By John Cosper

An Apartment

"Don’t peek!"

Daniel smiled to himself as he continued laying out the tools he would use to cook dinner. He looked at his beautiful girlfriend Carrie as she sat in the chair by the kitchen table. "Tell me more about your day," he said.

"Well, after I lunch, Dr. Sharpe calls me into his office. He tells me that that the director of the FBI heard my lecture that morning. He was so impressed, that he wanted me elevated directly to top secret clearance!"

"That’s wonderful!" said Daniel. He checked the pot on the stove, which was very close to boiling. "So I guess it’s onward and upward for you, eh?"

"I certainly hope so," replied Carrie. "Sharpe said they would put me on the fast track, give me a few test assignments and see how I do. Then when I prove myself, I can move into what ever department I want to join."

"And where do you want to go?"

"UFO and alien research! What else?" Carrie beamed.

"You’ve been watching way too many movies," said Daniel, shaking his head. Carrie started to voice her rebuttal, but her boyfriend silenced her with a gentle finger on her lips. He took her by the hand. "Okay, close your eyes, and walk forward with me."

Carrie obliged, and Daniel led her right to the counter’s edge.

"Okay," said Daniel. "Open your eyes."

Carrie did… and saw a pair of lobsters, helplessly flailing their phalanges around, dying and desperate for salt water to swim in.

"Don’t they look delicious?"

Carrie was about to cry. "How could you? The poor things!"

"What do you mean how could I? You love lobster!"

"Yes but…" Carrie could be tough as nails when it came to her career, but helpless creatures… well, she had an easier time stepping over people than animals.

"We have to set them free."

"Set them free?" Daniel was stunned. "I paid forty bucks for these puppies!"

"I just can’t eat them," Carrie replied. "It seems so wrong.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "If eating animals were wrong, why did God make them so tasty?"

A Backyard, The Next Day

"Ow!" screamed Trevor. "Get off! You’re hurting me, Steven!"

Steven ignored pleas of his four-year-old brother and continued to wail on him with all the strength in his eight-year-old muscles.

"Mom!!!" Trevor screamed. "Mommy, help!"
"Shut up!" Steven hollered. "Mom is taking a nap, and if you wake her up, she’ll come out and beat you, too!"

SHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!

A brilliant object jetted across the sky, just above the spot where the brothers tussled. From his vantagepoint, Trevor saw the object streak past them, stop, back up, and hover over the top of them.

"Look!" Trevor shouted. "Look, Steven!"

"Look at what?" Steven stilled his flying fists of fury, curious to know what had suddenly distracted Trevor from enjoying the full effects of Steven’s punches. He looked up at the round, white object suspended in the sky. It looked like a Frisbee, spinning fast and furious, yet it stayed perfectly still, giving off a gentle humming sound.

"What is it?" asked Trevor.

"It’s not an airplane," Steven replied.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the object shot off. In its wake, a pair of jet fighters from the nearby Air Force base followed.

"I bet it was a UFO!" said Trevor enthusiastically.

Steven looked back at Trevor, and without a word resumed his vicious assault.

An F-15, Seconds Later

"Snow White, this is Dopey 1, Over."

"Copy, Dopey 1. Report."

Lt. Brian "Python" Carver was the best of the best, having shot down more than twenty aircraft in his three short years as a pilot, most of them enemy aircraft.

"I’ve got a bandit at 12 o’clock, over."

"Dopey 1, this is Snow White. You’re patrolling over the southern part of Illinois. How can you possibly have a bandit over the Midwestern United States? Over."

"I don’t know, sir. But it’s definitely not one of ours. We have been in pursuit for ten miles, and bogie has not responded to radio contact. Over."

"Dopey 1, can you describe the object? Over."
"Yeah, it’s kinda round, white, looks like a giant frisbee. Dopey 2, can you confirm? Over."

Lt. Neal "Spaz" Kirby looked through the canopy of his F-15. "Confirm, Dopey 1. And may I suggest we come up with better code names for these sorties? Over."

"Dopey 2, this is Snow White. What’s wrong with the code names? Over."

"Well, sir, with all due respect, Snow White and Dopey and all those Dwarf names don’t sound that threatening. Can’t we be something tough? You know, like you could be Dr. Vornoff, and we could be Lobo 1, Lobo 2. Over."

"Snow White, this is Dopey 1," Python cut in. "Unidentified bogie is now flying over an industrial park. Do I have permission to fire? Over."

