This time, she knew they were in a new scene.

The room was the same, yet there were fewer people, Carol decided as she scanned the living room. Her husband was gone. Ian, Guy, Bobbi, and Lia were missing. She could remember everything that had happened before she blacked out.

Her “children” looked confused. They did not know what had happened or why they were sitting in front of a television that displayed only white noise.

Saying nothing to the people in the room, she stood and walked to the dining room, intending to look out the front door and see the blood that was on the porch. Carol stopped after only a few steps.

The dining room table was full, leftovers from the diner were sitting in plastic containers near each setting. Silverware heaped on one side of each plate. Glasses filled to unequal levels. The aliens must have set the table, but why would they do something like this?

This entire night was a mystery. If she did not know better, Carol might have thought there had been no attack. But how were the directors of the play able to make them all sleep? Did they use some type of knockout gas? It added authenticity to the play, but it was unnerving to wake up every few minutes.

As she walked to the table, Carol knew with an instinctive certainty they had slept at least twice; once when Bob disappeared and once just a few moments ago. If there were more, she could not remember any.

A soft sound came from the couch. Carol stopped her study of the dining table and faced the new distraction. Marie was moaning as she tried to hold the camera up to her eye. She was attempting to film Sally.

The older woman sat in one of the easy chairs; her face set in a grimace of pain as she pulled hairs from her head with small tugs of her blood splattered hands. She was trying to define the meaning of the television picture, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Placing a hand on Sally’s arm, Carol forced her play daughter to stop maiming herself and sit quiescent in the chair.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

There was something she had wanted to do, but it slipped her mind as she looked closer at the people in the room.

Sitting on the couch, Jim was rigidly erect, his hands beating a fierce tattoo on his knees, his eyes darting wildly in search of something he could not find. Sitting next to Jim, Barb struggled to make herself smaller; she had curled her legs up and under her body, then wrapped her arms tight about her chest while slumping low.

With a stunning force, Carol realized what she was watching; the people in the room were frightened to death. They did not know this was a play, yes that was right, none of them remembered the play.

That was what she had wanted to do; Marie had the only means of documenting the events that had taken place tonight. Carol sat next to Marie, settling on the couch that her husband had occupied before he disappeared.

“Sweets, I need to look at the video camera.” Carol tried to take the camera from Marie, but the young woman held tight to the only lifeline she had.

“No, I cannot. I must record it all.”

The fierce reply shocked Carol; Marie had not seemed this unbalanced when they started the play. She ripped the camera from Carol’s hand as the girl pushed herself away from Carol, the unblinking eye of the camera swinging to face her like the eye of a judge.

“Please Marie. We need to see what has happened tonight,” Carol tried to reason with Marie while placing a calm expression on her face and assuming a soothed tone of voice.

She reached for the camera once again, only to receive a shout of defiance.

Jim bolted from the couch and turned on Carol. “For God’s sake, will you stop it?” he shouted. “Let her keep the camera. I want to know who thinks it is funny.”

Even Sally watched Jim as he stood in the center of the living room in a towering rage.

Carol pushed back against the couch and away from Jim. “What is funny?” she asked tentatively.

“Someone messed with my clothes,” some of the fire went out of Jim’s ire with the statement, his hands wringing in embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s funny,” he added lamely, then scowled.

“None of us are laughing.” Carol replied, realizing she had been tugging at her clothing several times tonight. She faced Marie and the camera lens. “Marie, have your clothes moved tonight?”

“What if they have?” She replied in a defiant tone.

“Sally,” Carol directed, the girl began continued to bob in the chair, oblivious to everything but the television.

Placing a hand on the shoulder of Barb, Carol was about to ask the same question when she felt the looseness of the bra beneath the woman’s shirt. Barb jerked away from the touch and huddled further into the couch.

“You’re not the only one,” Carol looked at Jim and waited for the next outburst.