Bizarre Encounters With …

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Elvis Drives A Flying Saucer

We’re all familiar with the claims that Elvis may have faked his death , and that there have been periodic sightings of him ever since. But , according to Wilbur Stump , of Las Vegas , Nevada , not only is Elvis alive and well , but living on an alien spaceship , which he drives around the Mojave desert , mostly at night.
The reason for these nocturnal wanderings , according to Stump , is that Elvis was offered the chance to visit an alien world if he faked his death. Stump said that these particular aliens didn’t much care for his music , and by faking his death , he couldn’t make anymore of that awful noise , which to them sounded like a hound dog howling at a siren. They also thought that he dressed like a sissy boy.
Elvis accepted the offer and now travels the desert in his very own UFO that the aliens gave him , spreading their message that they’re here , watching over us , making sure that we don’t do anything stupid , like blow ourselves up , or watch Americas Next Top Model.
I interviewed Stump at a local restaurant. This is what he had to say.
“‘Of course it’s real!’ he said. ‘Do you think I sit here all day and make this stuff up?’
I didn’t answer , afraid I might offend him again.
He looked like an old desert rat , who had spent too much time in the desert sun. His hair was thick and scruffy , with a beard to match , both of which were dirty and full of bits and pieces of tumble weed. His eyes were small and beady , like those of a rat.
Stump sat at a back booth , guzzling bottle after bottle of Lone Wolf beer. The table was littered with empties. He was already as drunk as a skunk , and stank like one , too.
“I remember the first time I saw old Elvis ,’ he said wistfully. “It was August of ’79. The last was ’06. I was nursin’ a bottle of Jack Daniels by a fire , and singin’ Rootin’ Tootin’ Cowboy , while looking for some flowers to water , when all of a sudden I hear Hound Dog by Elvis. It sounded like a radio being played from a distance. It went on for some time , and then stopped like it was turned off. It spooked me. I almost watered my pants. Then , a beam of light shot out of the night sky , and there was Elvis in his frilly , sissy boy outfit. He was singin’ Conjunction Junction from that silly School House Rock cartoon from the seventies. Remember that one?”
He looked at me with drunken contempt and then continued with his tale.
“Elvis stops singin’ his song , and says to me ,’Who loves ya , baby?’
“‘Who are you suppose to be , Telly Saliva?’
“‘No , I’m Elvis Presley , you old fart. What are you doing out here in the dark?’
“‘What’s it look like I’m doin’?’ I says. ‘I’m playin’ with myself , you pecker!’
“‘Whoa! Put that thing away , partner!’
“‘I’m not playin’ with myself , you fool! I’m drunk.’
“I spayed some pee on his leg for calling me an old fart. He glanced at me with contempt , and shook it off.
“‘Hey! Don’t you know who I am?’
“‘Of course I do. You just said so. You’re Elvis. I always suspected you faked your death , and now I know!’
“The insult didn’t phase him one bit. He says ,’Did you know that watching reality shows like Americas Next Top Model , will turn you into a girly boy?’
“‘You must be a regular viewer ,’I says , pointing to his outfit. That insult didn’t bother him either. He droned on like he hadn’t heard me , or didn’t care if someone made fun of the way he dressed.
“‘It’s a known fact that if you watch enough of this crap , next thing you know you’ll be prancing around in a tutu and ballerina slippers.’
“We stared at each other a moment. Finally , I shook my head.
“‘You don’t seem surprised to see me ,’ he says. ‘I could be a fake for all you know.’
“‘You’re no fake. You’re that pecker , Elvis alright.’
“‘Why do you keep calling me pecker?’
“‘Cause you sold out!’ I says. ‘You sold your soul to the aliens. You don’t need to watch Americas Next Top Model , or The Tyra Show. You’ve been a girly boy all your life!’
“‘I ain’t no girly boy , you wrinkled old fart!’
“‘Oh yeah? Then what’s with that silly lookin’ outfit? Only girly boys wear outfits like that!’
“He shook his head , lookin’ at me like I was crazy. Like he thought I was the crazy one. Can you believe it?’
“‘I got news for you , baby ,’ he says. ‘You are crazier than a bed bug in June. I’m not the real Elvis. I’m an impersonator doing a show at the Spritz. I have to go now. Who loves ya , baby?’
The beam of light returned and took him back into the sky.
“‘Come back here , you pecker!’ I shouted , shakin’ my fist at the sky. ‘Elvis impersonator , my ass! And stop callin’ me an old fart!’