"Negative, Dopey 1. If we shoot down an enemy craft over private property, we’ll have lawsuits on out hands. Wait until bandit is out of range of private sector, over."

"Seriously, Snow White," Spaz continued. "Who’s going to take us seriously with names like Snow White and Dopey?"

"Snow White, UFO is now flying over an elementary school. Over."

"Dopey 1, this is Snow White. Fire at will."

Python squeezed the trigger and launched a sidewinder from his left wing. The missile tracked perfectly, and the UFO exploded in flames, which cascaded from the sky and incinerated the elementary school.

"Target has landed on the elementary school, over."

"Good work," came the reply. "Dopey 1, Dopey 2, head back for base."

A White Van, An Hour Later

Smith and Jones knew the drill. Move in, flash badges, and order everyone out. Live organisms were packed carefully and taken to the Lab for dissection. Dead ones were destroyed on the spot. Smith pulled the white van to a halt near what used to be a playground. The men in their black suits and shades emerged with badges in full view.

"Who’s in charge here?" Jones barked.

"Well, gosh, I am," said a funny-looking fellow with a mustache. The yellow coat and helmet clearly marked him as a firefighter. His beaming face and "gee golly" reply told Smith and Jones this would not be a difficult assignment.

"We’re with the government. You and your men need to pull out of here. We’re taking this over."

"Gee, the gubment!" The fire marshal acted as if a pair of Sports Illustrated swimsuit models had graced his presence. "Awwright. You fellas sit tight. We’ll git outta yer way."

Twenty minutes later, Smith and Jones were back in the van. Four alien carcasses were destroyed on site. One living specimen now rested in storage in the back of the van.

Carrie's Office, An Hour Later

Carrie had most of her things packed, prepared for the big move to her new office in the maximum-security wing. She had butterflies in her stomach, eager to get past the sealed, metal doors and see what secrets would await her.

She would not have to wait long.

The phone rang, and Carrie answered. "Dr. Sperber."

"Sperber, this is Dr. Sharpe," the voice on the other end spoke, with a high level of excitement in his voice. "I need you to do me a favor. A specimen has come in that needs to be examined this evening. Do you mind staying over?"

"Not at all," said Carrie. "What kind of specimen is this?"

Sharpe laughed knowingly. "Put it this way. That maximum-security clearance you earned today is going to show you things you never dreamed of."

The Lab, That Night

Carrie froze in her tracks, startled to see what lay before her. Here, on the operating table, a complete alien life form lay in state. She turned, mouth agape, to Dr. Sharpe.

"I told you this would be unlike anything you’ve ever done before," said Sharpe.

"You didn’t tell me it was an alien!"

"This is top secret," Sharpe went on. "This is the first time we have ever collected a completely intact alien specimen. You will be the first to see its anatomy. But what you see and do in this room stays in this room."

"Is it real?" Carrie wondered. The decorated forensics doctor Carrie Sperber was both terrified and intrigued at the idea of being the first human being to see what makes an alien tick.

"Very real," replied Sharpe. "This is your chance, Carrie. Don’t blow it."

"I won’t," Carrie said.

"Buzz my office when you are done. I’ll come back to receive your data, and then we will dispose of the remains."

Sharpe turned and exited the examination room. Carrie picked up her briefcase, which she had dropped on her foot upon seeing the little gray creature. She walked closer to the table to get a closer look. The alien was humanoid in structure, with two legs and feet, two arms and hands, a torso, a head, and two large eyes that were shut. Carrie could not see any mouth, ears, or nose. She set the briefcase on counter next to the sink. She washed her hands, stretched on a pair of latex gloves, then gingerly reached out a hand to touch his – or her, or its – moist grey skin, glistening under the room lights.

The instant she touched the alien’s skin, his – or her, or its – eyelids popped open, revealing two large midnight-black eyes. Carrie jerked back in alarm, slamming herself into the counter and nearly knocking her briefcase into the sink.

"Aidez-moi."

Where did that voice come from? Carrie looked to the PA speaker on the wall. No, definitely not the speaker. She looked back to the alien lying on the table. Its head turned, so that the two black eyes seemed to be staring directly into hers.

"Aiutarlo."

Could it be? Was the alien trying to communicate with her? How was that possible? Surely they had not brought her a live specimen to dissect.

"Ajude-me."

He – or she, or it, whatever it might be – was definitely alive. The alien’s arms began to move, as it lifted itself to a sitting position.

"Helfen Sie mir."

