35) Three Coins on the Moon

The Space Rover crawls forward at a tremendously slow pace. No more than five miles per hour. The lights are weak, meaning I can only see a few feet in front of me at a time. It’s all craters and stuff. I must remain vigilante though. On one of these craters is an alien symbol; a rectangle with a zig-zag through the middle. Below that symbol is the last of the three coins on the moon.

The first two were found in the late 90s by a Russian team in secret bunkers under craters. Tests show alien bacteria on the coins which was luckily not harmful to humans. They also found texts and scripts about the three coins in the bunkers. Removing all three from the moon would open the gate to paradise. It’s a guess more than a fact though. The scripts had to be translated from a language no one was fluent in. Its made with the assumption the aliens have the same language patterns as us. The Russians were meant to come back for the third coin, but political troubles meant the project was scrapped.

I came across the research by chance. A work buddy sent me the files as a dismissive joke. I read into it. I believed what I saw.

It’s always cold up here. I’m constantly shivering and it makes me feel like I’m always about to throw up. I want to close my eyes, but then I might miss the symbol.

I informed people with power about my intentions. At least, I informed them I wanted to do some moon exploration as part of potential moon emigration projects in the near future. They approved and shot me up. As soon as I got here I went AWOL. Cut all communications. I can get back fine by myself. I’ll answer the questions when I get home.

It’s there. A deep green mark on the surface of the moon.  I start the shovels digging. As they get deeper the ground gets blacker. Something starts to ooze out. This isn’t a bunker, or a treasure. It’s a trap. The ooze grabs my rover and solidifies itself around the track. I can’t drive away. The wheels just grind against the stone substance. A black arm, like a squid’s tentacle covered in oil, slaps the window to my rover. It’s going to break in. This is not Paradise. We got it wrong. We-