The alien out back - LJ Idol Week 13
< RING >
< RING > [click]
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Houston Office, Agent Nowak speaking, how can I help you?” Nowak was bored tonight, but it was his turn to pull night duty on the investigation line. Most of the time the callers had very little information, but he had to follow every lead.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft, “Is this the office where I can report an illegal alien?”
Nowak went out of his way to be polite to these callers, “Yes, Ma’am, it is. Do you have information about an illegal immigrant you would like to report?”
The caller’s voice got a bit stronger now that she knew she was talking to the right person, “Yes, I do. He’s living in my garden shed!”
This was a new one for Agent Nowak, but he went with it. “OK, ma’am, can I get your name please?”
“Yes, I’m Edna Smith of 1623 East Main Street in Spring, Texas, and this alien has been living in my shed for a month now, and I want him gone! Can you come out tonight? He’s been making all kinds of noise and there’s a bunch of light in the shed, and the Spring police won’t help me and keep calling me a kook.” The whole thing came out in a rush from her, and it was obvious that she was under a bit of stress about the whole situation.
Nowak typed everything into his report sheet on his desktop computer; he liked to do as much of the paperwork up front as possible. “Can you describe the individual for me ma’am?”
“Of course I can, young man, I may be getting on in years, but my eyes are as sharp as ever! He’s about three and a half feet tall, has got no hair, and he wears these baggy grey clothes. His eyes are real big and his nose and chin are real small. I only ever see him at night, and he looks kind of gray, but I know he’s not from around here! I tried to get him out of my shed myself, and he yelled at me in some foreign language and slammed the door on me! Can you imagine?!? He slammed the door to my own shed in my face!” She was really getting excited as she finally got to tell her story to someone who was listening.
Agent Nowak worked really hard to keep up with her, and in the end only had to ask her twice to repeat details of the issue. “OK, ma’am, since it’s only the one, I’ll come by and check it out. I should be out there in about an hour, if that’s alright?”
After hanging up with Mrs. Smith, Nowak pulled on his ballistic vest and ICE baseball cap and let the answering service know he’d be out for a while on his way out to his car.
The drive from downtown Houston was uneventful, especially at 9pm on a Wednesday. He arrived in good time and found the address easily enough, pulling up in front almost exactly an hour after he had hung up the phone with Mrs. Smith. Since the resident wasn’t his target, he politely rang the bell and waited for her to answer.
The woman who answered the door was almost exactly the image of her that he had gotten in his head from the phone call. Mrs. Edna Smith was a small elderly lady with neat white hair piled on top of her head, wearing a prim dress with an apron. She looked every bit the kindly neighborhood grandmother that she was.
“Ma’am, I’m agent Steve Nowak, we spoke on the phone. Could you show me to your shed so that we can get to the bottom of this situation?” She quickly led him around the back of her house to the shed on the rear property line.
Everything she had said over the phone seemed to be accurate so far. The shed itself was one of those pre-built models commonly found at Home Depot, but from every crack and crevice there was light coming from inside. So much light was evident from even across the yard that it looked like a dance club missing only the line of college girls waiting to get in. The noise however, was something else altogether. It sounded like a cross between a death metal concert and an industrial metal shop, with horrible screeching and clanging being the primary sounds. Nowak thanked Mrs. Smith and asked her to stand clear while he approached the shed.
He walked up boldly to the shed and banged on the door, “ICE, come out with your hands up! Salga con manos en alto!” The noise and light didn’t abate in the least at this intrusion, but he tried again. “Immigration! Come on out with your hands up! Inmigración! Salgan con las manos en alto!” There was still no reaction or change in the volume from the little building.
Nowak pulled out his weapon and grabbed the door handle. He paused and took a deep breath before yanking open the door and facing what lurked within.
What he saw inside the little garden shed defied all reason. The inside of the tiny building appeared to be larger than the exterior dimensions. In the middle of the floor was sitting an oddly shaped craft with an open hatch and open panels showing what appeared to be an engine of some sort. Hanging off the side of the craft were the legs of a small person wearing grey coveralls and boots. The light and noise seemed to be coming from under and behind the ship itself. The ICE agent grabbed a wrench (or at least he thought it was a wrench) and started banging as loudly as he could on the handle of the lawnmower sitting next to the door.