Those words sounded very familiar. Carrie studied German for three years in high school. Granted she had not spoken a word of German in years, but it sounded as if the alien were saying—

"Help me."

The alien had no mouth, no lips to form the words, but Carrie knew the creature was speaking to her.

"How can I help you?"

"Oh, thank goodness!" she heard. "You must help me. I have to return home."

"Where is home?" Carrie asked.

"Up there."

Of course, up there, Carrie thought. As if she had a space shuttle of her own with which she could deliver the creature back to his – or her or its – people.

"I can’t," she said.

"You must. So much depends on my returning home."

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!

"Sperber, have you started yet?"

Carrie ran to the intercom on the wall. "No, Dr. Sharpe."

"Then hold on for about ten more minutes," Sharpe replied. "General Woolsey wants to come down and see you autopsy the creature."

Carrie looked at the helpless creature. In his – or her, or its – seemingly expressionless eyes, she could sense the fear of impending doom.

"Yes, sir," Carrie replied. She clicked the intercom off and turned to the alien. This was her dream sitting on that examination table, her very own alien to dissect. And she would be the FIRST to map the extraterrestrial anatomy. But as she looked at the helpless creature, she thought back to the lobsters Daniel bought the night before. She made Daniel return the lobsters. Now here was another innocent life placed in her hands. She knew that helping him – or her or it – would cost her everything she had worked so hard to achieve. But as badly as she wanted a career, she would not be a part of destroying it. "We have to get you out of here. I just wish I knew how."

The alien hopped down from the table, then leaped onto the counter. Pointing to her briefcase, the alien asked, "Are these papers important?"

Carrie cocked her head, examining the contents of her briefcase. If she goes through with this, the papers she bore would be of no consequence to her, as she would undoubtedly lose her job. "No, not really."

The alien stepped onto the pile of papers in her briefcase. To Carrie’s horror, the creature began to melt! He – or she, or it – transformed into a liquid state, like a gray sludge, oozing into every opening within the case.

Carrie wasn’t certain if she should be revolted or impressed. Remembering that she had time to be neither, she latched the briefcase shut and lifted it off the counter. The case was much heavier, as it now contained a liquefied alien, but she managed to lug it out of the Lab, down the hallway, and out to her car before Dr. Sharpe and General Woolsey arrived.

A 1994 Ford Escort, Ten Minutes Later

Carrie could hear the alarms sound as she drove through the gate. They had passed security just in time. Or so she thought. In her rear view, she saw a soldier waving her back. Carrie threw the car into fourth gear and peeled out on the dusty road.

The alien could sense danger. "What is going on?"

"The guards are following us. Not to worry. I was a pizza delivery driver in high school. I’ll get us out of here."

Using moves she developed as a driver for Antoninio’s Pizzeria – the place that promised 30 minute delivery or you get to beat the driver with a lash – Carrie led the armed guards in their Humvees on a mad demolition course through the back woods surrounding the famed Area 22.

(What’s that? You’ve never heard of Area 22? Of course you haven’t. You’re familiar with Area 51 in New Mexico, allegedly the site where the crashed Roswell UFO is held. Area 51 was a clever ruse developed by the military to distract everyone from the real alien research site, Area 22. Area 51 is actually the secret training ground for the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus clowns. Area 22 is located miles away in scenic… well, I better stop now. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.)

Carrie weaved in and out of the trees like an expert skier running the slalom. The lead Humvee slammed full speed into a tree, launching five soldiers fifty feet through the air. The second got stuck in ravine. The third slammed into the second, with the impact launching four more soldiers thirty feet into the air. The driver of the fourth and final Humvee wisely brought his car to a halt before destroying his machine. The frustrated guards let lose with machine gun fire, destroying more than thirty trees and killing at least a hundred squirrels, birds, and other small creatures of the woods. But not a single bullet scratched the paint on Carrie’s get away vehicle.

"We’ve lost them," said Carrie. "But they’re going to be looking for us."

"I must return home," said Carrie’s new friend.

"Home," said Carrie. "How in the world am I supposed to get you home?"

"Take me to your home," he – or she or it – said.

"They’ll find us if we go there," Carrie replied.

"Not if my friends find us first."

Carrie’s Home, Four Hours Later

Carrie anxiously peered through the mini blinds in her front room into the dark of night. She marveled that the military had not already knocked her door down and reclaimed its prize. Then remembering the recent fiascoes involving lost caravans of nuclear missiles and the loss of secret nuclear technology, she realized this really wasn’t that amazing.

