Editor 
by Doctor Invisible
Firstly, I hope there are a few of you that have been enjoying my stories on “The Turn of Night.” Secondly, I hope that my fellow writers who have contributed to ASM’s “Lockdown Library” are as proud of their work as I am excited to read each new submission. They are entertaining, and I hope that each of you continues to put the proverbial pen to paper and share your gift with the world.
Having said that, I am not only a contributor to ASM by way of my weekly anthology podcast, but as a regular monthly story writer for a fanzine called “Corpse Paint the World.” They have been covered by ASM and both camps regularly display a fantastic show of support for the other. Personally, I couldn’t be happier. Now, I have admitted in the past that some of my originals are purely fiction and others are “definitely true.” However you look at it, it’s entertainment and work that I am extremely proud of. Yet, what about those experiences that were way off the mark of what can be considered “normal” in the course of a day? Oh yeah, those have happened, too.
In the summer of 2014, there was an incident that I’m reminded of quite often. It was a bizarre situation that happened while the sky was still light on this summer evening. I had arrived at work fairly early as there was a band scheduled before the usual 10PM start time. The other bars in the area had not even opened yet, and the bouncers from the club next door had yet to arrive and pop in to say hello. The owner of the establishment had yet to check in, and it was too early for many of the local regulars to make their way over.
As the band took the stage for their early set, a couple arrived at the door. The male stood outside as the female, who was more than thirty years his senior, paid their cover charge and took a seat. The male was bald, had no eyebrows, and wore completely mismatched clothing. It was a warm night so his board shorts were weather appropriate but his attire somehow looked oddly thrown together. Not the weirdest thing I’d seen. He remained outside though, and smoked both his cigarette and the one she’d prepared to extinguish, quickly alternating puffs like an animatronic puppet. When he finally walked in, he looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. I assured this gentleman that his cover was paid for. He joined the woman, and was handed a beer. I couldn’t help but notice the stiff yet oddly natural manner in which he moved. Sitting for only a moment, he took his beverage and began circling the bar while she remained seated. She appeared to be tired, almost stressed, yet calm in comparison to her companion. That’s when I began to notice that he may not be entirely human.
As he circled the bar area, I noticed that he had helped himself to lemon and lime slices used to garnish beverages. I had seen people snag a slice of orange as it was usually sweet, but not those. He walked along, his beer in one hand, while he ate lemon and lime slices without wincing or making any sort of reaction to the sour citrus. That’s nothing, people react differently. It doesn’t mean a thing. Now, while all of this is going inside the venue, a young man in a Guy Fawkes mask has been pacing back and forth outside on the sidewalk while carrying a sandwich board, something about the government and their evil plans.
The strange man’s female companion informs him that she’s going to the restroom and that they will be leaving. As she does, he downs the rest of his drink (and hers) and eats another slice of lemon as if it is flavourless and mellow like water. I also notice him walking up to the tables of other customers, saying something to them, and walking away towards the exit where I am stationed. By the looks on their faces, I can tell that it had to be something shocking or unusual. As he approaches me, he mentions the ethnic background from a specific side of my family. He then confesses in a very robotic manner that “People think I am crazy but I know things.” At that point, the kid in the Guy Fawkes mask walks by again and catches this strange man’s attention for a split second. He then proceeds to tell me “I am waiting for my girlfriend. Women, am I right?” in that same computerized way. After the couple had left, the bouncers from the next door bar arrived to say hello, the bar’s owner showed up, and the regulars began to trickle in. The sun finally set, and everything settled into the usual Saturday night routine.
This wasn’t usual. I am not convinced that this man was an eccentric or was afflicted by illness or addiction. I asked those other patrons, and they admitted that he had offered them specific information about them or their families that a random stranger would have no way of knowing! The double cigarette, the sour lemons, the robotic speech, the mismatched clothing, his bizarre movements, and all of it. I have read and re-read much of the work by the late UFO investigator, the great John Keel. His take on visitors, men in black, and out of whack characters did leave a lasting impression on me. It can’t be all made up and I have come to my own conclusions about what I had just witnessed. The reason for the stress on his mature girlfriend’s face? It’s because this person is NOT OF THIS EARTH. I’m certain of it. This is the burden she carries daily. I’ve seen and met many people who are a bit different or vastly dissimilar to the usual bar folks you meet along the way. He was not one of them. He was an alien.
Not to alarm you, but damn if they aren’t here among us. But hey, keep writing and stay safe!
