I present to you a mysterious piece of metal, something called a monolith. It was discovered in the Utah desert in November, a strange spire that looked somewhat out of place and yet looked like it belonged at the same time. U.S. Bureau of Land Management officials were quick to say, “Oh, that’s not ours,” but many folks fascinated by a silver spire among red rocks said in reply, “Just go with it.”

I mean, how does such a smooth and mysterious object find its way into a remote area of public land? How did it get there? Was it someone putting it there for a specific purpose? One theory was that aliens put it there, which put those folks who love otherworldly things in salivation mode at the thought that maybe something from another galaxy had made contact with us—and maybe take us away from this disease-infested blue marble.

It was particularly a fascinating distraction for me because, once upon a time, covering national parks and natural wonders in southern Utah was just a teeny part of my job. A newspaper I worked for at the Arizona-Utah border also published a quarterly magazine called “Gateway to Canyon Country,” and I actually got paid to hike through amazing places like the one where the monolith mysteriously cropped up.

There was a little bit of conflict for me because of the monolith. Technically, an artificial construct bolted down to a natural wonder is considered vandalism, which usually evokes a negative response. Granted, we destroy natural things every day to put up parking lots, condominiums and other signs of “progress.” Still, the monolith fascinated me to the point where I hoped it might stay forever and become this amazing tourist distraction—er, attraction.

It didn’t, though.

The Friday after Thanksgiving, the monolith disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared. What stuck out as a fascinatingly beautiful sore thumb had left the building—technically, the canyon—and generating even more questions.

Did the BLM decide to remove it because it was not an authorized artificial construct for it’s beautiful red rocks? Did someone swipe it for their own collection? Did the aliens decide, “Okay, if the earthlings don’t like our beautiful platinum gift, let’s take it back to the space port and see if we can trade it for some Vulcan slippers”?

I let out a gasp as I was basking in my weekend reading and came across a story online saying the monolith was gone. Granted, it was not supposed to be there in a natural area designated to be off limits to human “progress,” but it was one of those shiny things that you just had to ooh and ah over. I mean, it was not unlike the rubber ball dogs chase after again and again, or the flighty red dot that sends cats into a frenzy.

I actually found myself sad about the disappearance. The mystery writer in me had been twisting my brain in knots trying to figure out what it was, where it actually was in the Utah desert—as BLM wasn’t saying boo about it—and where it had come from. It was a neat distraction that suddenly wasn’t there anymore, and the reality that we were still in 2020, coronavirus and all, was settling back in. That was not a good feeling to feel, as I felt a chapter in life was coming to a close.

Not so fast, though.

Soon after, online reports showed the monolith reappeared, or at least a different one was making its presence known. It wasn’t in the same spot it had first been sighted. It wasn’t even in the United States. It was all the way in Romania, on the plateau of Batca Domnei. More questions cropped up, along with more theories, and news reports even generated some good humor from a village leader.

“My guess is that some alien, cheeky and terrible teenagers left home with their parents’ UFO and started planting metal monoliths around the world. First in Utah and then at Piatra Neamt,” said Andrei Carabelea, mayor of Piatra Neamt, in a National Public Radio piece. “I am honored that they chose our city.”

Before everyone gets too excited and starts plans for a pilgrimage to Piatra Neamt, though, the Romanian monolith has also disappeared without a trace, leaving fascinated locals and easily amused internet gawkers once again scratching their heads with questions swirling about. Will the monolith appear again elsewhere? When will it pop up and renew our distraction/fascination?

I will say one thing. It certainly distracted me. I can’t even remember what else is going on in the world, and what is the name of that virus? All kidding aside, there is one question still riding the rapids of my mind.

Are the aliens punking us?