Turning around, she looked at the mantle clock over the fireplace, which read 3:11 am. She noticed the alien (whom, she had learned, was a male named Fenster) standing in front of the fireplace, staring intently at the opening.

"They are coming," he said, as if he could read her thoughts.

"But will they get here before the feds?" Carrie wondered.

Prophetically, the sound of a Blackhawk helicopter rose from the distance. A searchlight hit her house, illuminating the entire street. Carrie dashed away from the window, screaming. "They’re here!"

"THIS IS THE U.S. MILITARY!" A voice boomed from a loudspeaker attached to the chopper. "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP. THERE IS NO USE RESISTING. YOU ARE COMPLETELY SURROUNDED."

Across the street, Carrie’s neighbor Bob Gruber stepped out of his front door. "For goodness sakes, keep it down! People are trying to sleep!"

A spray of machine gun fire ripped across Gruber’s yard, sending the grumpy old man running back into his house.

A dozen zip lines dropped from the Blackhawk, and armed soldiers descended the zip lines to the roof of Carrie’s house. She heard the clattering of boots on the rooftop as the soldiers landed on the roof. "I’m sorry," she said to Fenster. "Looks like you aren’t going to go home."

"They’re here," said Fenster.

"I know," said Carrie. "They’ll probably kill both of us now."

"No," said Fenster. "I meant my friends are here."

Machine gun fire crackled in the night. Suddenly, the front window crashed open. Carrie looked up, expecting to see a soldier with an M-16 in her face. Instead, a very badly beaten and unconscious soldier crashed onto her entry hall floor.

"They will save us," said Fenster.

Carrie walked to where the beaten soldier lay. Outside, she saw several other soldiers lying on the ground. Some were knocked out cold; others lay moaning and wailing, grasping their wounds.

A loud explosion knocked Carrie off her feet. She heard the helicopter engines wheeze and saw the Blackhawk plummet from the sky, crashing into Mr. Gruber’s garage across the street.

"Carrie," cried Fenster. "Come quickly."

Carrie walked to Fenster. He took her by the hand, and in a flash of light, their bodies vanished up the chimney.

Outside, Bob Gruber ran back out of his house. He saw the soldiers lying on the ground. He saw the helicopter burning in his garage.

"For crying out LOUD! Can’t a man get a little sleep?"

Fenster’s Home, Eight Hours Later

"Carrie, wake up."

Carrie opened her eyes. She raised up and discovered she was lying on a red velvet couch. She saw Fenster standing in front of her. His big black eyes blinked.

"Carrie, I am home."

This was Carrie’s first trip to an alien home. It was not at all what she expected. The carpet was a soft, thick matte of red. The furnishings looked strangely Victorian, with plenty of red velvet and gold. The doors were solid wood. The walls were white, with wood framed windows. Outside, she could see what appeared to be snow falling.

Snow?

"Is that snow?"

"Yes it is."

"I must say, I never expected to see that."

Fenster took Carrie’s hand. "Father wants to meet you."

Curious, Carrie stood up as Fenster led her to the door. The door opened on its own, unveiling a vast factory. Bright primary colors of red, blue, yellow, and green marked every machine puffing, chugging, and cranking away at its work. Little gray men like Fenster operated the machines. Many stopped to nod or blink in Carrie’s direction. Fenster led her down a long red carpet to a large red door. He knocked, and the door opened.

Carrie nearly fainted with horror.

A hideous monstrosity made its way into the factory. Its very appearance caused all the machinery to halt, and every gray to stop and stare. The thing walked on seven black, slimy, hairy legs. It clicked and hissed like a beetle, a great BIG beetle with bad breath and body odor. Four tentacles extended from its torso, and a crane-like neck supported a pair of beady black eyes and ferocious teeth.

The creature lowered its head toward Carrie, who whimpered and prayed for her life in the presence of the beast.

"Does my appearance frighten you?"

The voice was cheery, almost jolly. Not at all what Carrie anticipated from this creature. In fact, she was certain the only words she’d hear from the creature were "Tastes like chicken" as it munched into her flesh. She noticed the creature retract five legs and two tentacles. Its neck grew short, and the clicking ceased. The legs and tentacles took on the appearance of rather chubby human legs and arms. Pink flesh replaced the gruesome face, as did white hair. The torso, legs, and arms became red. White hair appeared on the creature’s head. A jolly laugh came from the creature, and what was once its torso now wiggled like a bowl full of jelly.

"Ho ho ho, I love doing that!"

