I knew the moment he walked through the door he didn’t belong. The way his eyes looked sunken and tired, he’d traveled a long way to get here, that was for sure. His clothes were not any fashion known around these parts. It was a silver, one-piece, almost jumpsuit looking outfit with bits of metal in no discernible pattern. He was short. His skin was an unfamiliar color. It was hard to tell if it was green or gray. It was unnatural, whichever it was.
My aunt got jaundice once. Her skin turned a faint yellow, so I had seen discoloration of skin before. I remember seeing her in the hospital and being scared to touch her. I thought she’d turn my skin yellow too. This guy didn’t look jaundiced. He looked like his skin was supposed to be the strange color it was. He stood in the doorway to my bar, taking in the surroundings. On top of his large, misshapen head was a shinny, domed helmet that rose up to a point. It made me think of the old German Pickelhaube helmets. My grandfather was in the Great War and he had one of those pointed helmets as a trophy on his mantle. He was fond of telling the story of how he smuggled the thing back to the States. All the trouble he had to go through to keep it hidden until he got home. He was always quiet, however, regarding the story of how he got the helmet in the first place.
Claudia was wiping down one of the tables when he walked in. She caught sight of him in the doorway and froze. She was bending over the table and stopped mid wipe. Frank, who was sitting at the bar sipping whiskey, didn’t notice him when he walked in. When he saw me staring he turned his head to look. His eyes landed on Claudia first, bent over and not moving. His gaze took the opportunity to linger on that sight and he paid no attention to the individual darkening my doorway. Just then, the music that was playing on the jukebox stopped. I took that as an ominous sign. Was the song over or did the thing just quit working? I had a guy in here a month ago to fix it so it should have been working just fine.
It felt like we were in a scene from one of those low budget movies I’m embarrassed to admit I watch on television from time to time. Something from another world steps into an unassuming little establishment. It’s the beginning of a disaster movie. We seemed to be frozen in time, locked in a struggle to understand what we were seeing. Surely, time would start to move again and everything would return to its normal state. There was a cough from across the room from one of my patrons, but nobody moved. Was this some sort of power this stranger had? Were we trapped in some sort of time loop?
One by one people started moving again. They returned to what was occupying them moments earlier before we were visited by this strange creature. Claudia quickly walked behind the bar near me. I stepped one step to my right to get in range of my sawed-off shotgun I keep tucked under the bar. I’ve never had the occasion to use it, though I’d come close once when a few bikers decided to have some fun late one night. They started a fight with another patron but it ended quickly and they took off. I ain’t seen them since.
The stranger finally started walking straight towards the bar, towards me and Claudia. My hand rested on the handle of the shotgun without my even thinking of it. It was instinctual. I really didn’t like that feeling. I’ve never been a violent person. I can be loud and imposing if I want too, but I’m not confrontational. I’ve certainly never used a gun against anyone else. I’m not even a hunter, which is a little out of character for folks who grew up around here. I was even a vegetarian for awhile, with my first wife. It didn’t last too long but we tried it out. We had seen some photos of animal cruelty and abuse on those big farms and we decided to change our ways. It was a personal decision that lasted a few years. Then we both started having cravings for chicken again. I couldn’t explain it. I would wake up with a hunger that could only be satisfied by fried chicken. She admitted she was feeling similarly so we started eating meat again.
The stranger placed his hands on the bar and looked directly at me. I couldn’t speak or move. He must have great powers to immobilize me so. He leaned his big head in close and I could see his large black eyes. They didn’t have pupils. They were just large, black almonds on his face. Standing so close to me I could make out the color much better. It was more of a grey tone than green. I noticed his eyes didn’t close. He didn’t blink at all. There were small ridges above his eyes that gave him a look of sadness. I could see his helmet was pinned directly to his head.
“Excuse me,” the stranger said. It took a second to register that he was speaking English. His voice was odd, somewhat distant, and his mouth didn’t move at all. “I’m a little lost.”
That’s the understatement of year, I thought. “Where are you heading?” I asked, hopping to help him be on his way as quickly as possible.
“I’m trying to get to the UFO festival, but I think I’ve made a wrong turn,” he said.
I sighed in relief. Was it November already, I thought? I had completely forgotten about the festival. It’s held every year and it always draws some strange people from all around the state and beyond. “Just get back on the highway and head south,” I said. My hand moved away from the shotgun. “You can’t miss it. It’s about ten minutes out of town.”
“Thank you,” he said and walked out of my bar. The next song started playing on the jukebox. Claudia poured Frank another shot.
“Weirdo,” Frank said to his glass of whiskey before swallowing it in one gulp.