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The Man Who Wasn’t There

Today I saw a man who wasn’t there ,
he looked like my father ,
same eyes ,
same smile ,
same tousled hair ,
he looked my way ,
and seemed to see right through me as if I wasn’t there ,
I just stood and stared.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen my father ,
I’d seen him many times before ,
the last time I’d seen him was the day he walked out the door.

The Hour Before Dawn

The hour before dawn ,
when dark things creep ,
things unknown ,
things unseen ,
they come in dreams ,
they make you scream.

Memories Of My Life/3

When I was twelve , thirteen years old , I was a basketball player and fan. I liked the Lakers , and the UCLA Bruins. I remember staying up late Fridays and Saturdays to watch Bruins basketball , when mom and dad were next door playing games with Dorothy and Stan. I would also watch Alfred Hitchcock Presents , and The Sixth Sense , a mystery about a psychic investigator.
While watching Hitchcock , and The Sixth Sense , my imagination often ran wild. Sometimes I would hear footsteps on the front porch , and sounds of the house settling , became sounds of someone knocking or scratching , or trying to break in. I even thought that I could see movement from the corners of my eyes , and was afraid that someone or something was watching me from the darkness of the hallway , peeking at me around the furnace.
During one of these nights , while watching something scary , I heard a scream. I nearly jumped through the ceiling. It hadn’t come from the television. It came from next door. Later , mom told me that it was Dana Grinter. Apparently , she had awakened during the night to discover that her sister , Dawn , was not there. She had spent the night at a friends. Maybe Dana thought the Bogeyman had gotten her.

Memories Of My Life/2

When I was twelve , thirteen years old , I would sneak into my older sister’s room , whenever she was out on dates with whatever boyfriend she was with at the time , and listen to her records. She had some good ones , Led Zeppelin , Yes , Uriah Heep , Black Oak Arkansas , and Grand Funk Railroad. Demons And Wizards , from The Heep , and Raunch And Roll , from Black Oak , were among my favorites. I would listen to them over and over again , until I nearly wore them out. Black Oak became one of my favorite bands in the next two years , along with Grand Funk.
One night I accidently shattered one her records. It was Black Sabbath , Master Of Reality. I can’t remember if she killed me for that , but she must not have , because I’m still here.

Memories Of My Life

When I was thirteen , or fourteen , I walked up to the Azusa foothills with a friend of mine. His name was Shawn Kingsbury. We walked up there a lot in those days , usually early in the morning , on weekends , and would hang out under the first bridge.
One particular morning , we took pack packs with us , filled with sandwiches and water , I presume. We were smoking cigars that day. I don’t remember if we took them from my dad , or Shawn’s. But , I do remember , as we looked for a place to hide the packs , that we were flicking our ashes all over the place. We finally decided to put them up in a nearby tree. Then we hiked up the hill.
When we came back down the hill , we saw smoke in the distance. We knew immediately that we must have been responsible , so we ran back up the hill , attempting to hide , and figure out what we were going to do.
Later on , that evening , as the sun was setting , we were playing basketball at my house , when we noticed that a plain sedan stopped outside the house across the street. We knew there were detectives in it who were watching us. We were trying to play it cool , but inside we were ready to drop everything and bolt.
Apparently , a friend of one of my cousins had seen us running away from the fire , and that’s how the police knew that it was us.
Eventually , we were able to convince them that we didn’t mean to intentionally set the fire.

The Boy Who Didn’t Exist

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The boy sat quietly at the front of the classroom , staring out one of the windows , waiting for Mrs. Kennedy to finish  reading the letter that he had been sent to school with. Through the open windows , the sounds of children at play could be heard. In fifteen minutes the bell would ring , signaling an end to first period recess. Every now and then , the boy would smile , perhaps seeing something that caught his fancy , or recalling something pleasant from his past.

As she read the letter , Mrs. Kennedy glanced up at him every so often. He never once looked her way. He just stared out the windows , smiling that half  smile , as if he had a secret. When he wasn’t smiling , his face was devoid of emotion. Blank and empty. He hadn’t said a word since his mother dropped him off with the letter. She remembered how the other children had stared at him as if he were an undiscovered species of insect. She had asked him his name ; he had not looked at her , and he had not answered. He had just stood there with his hands behind his back , and his head lowered , as if in shame.