Carrie was stunned like no one has ever been stunned before. "You’re… you’re…"

"Kris Kringle! Father Christmas! Santa Claus!" The jolly fat man who was only seconds ago resembled a reject from the cast of ALIENS laughed. "Yes, I am."

Santa placed his arm around Carrie. "I want to thank you for bringing Fenster home. He’s a very important part of what we do here."

"Which is?" Carrie inquired.

"You mean you haven't heard of us?" Santa chuckled. "We make and distribute toys to good little girls and boys."

Carrie shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, where am I?"

"The North Pole, of course. You’re on the main production floor, where we make every toy that every nice child will receive Christmas morning. Dolls, trains, toy soldiers, wagons, bikes, even those blasted Pokemon. We do it all."

Looking again, Carrie noticed large storage bins full of dolls, teddy bears, cars, trains, soldiers, space ships, baseballs, basketballs, footballs, tea sets… you name it, they had it. It was every child’s dream.

"As I said," continued Santa. "All the toys for good girls and boys are made here. Next door at Factory 2, we manufacture coal for the naughty children."

"Santa Claus?" Carrie finally was able to put words together again. "But I thought Fenster was—"

"An alien?" Santa Claus laughed. "He is. We all are. I come from a planet called Grikksleri. I am a Grikkslerian, a hideous race of creatures with a checkered past. Eons ago, we were a war-like race that nearly destroyed ourselves. But when our whole world came to the brink of annihilation, we came to our senses. We held what became known as the Counsel of Mastrisch in our planet’s capitol city, where we devoted ourselves to spreading love and peace throughout the galaxy. We knew this would not be an easy task for a bunch of ugly creatures as ourselves, so we created a technology that allows us to shape shift into whatever we desire."

"How did you end up here?" asked Carrie.

"I came to Earth almost two centuries ago with the elves," replied Santa, as he gestured to the grays in the factory. "I saved them from being eaten by the Krell, a vicious force of evil on their home world. We came here and studied your people for many years. We learned about Christmas and the child that was born on the very first Christmas as a selfless gift of love. We believed this selfless love was something all of your people needed to receive, so we devised a plan. Every Christmas, we would deliver presents to the good children of the world. This would serve to promote peace and love throughout the Earth, and remind you of the true meaning of Christmas."

Carrie was of course thunderstruck. She had heard many stories of the origins of Santa Claus, but this by far was the topper.

"Come along, Carrie. And you, Fenster. Let us go and have some milk and chocolate chip cookies. They’re my favorite."

Santa led Fenster and Carrie towards the open red door. Carrie paused at the entrance and turned to Santa. "I have just one question?"

Santa raised an eyebrow. "Just one?"

"For now," Carrie said. "What are the UFO’s for?"

"Reconnaissance," said Santa.

"Reconnaissance?" Carrie stepped through the red door. "What sort of reconnaissance?"

A Bookstore, Three Months Later

The next man in line placed the book on the table. Carrie opened the book to the title page. "Who do I make it to?"

"To Lt. Neal Kirby," he said. As Carrie signed her name, he leaned in. "Do you believe in aliens?"

"I’ve published a book on their history, science and anatomy that is a non-fiction bestseller. She quipped. "What do you think?"

Neal winked. "I believe you’re right."

Steven and Trevor’s House, Three Months Later

"Vroom. Vroom. VVVVVRRRRROOOOOOOOM!!!!!"

Trevor raced his new racecar across the slick kitchen floor. It crashed into the refrigerator, and Trevor laughed. He ran to grab his car and launched it into the living room, where it slid into his brother Steven’s foot.

Trevor ran into the room, pausing as he approached Steven. "Do you like my car?"

"Yeah," Steven said without a shred of honesty. Trevor smiled, picked up the car, and ran off. Steven looked at the pile of toys Trevor collected that morning. A basketball. A bike. Legos. A Star Wars X-Wing fighter. The lucky kid. What had he done to deserve all that?

Steven’s Mom crossed through the room, leaping out of the way as Trevor’s car sailed by. Trevor chased after the car with glee. Steven looked up at his mom.

"How does Santa Claus know who’s naughty and nice?"

Steven’s Mom just shrugged. "He just knows."

Trevor’s car sailed through the room again, followed closely by its owner. As Trevor and his Mom left the room, Steven turned to look at his own Christmas bounty: a huge pile of coal. He shook his head in frustration.

"I’m on the naughty list again."

Copyright 2006 by John Cosper