by A. M. McCaffrey
Where I come from, people tend to be suspicious of anybody from out of town. A resident is as likely to say ‘howdy’ to a stranger, as to query the vegan option at Karls Mega Steaks and Burgers.
Frank Johnson was a strong kid, even at the age of eight, and when he saw a bearded stranger in his living room wearing a red suit and carrying a sack on his back, he laid the stranger flat out. Old man Johnson never fully recovered his speech, and there was a loss of motor function in his left arm.
The matter never even made it to court.
The police chief gave him an honorary sheriff’s badge, and Frank’s mother proudly admitted that she would now be a widow if Frank had been carrying his piece.
Teachers at school told us treating strangers as suspects is a survival technique passed on from our ancestors. In a test, they asked us to write how a tribal chief would react back in the day if an outsider walked out of the jungle and sat by the campfire.
“Would he have said,’ Welcome friend, what’s mine is yours,’ or tell the cook to put him on the barbecue?” No prizes for the correct answer.
But now I was away from small-town life for a couple of years having won a post-graduate scholarship to do research at a university in England, and Mom, who was a bit of a radical, hoped that I would ditch my ingrained prejudices and adopt the more tolerant attitudes of the British.
I met Stan for the first time yesterday. I remembered my promise to Mom and gave Stan a friendly hello, but if I had known that he was an alien, there was no way I would have welcomed him into my building.
“Hi, Snooks. I’m Stan glad to meet you.
How did he know my name?
Turns out we were both twenty-five-year-old fellow Americans of remarkably similar appearance, who had come to London as post-graduate students and lived in the same student block.
Spooky!
“That makes quite a set of coincidences, Stan.”
For a stranger.
“Synchronicity, Snooks, I come across it all the time. It’s just the universe letting you know
it has a fun side. Listen. I just have to call home and let them know I arrived safely, but why don’t you come to my room in about an hour and we will have a chat?”
I turned up at Stan’s room on time with a six-pack of beer in my hand. We broke open a couple of cans and talked general stuff, but he was reticent about disclosing any personal details and was a definite suspect, as townsfolk call strangers. Now he was morphing into an alien ‘Grey.’ Stan was from further out of town than I thought, and when he spoke it was like Donald Duck on helium.
“I am an immensely superior being and you must obey my orders without question. Do you understand Earthling? “
I managed to croak out my agreement.
“I am here on what you might call a recruiting mission to head hunt some likely candidates for a special project.”
His tone softened, and he spoke in a refined British accent
“You see me as merely an inter-dimensional soldier of fortune, my boy, hence your naked fear, but I am also a talented writer and actor. On my last visit, I produced and starred in Odysseus, a movie from my early Greek Oeuvre. Never released here, but a book, blatantly plagiarised from my script, has never been out of print for two thousand years, and I haven’t received a cent in royalties.
The phone rang in the apartment, and Stan picked it up.
“Who is this?
“Betty?
“Not Betty Hill. One of the first alien abductees??
“Well, I never.
It’s been a long time, Betty, back in the ’1950s if I remember correctly.
Barney, Okay?
“. . . . Good. Now you are not to worry yourself, Betty. The days of internal examinations are gone forever. It is more therapy-based nowadays. I am out of the abduction game more a freelancer, on a case now.
“I make a point of never getting too close to a potential asset, Betty, but I took to this one straight off and even copied his identity. I threw the kid for a while; by ditching my human disguise and turning into what they call a ‘Grey’ in these parts, my real appearance would have sent him running.
“Sorry Betty I must go. My alarm just went off. Those UFO guys again. They detected my landing and are coming for me. . .. Thanks, Betty it has been great to hear from you too. See you in Zeta Reticuli if you are ever down that way.”
“You know, Snooks, I take big risks walking amongst the hordes of freaks that populate this crazy universe, but I make big dough, and should retire. I could live like a king back home; buy the biggest hive on the block and live on treacle for the rest of my life.
Don’t keep stressing, Stan. You need to relax.
That’s what my therapist is always telling me, and I should take her seriously at fifty nougats an hour. I deserve a vacation. You too, Snooks. Your mom got it wrong. Never trust strangers. You got lucky this time, but some of my more unscrupulous colleagues might have sold you on as live prey at the inter-species game hunts on Alpha Centauri. A prime human buck like yourself would fetch top dollar at auction.
We need time to recuperate. Ancient Greece, I think, the weather was fabulous then, with opportunities to listen to clever talk under shady Cypress trees and net zero pollution.
We will have a swell time, and besides, that Homer guy owes me plenty…
Bio:
A.M. McCaffrey has two short stories currently accepted for print publication in an annual BTS Books anthology, Inscribe Journal, and online flash fiction pieces in Mediterranean Poetry, Microfiction Monday Magazine, and others. He is querying two sci-fi/fantasy novellas and a recently completed YA fantasy novel. Alan holds a degree in English and philosophy and has taught at a further education college and a high-security prison.