November 9, 2012 § Leave a comment
I can hear it. Its breaths are infrequent, maybe one every three minutes. They sound a little like rusty door hinges, or like a very, very quiet bullfrog croak. I have sat and listened, taking careful notes of length and quality of sound, for nearly half an hour. I must make an excursion to command central and make my report. I will be careful not to disturb the alien’s abode.
Command central does not believe my reports. I have been sent back to my station and told firmly not to leave again. It is late, they say. Late! Perhaps this alien is nocturnal. Perhaps it waits until some even later hour, when it will emerge from its dark home to feed. I must be prepared for such. I will not be afraid.
There! I hear the breathing again. It seems to be just beneath me. I must be still. Does it know I lie above it?
I have made visual contact. Repeat: I have made visual contact. The alien has extended some sort of pseudopod/tentacle/thing beyond its cave-like dwelling. It is too dark to see clearly, and my flashlight has run out of batteries. I must ask for more from command central tomorrow.
If I make it to tomorrow.
More of the alien emerges!!
Vocal signals for help have been deployed in an attempt to garner support from command central. Only reply has been (here transcribed word-for-word in the name of science): “SHUT UP DANNY AND GO TO SLEEP”
I am either on the verge of scientific discovery or the verge of death.
The alien has ceased movement but not withdrawn, either. It is pitch black in color, utterly smooth all over. What portion of the creature is this? Is it a limb? A head? Has the creature such things as limbs or head(s)?
I will attempt physical contact.
Physical contact achieved. Alien feels slightly squishy. A bit like a gummy worm. I am not sure what to make of this.
I have attempted to converse with the alien, asking it what I believe to be the most important and urgent questions:
1) where has it come from?
2) how has it come to live beneath my bed?
3) does it have plans to eat me?
As far as I could discern from the multitudes of bodily contortions the alien underwent–oral speech is not, it seems, one of its abilities–I gathered answers as following:
1) this is his bedroom
2) how have I come to live beneath his bed?
3) do I have plans to eat him?
I am not sure what to make of this, either.
The alien and I have come to an understanding. My world and his exist on intersliding planes. The space around ours beds seems to be a catching point in this sliding, which has resulted in a tear in both our cosmos (cosmoses?). Theoretically, if I crawled under my bed, and he crawled under his bed, we could switch places.
I do have that book report due tomorrow that I never wrote.
Boy, will Mom and Dad be sorry they didn’t come when I called!