Freddy Stanhope – drunk off his ass – wasn’t sure where things went wrong as he stumbled down the side street toward his house.
The bulk of his adult life involved having long, depressing conversations with other drunks at the Will O’ The Wisp bar, a watering hole conveniently located just two blocks from where he lived.
Oh, he had one primary drinking “buddy” – a guy named Ashton – but their relationship started at beer bottles and stopped at shot glasses. He didn’t even know Ashton’s last name because friendships among sots are often confined to establishments with liquor licenses.
Plus, he knew nothing about the dude. He might’ve been a serial killer – or worse, a TikTok influencer.
Freddy didn’t even take advantage of living in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
One step into his Duck Springs backyard was like walking into the pages of an Appalachian Mountains brochure, but he had long since forgotten how to appreciate the area’s brilliantly colored falls. His labored strolls in the mountains had become less about marveling at nature’s red, orange, yellow and green palette and more about how much effort it took just to make it through another boring day.
Once he had hoped to marry, build a cabin in the woods, stock it with vodka and canned beans, and simply live a simple, happy life.
But that ship had sailed and sunk.
More likely, considering how many brain cells he’d killed, he’d wind up in “The Home.” It was not appealing to imagine himself as an old man wandering naked in the activity center, asking if anyone knew where Betty White was – and why she stole his fish sticks.
Yet, just as he was bemoaning the quiet desperation that was his uneventful and uninspired life, he found himself standing in front of an alien spacecraft and debating whether or not what he was seeing was real.
In the movies, such intergalactic vehicles were often silver and saucer-shaped. This one, however, more resembled a 1975 AMC Pacer, although the fact that the aquarium-like machine hovered more than 20 feet off the ground and emitted a hazy, orange glow suggested it was not a product of Kenosha automakers.
One thing it did have in common with cinematic close encounters, though, was the blinding white beam of light that shined from the bottom of the ship and formed a perfect circle on the ground. Freddy assumed if he walked into it, he’d be taken aboard.
Truthfully, that sounded like fun – and a great story to tell Ashton during the next “Free Hot Wings Til You Spew” Happy Hour at Will O’ The Wisp.
So, he staggered into the light and raised his arms toward the heavens.
“OK, boys,” he slurred, “take me to your leader or supervisor or head honcho or whoever runs the show up there. No need to do one of those anal probes, though. I had a colonoscopy a couple of weeks ago and they found some polyps. Trust me … you don’t wanna go there.”
The light was too bright to look at, so Freddy closed his eyes and waited. He could hear a hum coming from the craft and it gradually grew louder. Although intoxicated, he had sat through enough sci-fi films to know that this had to be the sound of a tractor beam that was pulling him aboard.
He wondered what the aliens looked like. Perhaps they’d be the standard little gray creatures with the weird heads and big, black eyes. They’d make hand gestures toward him, much like the beings in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Or maybe – just maybe – these were E.T. aliens. If so, Freddy would extend his finger and hope the alien would touch it with a glowing finger of his own.
The moment would be perfect if Neil Diamond’s Heartlight started playing over the spaceship’s sound system, but he didn’t want to over expect.
However, time seemed to drag on and Freddy was going nowhere. And then, the beam of light shifted approximately 10 feet away from him.
Freddy opened his eyes and wondered if they had done some sort of experiment on him without his knowledge. Perhaps there had been a time jump, and once he made it to his house, a week will have passed.
“Hey,” he yelled. “Did you guys do something to me? My butt feels normal. I do need to pee, but then again, I have had quite a bit to drink. Can you communicate with me? Can you read my mind?”
The beam of light disappeared and Freddy noticed that the hum had stopped. Still, the glow of the UFO Pacer remained.
He felt something touch his right shoulder and as he whipped around, he was face-to-face with the alien. It looked nothing like any “Martian” he had seen on the big or small screen. It was more mannequin-like, roughly six feet tall and translucent. There were no eyes, ears or mouth visible on its perfectly round head, and its arms and legs were sans hands or feet – like a stick figure on a road sign.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Freddy asked, hos voice trembling.
The being spoke in a Transatlantic accent, although from what orifice the words came, Freddy had no clue.
“We have no desire to harm you or anyone else, dude,” it said. “And I’m really sorry we got you involved in this mission. We try to just zip in and zip out undetected so as not to cause any disruption. As you’ve probably figured out, we’re not from here, we don’t belong here, and we don’t want to stay here.”
Freddy had begun to sober up somewhat, and the gravity of the situation was becoming apparent. Whether he had made first contact or not he couldn’t be sure, but he was most definitely in the presence of a creature from another planet.
“You’re on a mission, but your mission isn’t to hurt anyone,” Freddy said. “So, you aren’t here to take over the world … or take over the planet … or take me as a specimen?”
The alien made a sound that mimicked human laughter.
“No, man,” it said. “Klaatu got shit-faced and lost his fuckin’ keys again. We’re just trying to help him find ‘em.”