The light and noise stopped suddenly and two small machines rolled out from under the craft and loaded themselves into the open hatch as the being in the open engine bay slid down to the floor and hit a button on a remote hanging from his belt. As he turned around, Agent Nowak got his first glimpse of the little man.
The person standing in front of him now was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. As Mrs. Smith had said, the small man stood about three and a half feet high, was completely devoid of hair, with overly large eyes, a small nose and mouth, and no real chin to speak of. His skin was nearly the same hue of gray as his coveralls, and he looked at Agent Nowak with obvious interest as he pulled a grey rag from his pocket and scrubbed some grease off of the screwdriver he had been using.
Nowak didn’t even think to raise his gun as the little man waved and said something completely unintelligible while climbing into the ship. The noise and light once again began, though this time it seemed more ordered, and Nowak stumbled back outside as the roof of the little shed seemed to tilt back, opening the interior to the shed to the night sky. With a loud hum and a whoosh the ship lifted clear of the shed and was gone in a flash of light.
When Agent Nowak and Mrs. Smith looked at the shed again it appeared normal and whole. He pulled open the door one more time to verify things and the interior space once again matched the external reality.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you, but somehow I don’t think he’ll be back.”
“You know young man, I don’t think so either. Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be nice.”
With that they stepped through the back door of her house and into her kitchen for that tea.
Trogdar returned to his pilot console after washing his hands. Having spent 30 days on this odd little planet he kind of felt bad for the locals. They spoke no language his translators could deal with, and their technology was positively Stone Age. His repairs would have taken much less time if only they had proper nuclear repulsor lift tech instead of those smelly fossil fuel driven monstrosities they drove around in. Even their aircraft had been antiquated. It would be a long time before he could recommend anyone return to this backwards little rock…
Posted for LJ Idol Week 13 where the topic for the week is completely open. Some folks hate open topic weeks, but I really love them, as might be seen from the piece above.
< RING > [click]
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Houston Office, Agent Nowak speaking, how can I help you?” Nowak was bored tonight, but it was his turn to pull night duty on the investigation line. Most of the time the callers had very little information, but he had to follow every lead.
The voice on the other end of the line was soft, “Is this the office where I can report an illegal alien?”
Nowak went out of his way to be polite to these callers, “Yes, Ma’am, it is. Do you have information about an illegal immigrant you would like to report?”
The caller’s voice got a bit stronger now that she knew she was talking to the right person, “Yes, I do. He’s living in my garden shed!”
This was a new one for Agent Nowak, but he went with it. “OK, ma’am, can I get your name please?”
“Yes, I’m Edna Smith of 1623 East Main Street in Spring, Texas, and this alien has been living in my shed for a month now, and I want him gone! Can you come out tonight? He’s been making all kinds of noise and there’s a bunch of light in the shed, and the Spring police won’t help me and keep calling me a kook.” The whole thing came out in a rush from her, and it was obvious that she was under a bit of stress about the whole situation.
Nowak typed everything into his report sheet on his desktop computer; he liked to do as much of the paperwork up front as possible. “Can you describe the individual for me ma’am?”
“Of course I can, young man, I may be getting on in years, but my eyes are as sharp as ever! He’s about three and a half feet tall, has got no hair, and he wears these baggy grey clothes. His eyes are real big and his nose and chin are real small. I only ever see him at night, and he looks kind of gray, but I know he’s not from around here! I tried to get him out of my shed myself, and he yelled at me in some foreign language and slammed the door on me! Can you imagine?!? He slammed the door to my own shed in my face!” She was really getting excited as she finally got to tell her story to someone who was listening.
Agent Nowak worked really hard to keep up with her, and in the end only had to ask her twice to repeat details of the issue. “OK, ma’am, since it’s only the one, I’ll come by and check it out. I should be out there in about an hour, if that’s alright?”
After hanging up with Mrs. Smith, Nowak pulled on his ballistic vest and ICE baseball cap and let the answering service know he’d be out for a while on his way out to his car.