He was an enigma , but the letter did explain some things about him. He was a loner. He kept to himself , and did not socialize with others , especially children his own age. He seldom spoke , even when spoken to.
None one knew where he had come from , or who his birth parents had been. All that was known of him , was that one day he had suddenly and mysteriously appeared on the door step of the Third Street Orphanage , in a fruit basket , with a note that read : “My name is Jeffrey. Please take care of me.”
Because nothing was known about his background , other than his name , most people were reluctant to adopt such a child. The first seven and a half years of his life had been spent in and out of the orphanage. From the time of his arrival , the Sisters noticed something strange about him : the child never cried , not even when he was hungry.
The other children knew that he was different , not like them. Over the years , they had heard the nuns talking about him , and so the boy became an easy target. They did their best to torment him. They made fun of him and called him names , and once had received a beating severe enough to be hospitalized.
As they were being questioned by the Mother Superior , some of the children swore that the boy had become translucent , as if he were beginning to fade.
But , these were children , and children could not always be believed , so the Mother Superior dismissed it as an attempt to distract her attention from their guilt.
Jeffrey was adopted soon after his sixth birthday , but returned to the orphanage just after five weeks , with no explanation. When he was almost seven , he was adopted a second time , but once again returned , this time after eight weeks , again with no explanation as to why.
Jeffrey was adopted once more , but was returned to the orphanage for the last time. He was never adopted again , and was soon placed in a foster home.
Mrs. Kennedy finished with the letter and put it away.
“Would you like to go outside , Jeffrey?”
The boy didn’t answer. He continued staring out the window. He was no longer smiling.
“I’ll let you go outside if you answer some questions. Do we have a deal?”
He was silent so long , she didn’t think he would answer. Then , without looking away from the window , he said in a voice so low that she could barely hear him. “It depends what you want to know.”
“Well , I’d like to know why you’re so distant.”
“People don’t like me.”
“Why don’t people like you?”
This time he did look at her. There were unshed tears in his eyes. She felt a sudden urge to hug the boy.
Turning back to the window , he said ,”Because I’m different. They’re afraid of me. But I don’t want them to be afraid of me! It only happens when I get lonely and want to go home.”
“When what happens , Jeffrey?”
“When I fade out.”

Jeffrey sat on one of the swings , watching the other children play. Mrs. Kennedy watched him through the same window he had been staring out only moments ago. None of the other children paid the slightest attention to him.
As if he knew she were watching him , he raised a hand , as if to wave. But it took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t waving. He was staring at his raised hand. He continued staring at it , realizing that something was about to happen , something he had been waiting for. Then , with a wistful smile , he began to swing , pushing himself forward , faster and faster , higher and higher , building up speed , picking up momentum , until he was swinging for the sky , swinging for all he was worth , swinging as if for the first time in his life.
He felt a sudden joy , and laughed , and was surprised to hear himself laugh. It was the first time he could ever remember laughing , and it was like nothing he had ever felt before. The confusion , fear , and loneliness of the past eight years – which felt more like a lifetime – was slipping away. Now , all he felt was joy. Now he was beginning to understand what was happening to him. He was going home. Not to a place where he was feared , but a place where he had already been accepted , long before he had been born. Where he belonged , and always had , where he was loved , and his parents would be there waiting for him , parents he had never known.
He smiled again , remembering their faces from his dreams. He knew he would be seeing them soon.
Mrs. Kennedy glanced over at the clock on the wall. In less than two minutes , the bell would ring. When she looked back at him , he was gone. She gasped. She looked around the school yard , not seeing him anywhere among the other children. Panicking , she ran outside , and halted at the swings. The one he had been on , was moving back and forth , as if he were still swinging on it. Back and forth it moved , reaching for the sky. She stared at it , noticing that there was no wind.
It continued swinging for a moment , or two , and then came slowly to a stop. Several of the nearest children were watching her closely. One was a girl of about seven , with a freckled face , and pig tales.
“Are you OK , Mrs. Kennedy?” she asked.
“Did you see where he went?”
“Who?”
“The boy on the swing.”
The girl frowned. “There was no boy on the swing , Mrs. Kennedy.”
“Yes , there was. How could you not have seen him? It was Jeffrey. His name was Jeffrey!”
The girl frowned again. “Who’s Jeffrey?”
The bell rang. The girl turned and ran back to classroom with the other children. Mrs. Kennedy started to follow , but stopped when she noticed something lying in the dirt below the swing. It was a piece of paper with something written on it. She picked it up and read it. It was addressed to her. It said :
“I’m going home now. Where no one is afraid of me. Where I don’t have to be lonely anymore. Where I am accepted for who I am. Please remember me. Jeffrey.”
As she stared at the words , tears filling her eyes – her mind unable to comprehend what had just happened – she noticed that they were beginning to fade. In a moment , they too would be gone forever , like the boy who didn’t exist.

#lonely, #special