rather than chases, fights and stitching wounds closed.

  That was not my experience thus far.

  I swung my legs out of bed, then propelled myself up and into the cool air. My first task was to shut the window as my skin was already goose-pimpling from the November temperature coming through it. I found I had to have the window open at night – it was too warm otherwise, even with the heating off. Once up though and without the sanctuary of my duvet to maintain my warmth, it needed to close.

  In the living room, I turned on the TV, powered up a news channel and flicked on the kettle for coffee. I had elected sleep over gym but forced myself to perform some basic stretches and exercises. Yoga poses, and some calisthenics would do for today.

  At twenty past eight, with coffee, a pint of water and a blueberry bagel in my belly, I set off for work. I needed a new case so this morning would involve reviewing enquiries, calling a few clients and determining which case or cases held the most merit. Case selection was more complex than solving the case itself according to Tempest. As a firm that investigated the paranormal, most of the enquiries we got were from complete whackos.

  Just yesterday, James, the office assistant, had read me an enquiry from a man that claimed to be in possession of a demonic banana. Tempest had taken the time to email the man back with instruction to throw it away.

  There was all too much opportunity to rip people off. Tempest could have sold the man a story about the dangers of demonic fruit, taken some tap water labelled as holy water and charged the idiot five hundred pounds for an exorcism. Of course, if that had been something Tempest might have entertained, I would never have taken the job with him. He was all about integrity, charging an honest fee and making sure we felt decent about the service we provided.

  The service itself was often about picking up where police investigations could not continue. Some crimes did defy explanation, but more regularly there was no crime occurring, there was just a mysterious event that the client wanted unravelled. We had one such case on the books now – crop circles.

  The client had first emailed us a few weeks ago. It was a something or nothing enquiry where they had something mysterious happening but didn't really know what they wanted us to do about it. Now it seemed to have escalated with additional odd occurrences. Yesterday, in the filtered emails that James sent Tempest and me, was a further email from the same client in which he claimed the cows' milk at the dairy farm he owned had turned luminous. This now was more serious for him than the loss of some wheat because his income stream had been shut off.

  Thinking about my next case options in the car as I drove to the office, this one came out as a forerunner. Thankfully, the journey from my apartment to the office each day only takes a few minutes because I know the backroads to get there and avoid almost all of the early morning traffic. The main arteries leading into and out of Maidstone, where I live, and the surrounding Medway towns, all clog terribly at peak times. If I had an office-based job, I would most likely buy myself a pedal bike and cycle to work rather than fight the endless traffic.

  My job though was far from office-based. Instead, I spent more than half my time out doing investigative work. There was research to do, but it was mostly performed by James because he was not only good at it but of the three of us, he was permanently in the office, so that we always had someone there to receive enquiries in person. The new office, which we only moved into two days ago, sat very visibly on Rochester High Street. Its prominence generated drop-ins where people walking by would stick their head through the door and make their enquiry in person.

  The percentage of genuine enquiries to crazy ones actually seemed to be higher when made in person although we only had two day’s worth of data to go by thus far.

  I pulled into my parking spot a few minutes after eight thirty. I was the first one to arrive this morning. More usually James beat me and often Tempest too. I liked that I was the keen one today.

  Inside, I powered up the lights and the coffee machine and turned on my computer before I heard footsteps echoing along the passage that connects the carpark with the main office.

  ‘Morning.’ Called James as he swished in through the back door. It opened next to my office, so he was instantly outside my door.

  ‘Hi, James.' I had to look up to check what James was wearing. He liked to cross-dress. He was gay and mostly gender-neutral, but in the short time that I had known him, he had been dressed as a girl more often than not. Only in the last few days had the balance swung to boys’ clothes. Today he had on black skinny jeans, a white shirt, black tie and black leather jacket with a pair of four-inch red stiletto heels that really complimented the whole ensemble. His hair was getting long and voluminous. The style this morning was swept from a side parting on the left to create a low hanging flick over his right eye. It was stuck in place with product. He also wore more make-up than me, which when you consider that he was trying to look like a girl and wasn’t, came as no great surprise.

  ‘You’re in early.’ He observed. ‘Want some coffee?’

  ‘I set the machine already.’ I called after him. My computer had finished its boot up which allowed me to get started. I was surprised at how excited I was to get stuck into a new case.

  Call to the Client. Wednesday, November 9th 0942hrs

  I had spent some time checking back through the emails we had from the same client. There were four in total, the first of which was sent when it was only Tempest at the firm just over six weeks ago. I looked down at my notes. The emails were from Kieron Fallon of Brompton Farm in Cliffe Woods. There was a website link that I clicked as I dialled his number and noted both his name and that of the farm in my book.

  ‘Kieron Fallon.' The voice that answered had a caramel twang to it. The image in my head was that of a tall man with broad shoulders, wearing green wellies over dark blue jeans, faded from wear, and a body warmer undone at the front and spattered
with dirt here and there. At his feet was a sheepdog despite it being a dairy farm. I wondered how close to reality that image would be.

  ‘Hi, Mr. Fallon. This is Amanda Harper of the Blue Moon Investigation Agency. I have an email from you asking for our help.’

  ‘Oh, God. You couldn’t pick a better time to call. The police are here right now but they are not taking us seriously at all.’ He was burbling, his words coming in a torrent.

  I had to interrupt him before he told me anymore. ‘Mr. Fallon, hold on a moment. Why are the police there?'

  ‘Why are the…? We had an alien outside our house last night, isn't that why you are calling?' He sounded confused now.

  ‘No. I don’t know anything about that. I was calling because I have an email from you. Something about crop circles and glowing milk.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry, yes, of course. You couldn’t possibly know about our visitation last night. Sorry, Amanda, was it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Amanda, I have a serious problem here. We are being targeted by aliens and no one will take us seriously. The police won’t touch the case and we are going to go bust in a few weeks if I can’t sell my produce. How soon can you come?’ He genuinely sounded desperate.

  ‘Okay, Mr. Fallon…'

  ‘Kieron, please.’

  ‘Kieron. I need to do some discovery first, learn more about the case before I commit. Do you have time to talk now?’

  ‘Um.’ He hesitated. I had to wonder why. He sounded desperate to meet me a few moments ago and now he was less sure. ‘I have to attend to something, but I can call back in a little while.’

  He didn’t expand on what it was that he needed to attend to, but I offered no argument and let him go. I believed he would call back soon enough. In the interim, I busied myself setting up my desk. I had brought a box of bits from home to make the office seem more like my own. A photo of my Mum and Dad went on the desk. It was from a few years ago and she would most likely not approve now as Dad was gone and she had moved on. I had some personal stationery bits, such as a stapler in the shape of a red, high-heeled shoe and an eraser in the shape of a pair of lips that had been a gift from Patience at some point in the past. The desk drawers had things in them, files and bits of paper from Dr. Parrish, the previous tenant. I removed them to the cardboard box I had used to carry my stuff and placed it back in the utility cupboard where we had put everything else.