The drive from downtown Houston was uneventful, especially at 9pm on a Wednesday. He arrived in good time and found the address easily enough, pulling up in front almost exactly an hour after he had hung up the phone with Mrs. Smith. Since the resident wasn’t his target, he politely rang the bell and waited for her to answer.
The woman who answered the door was almost exactly the image of her that he had gotten in his head from the phone call. Mrs. Edna Smith was a small elderly lady with neat white hair piled on top of her head, wearing a prim dress with an apron. She looked every bit the kindly neighborhood grandmother that she was.
“Ma’am, I’m agent Steve Nowak, we spoke on the phone. Could you show me to your shed so that we can get to the bottom of this situation?” She quickly led him around the back of her house to the shed on the rear property line.
Everything she had said over the phone seemed to be accurate so far. The shed itself was one of those pre-built models commonly found at Home Depot, but from every crack and crevice there was light coming from inside. So much light was evident from even across the yard that it looked like a dance club missing only the line of college girls waiting to get in. The noise however, was something else altogether. It sounded like a cross between a death metal concert and an industrial metal shop, with horrible screeching and clanging being the primary sounds. Nowak thanked Mrs. Smith and asked her to stand clear while he approached the shed.
He walked up boldly to the shed and banged on the door, “ICE, come out with your hands up! Salga con manos en alto!” The noise and light didn’t abate in the least at this intrusion, but he tried again. “Immigration! Come on out with your hands up! Inmigración! Salgan con las manos en alto!” There was still no reaction or change in the volume from the little building.
Nowak pulled out his weapon and grabbed the door handle. He paused and took a deep breath before yanking open the door and facing what lurked within.
What he saw inside the little garden shed defied all reason. The inside of the tiny building appeared to be larger than the exterior dimensions. In the middle of the floor was sitting an oddly shaped craft with an open hatch and open panels showing what appeared to be an engine of some sort. Hanging off the side of the craft were the legs of a small person wearing grey coveralls and boots. The light and noise seemed to be coming from under and behind the ship itself. The ICE agent grabbed a wrench (or at least he thought it was a wrench) and started banging as loudly as he could on the handle of the lawnmower sitting next to the door.
The light and noise stopped suddenly and two small machines rolled out from under the craft and loaded themselves into the open hatch as the being in the open engine bay slid down to the floor and hit a button on a remote hanging from his belt. As he turned around, Agent Nowak got his first glimpse of the little man.
The person standing in front of him now was unlike anyone he had ever seen before. As Mrs. Smith had said, the small man stood about three and a half feet high, was completely devoid of hair, with overly large eyes, a small nose and mouth, and no real chin to speak of. His skin was nearly the same hue of gray as his coveralls, and he looked at Agent Nowak with obvious interest as he pulled a grey rag from his pocket and scrubbed some grease off of the screwdriver he had been using.
Nowak didn’t even think to raise his gun as the little man waved and said something completely unintelligible while climbing into the ship. The noise and light once again began, though this time it seemed more ordered, and Nowak stumbled back outside as the roof of the little shed seemed to tilt back, opening the interior to the shed to the night sky. With a loud hum and a whoosh the ship lifted clear of the shed and was gone in a flash of light.
When Agent Nowak and Mrs. Smith looked at the shed again it appeared normal and whole. He pulled open the door one more time to verify things and the interior space once again matched the external reality.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you, but somehow I don’t think he’ll be back.”
“You know young man, I don’t think so either. Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”
“Yes, ma’am, that would be nice.”
With that they stepped through the back door of her house and into her kitchen for that tea.
Trogdar returned to his pilot console after washing his hands. Having spent 30 days on this odd little planet he kind of felt bad for the locals. They spoke no language his translators could deal with, and their technology was positively Stone Age. His repairs would have taken much less time if only they had proper nuclear repulsor lift tech instead of those smelly fossil fuel driven monstrosities they drove around in. Even their aircraft had been antiquated. It would be a long time before he could recommend anyone return to this backwards little rock…
Posted for LJ Idol Week 13 where the topic for the week is completely open. Some folks hate open topic weeks, but I really love them, as might be seen from the piece above.